Page 91 of Fated By Fire
“Nice place,” I say as I take in the tall pillars and mullioned windows.
“She calls it home.” Caleb shrugs. “And it’ll have to do until we can get back to the Towers. There’s far too much attention there right now. She’s got adequate facilities for us—her home hosted many clan meetings before the Towers were constructed.”
I mull over this for a moment, struck by the amount of history held in these walls. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to—surrounding myself with beings who’ve seen more in their lifetimes than I can even begin to comprehend.
The meeting room isn’t what I expected. No dripping caves or bone thrones. Just a large, old-world room dominated by a heavy walnut table with a giant chandelier suspended over it. Gold-wallpapered walls with huge, framed portraits of stern-faced men in old-fashioned clothing. A rearing horse battling a dragon. The place looks like it could be the set for some sort of period-piece movie. I half expect a Jane Austen character to come swanning in wearing a ball gown.
The elders sit around the table, their expressions stoic. Lydia is at the head, her silver braid coiled like a crown, her eyes already locked on me. Luke sits beside her, his arms folded over a chestthat’s more muscle than man. We may have faced a powerful enemy together just hours ago, but there’s no friendly familiarity now. I’m here to prove myself.
“So,” Luke’s voice booms. “The human thinks she’s one of us.”
Caleb’s grip tightens on my waist, his tone sharp. “Watch your tongue.”
Lydia raises a hand, her voice calm but commanding. “Enough. The Stone has spoken. Caleb has chosen. Show us your mark, girl.”
I shrug off my jacket and tug the neckline of my sweater away to reveal my neck; the mate mark glows faintly over my pulse. The mark mirrors Caleb’s own, a perfect match. Luke’s nostrils flare, but Lydia leans forward, her ancient eyes narrowing as she studies it.
“The mate mark,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Craven and Rossewyn. The circle is complete.”
I cross my arms, feigning nonchalance. “So, what—I get a membership card now?”
Lydia raises an eyebrow at my sarcasm, and I instantly regret it, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking it back.
She observes me for a moment as if considering this before she speaks. “The bond is forged. The Stone accepts her. But loyalty…” She slides a dagger across the table, its blade smoking faintly. “…must be earned.”
Caleb growls, an unmistakable threat in his voice. “Lydia—”
“It’s fine,” I interject, picking up the dagger. The hilt sears my palm, but I don’t flinch. “What’s the play? Blood oath? Trial by combat? Tea ceremony?”
Lydia almost smiles, a flicker of amusement in her cold eyes. “A simple question. Why do you fight?”
The room falls silent, all eyes on me. My mind races with a dozen answers—because I’m broke. Because Malakai took my mother. Because I’m sick of assholes thinking they own thedamn world.But the Heartstone pulses in my pocket, and the truth spills out unbidden.
“Because someone has to burn the rot away.”
Lydia studies me, her expression unreadable. “Naive. But honest. Place your blood on the stone.”
I slice my palm, wincing as crimson drips onto the glowing crystal. The room floods with light, blinding and intense. Visions flicker in the smoke—Lyria battling Malakai’s ancestors. The Heartstone fracturing.
Fracturing!
I suck in a breath and snatch my hand away. “What the hell is that?” I rasp, my voice shaking.
“What?” Luke tilts his head.
“I saw… I saw…” I swallow hard.
“She has the gift of sight,” someone whispers.
“Tell us what you saw,” Lydia presses.
“It cracked,” I whisper as I picture it again. “A shard. A dark shard of the Heartstone. But it’s gone.”
Lydia’s face tightens. “The Lost Shard. A fragment split during the First War. Its location died with Lyria. For centuries, we hoped it was buried… or destroyed.”
Caleb steps closer, his voice steady but laced with concern. “But now?”
“We know Malakai’s attack wasn’t random. He soughther.” Lydia nods at me.
