Abolisher
33.

Syrene could now confine Drothiker.

Her daily brutal training with Kefaas left her drained and limp, but at least it’d earned her that much. The power roiled inside her—she’d made countless bargains to keep it from stretching its talons to her skin unless she willed it. She still couldn’t shape it though—couldn’t call the fire like she had the other day, or the ice, or anything else.

It still wasn’t silent—but it was quieter.

The wound she’d felt in her soul the other day was there no more—but there still seemed to be some invisible scar marring her.

The scar she’d been distracting herself from with the training.

The whole incident gave her a clearing, a target. She knew what she had to do. She knew where to go from here. Even if path to this point had plucked at her piece by piece—she’d acquired a clear map to follow.

Sessions with Kefaas didn’t only include the training. They included the scheming, too.

She’d learned Felset was using human bodies as hosts for her people. She’d learned where the making place was—or what, per se. She’d also learned how to close the Gates. Heal the Crack in the world.

It hadn’t been much tricky to learn that last one. There had only ever been one key to every door.

It’d all begun with Drothiker. It would end with Drothiker.

Above all that, she was about to learn the Kaerions’ whereabouts. Faolin had promised she’d bring the information today. All Syrene had to do was wait. She wasn’t certain what she would do with them once she hunted them down—all she knew was that she had to keep them from being used by Felset.

In the meantime, Syrene went to visit the firebreather—finally awoken today, a week after the escape. Strange as it was, she’d felt a jolt in her entire mejest in his wake, and a knowledge had seeped into her bones that Vendrik Evenflame had awoken. It wasn’t the same as it’d been with Azryle—which she now understood the cause of. This time, the absolute knowledge was different.

It wasn’t absolute. It was more like a sense.

Drothiker was linked with the Kaerions. It was aware of their very breathing.

Kavous wasn’t home when she entered the apartment, but Navy was there, sitting at the kitchen island, eating Kavous’ ice cream. The spoon was still in her mouth when Syrene closed the door behind.

And that thud synced with a sudden thrum in her veins. Again, that awareness. It was stronger than she would have liked.

She suppressed her cringe.

Navy hopped off the counter, abandoning the ice cream. “Hey.”

Syrene nodded her greeting, and continued for the room. She and Navy hadn’t had the time to talk these past days. Syrene was too … astray, to muster words—she’d merely spoken two at most, even with Kefaas. Navy understood, and didn’t push.

Syrene’s hand was at the knob when Navy informed over her shoulder, “The firebreather is still—”

Her words ceased when Syrene pushed open the door, and the light from behind her landed on the bed, where Vendrik should have been.

Instead, he was standing shirtless across the room, looking out the window, gripping the back of his neck—his posture tensed. Confused.

He twisted around, just as Navy turned on the lights. And Syrene’s breath caught.

As Kavous had informed, Ferouzeh had been visiting the firebreather every few hours these past days, Syrene could only guess she’d healed the burn as much as she could.

Still, the pink scar running down half of his face was horrifying.

She made sure to keep any pity from coloring her features, very well knowing what it could make the broken feel, as she nodded her greeting. Vendrik nodded back—either’s throat too heavy to speak.

Syrene looked over her shoulder, waiting for Navy to leave the room. But the nosy water-wielder only lifted a brow and leaned against the door frame, refusing to leave Syrene alone with a man she didn’t trust, not with all the rumors about Felset’s squadron.

“Where’s …” Vendrik cleared his throat, shaking his head. Slowly, he met Syrene’s gaze. Then croaked, “Azryle …” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The name brought a sharp stab of pain in her chest.

And anger.

She ignored either. “He’s resting.” She wondered if mentioning his death would do any good.

The sigh of relief the firebreather let out was nothing short of life-restoring. He dropped onto the bed, again facing the window—the sun just beginning to set—his back to her, as if he couldn’t stand people looking at that scar. Syrene stepped inside the bedroom.

“I’m guessing you’re here because you have questions?” Vendrik’s shoulders tensed as he asked that, his hands pressing against the bed, arms rigid.

Syrene once again looked over her shoulder at Navy, still watching intently. But this time, she straightened off the doorframe. “I’ll go prepare tea,” she said drily, before seeing herself out.

Syrene turned to Vendrik. Maybe she should’ve decided to wait—give him time.

But that was the problem. They didn’t have time.

“I need everything you have on Felset.” She leaned against the wall beside the door.

“Surely Azryle has already filled you in—he knows no less than I do.” His voice was like the creak of a door.

“Oh, but he does,” she said. “I want everything you’ve learned this past year.” Her tone was demanding—more than she’d intended. Colder.

A muscle at his unburned shoulder twitched. The slightest movement—but she caught it. And it was enough to tell her that he did bear crucial information.

“I need to know everything you have, Vendrik.”

Silence.

“Do you know any weaknesses? Do you, by any chance, know what she’s planning to do—”

She heard the sharp intake of his breath, watched as his whole body tensed, as he fisted the bedsheet in a near-shaking grip, as sweat appeared at his nape.

Syrene straightened off the wall. Was it the fire? Was it going to burst out because she was near—

But her presence shouldn’t have any impact now that she’d trapped Drothiker—

Only then Syrene took in the closed window. The shut door. The dim lights. The cold temperature. And then her own questioning—brusque and demanding.

It all felt too much like a cell. An interrogation.

Vendrik was bracing himself for a blow.

Due to Drothiker, he probably felt her presence like he felt Felset—the device had been forged of the queen’s power after all.

Syrene didn’t know whether to be upset or just pity the man. She simply opened the door and turned on more lights.

“I’m not her, Vendrik.” His muscles relaxed slightly at that. “If you’re unable to answer now, I can return later. But it has to be soon. I— We cannot afford to get her any—”

“She’s planning to open a portal.”

Syrene paused. Her breath caught.

“It’s going to be an assault—there will be no defense from our side. Because she’s learned how to take human bodies hosts for her baeselk. As soon as they stream into this world, Vegreka will be humans no more, and Grestel would turn into feast, since their bodies are mortal—unable to hold those … things.”

Is that why the queen had wished to know how Syrene had made the Plunge? When she’d believed Syrene to be a Grestel—because she wished to take Grestel as hosts too—

Vendrik took a long, shuddering breath.

Then he began a tale of Aegestan and Rukrasit. The refusal to aid by her ancestor, Grinon Alpenstride. The takeover of Rukrasit by Felset’s brother. The betrayal. And then, the story of this world—Lavestia. A world situated at the top of the stack of papers, as Eliver would put it.

“But she—” Syrene found it difficult to breathe. “She can’t open that wide portal without—without Drothiker.”

Vendrik lifted to his feet, and ambled towards the small window. Then he leaned against the wall beside it, across from Syrene. Facing her.

“What is Drothiker made of, Syrene?”

She swallowed. “Felset’s power …”

Vendrik lifted his fist and uncurled a finger, counting. “And?”

She rubbed at her face. “The power of all five otsatyas combined.”

He uncurled another finger. “Other than Drothiker, what other way could all otsatyas’ power be acquired?”

Her hands were shaking, now. “Kaerions.”

“Felset has her own power.” He curled the first finger. “Now all she needs is the power of the otsatyas.” The last finger went down. “She already knows all their whereabouts.”

“She can still be stopped,” she breathed. “There has to be a way—”

“There is. Kill the Kaerions.”

She stilled. “What? If Kaerions are dead, then—”

“Then what?”

“You’re forgetting Drothiker would still live. You’re forgetting the bigger destruction forthcoming. Deisn bought Ianov centuries at most—but those centuries are bound to end someday. Kaerions need to remain alive to stop the annihilation if we don’t have any alternative solution when we’re out of time and choices.”

Vendrik shook his head. “Don’t you see it, Syrene?”

She waited.

“Ianov is bound to die. Felset cannot be stopped. Baeselk will raid Lavestia. Hosts would never die—they would be trapped in their own minds for eternity, behind a thick cloud of darkness, unable to reach their own bodies. That’s worse than Saqa—worse than any Hell. You and I and Azryle and everyone we know will be imprisoned in the worst kind of cell. The only salvation you can offer them—us—is death.” Syrene refused to decipher his words. “Let Ianov end, Syrene. Kill the Kaerions, when the borrowed time ends, let the planet destroy itself.”

Vendrik had lost his damned mind. That was the only explanation. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—go there. That could not be the end waiting for them. For her. “You’re asking me to annihilate the goddamn planet.” The shaking in her hands had worsened. “Do you comprehend the lives—” She balled her hands into tight fists.

“You have three Kaerions under your roof.” His voice was plain cold now. “You know how to give a painless death.”

“Felset is not winning,” she told him, her jaw clenching at his ridiculous suggestion. Then—

His words sunk.

“There are only two Kaerions in this building. You and I. I’m sure as Saqa not killing myself—”

“There are three Kaerions.” The unwavering certainty in his voice had Syrene bracing herself. “You, I, and …”

His amber eyes went to the doorway, just as Navy appeared at the threshold, bearing tea in her hands. She paused when Vendrik’s eyes found her.

Syrene’s heart paused dead in her chest.

No.

No, no, no.

She tried to catch her gaze—waited for her to deny the silly claims, but Navy only stared at the firebreather, visibly avoiding Syrene’s gaze.

Only then Syrene heeded the sharp thrum in her mejest. In Drothiker. Stronger than it should have been.

Because there wasn’t only one other Kaerion present here.

There were two.

Three Elite Kaerions under one roof.

Syrene’s lungs felt as if they were being pressed down. She couldn’t breathe. There was no air to take in.

She needed to get out—she had to get out—

Then she was storming out of the apartment. Out of the building.

Renavy Yevlou. Heir to the Otsatya of Waters, held the power of the otsatya. Born to pay the debt.

She heard someone call her name. But Syrene didn’t halt.

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