Chapter 8 – Beneath the Black Crown
The Grove seemed to recoil from her.
Light dimmed as the woman stepped forward, roots curling inward as though trying to retreat into the earth. The glow of the Heart-tree flickered, its steady rhythm faltering for the first time since we had entered the Waking Grove.
She walked without haste, her boots never quite touching the ground. Dead leaves clung to her cloak, though no wind stirred. The crown upon her head—woven from blackened roots and ash-pale bark—pulsed faintly with blue fire, casting sharp shadows across her face.
Kael moved instantly, placing himself half a step in front of me. His sword slid free with a whisper of steel. "Don't come any closer."
The woman stopped just beyond the reach of the tree's light. Her gaze flicked to Kael, assessing, dismissive. Then it returned to me.
"You look just like her," she said softly.
My throat tightened. "Like who?"
Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "The last heir who knelt here and begged the forest to forgive her."
The mark on my chest flared violently, heat surging through my veins. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay upright. "You know about the Heart."
"I know it better than anyone," she replied. "I helped shape its laws. I watched it choose its favorites—and punish those who disappointed it."
Kael's blade angled higher. "Name yourself."
She sighed, as though bored by the question. "Once, I was Queen Maereth of Lysara. Sister to the woman you saw in the memories. Guardian of the western roots." Her eyes darkened. "Now, I am what remains."
The words echoed in the cavern.
"That's impossible," Kael said flatly. "The histories say the queen died when the Shadow rose."
Maereth's laughter was soft and brittle. "Histories are written by survivors, child of steel. I was not permitted to survive."
The Heart-tree shuddered. Its light flared, then dimmed again, as if struggling against something unseen.
"You're poisoning this place," I said, anger cutting through my fear. "The Grove doesn't want you here."
Maereth's gaze sharpened. "The Grove remembers me," she corrected. "It fears me because it should."
She lifted her hand.
The Nightfangs at the edge of the Grove moved as one, blades drawn, their armor etched with symbols that crawled like living things. They did not rush us. They waited.
"You opened the Heart," Maereth continued. "That was never meant to happen again. Do you know how many died to seal it? How much blood it took to keep the forest breathing?"
Kael glanced at me, jaw tight. "Don't listen to her."
"I'm listening," I said quietly. "Because someone has been lying for centuries."
Maereth inclined her head. "Good. Then listen closely."
She stepped forward again. The roots beneath her feet blackened, veins of blue fire threading through them. The Heart-tree groaned, its light flickering violently.
"The Shadow was not born of cruelty," Maereth said. "It was born of fear. Fear that Lysara would fade. Fear that the forest would choose a different people. So the court bound the Heart to a single bloodline. Your bloodline."
My breath caught.
"They turned the forest into a throne," she went on. "And when it resisted, when it demanded balance, they called it corruption. They called me corruption—for refusing to kill it outright."
Kael took a step forward. "So you unleashed the Shadow."
Maereth's eyes flashed. "No. I became its cage."
The Grove shook.
Roots burst from the ground without warning, slamming into Kael's side and throwing him hard against the stone. I screamed his name as his sword skidded across the floor, clattering to a stop near the glowing pools.
"Kael!"
He groaned, struggling to push himself up.
The Nightfangs surged forward.
Instinct exploded through me.
The mark on my chest burned white-hot, and light poured from my hands—wild, uncontrolled. The nearest Nightfang was flung backward, armor cracking as he struck the cavern wall. Another raised his blade, only for roots to coil around his legs and drag him screaming into the earth.
I stared at my hands, shaking.
"I didn't—" I whispered.
Maereth watched with open fascination. "There it is," she murmured. "The Heart answering without permission."
Kael staggered to his feet, retrieving his sword. Blood ran from a cut above his brow, but his eyes burned with fury. "Get away from her."
Maereth turned to him slowly. "You'd die for her."
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
The word hung between us, heavy and undeniable.
For a heartbeat, something unreadable crossed Maereth's face. Then she stepped back, raising her hand again—not in attack, but in command.
The Nightfangs froze.
"This ends soon," she said to me. "The Heart will demand its due. When it does, you will have to choose—rule a dying forest, or destroy the throne that's strangling it."
She met my gaze, voice dropping to a whisper. "Either way, Lysara will never be what it was."
The roots withdrew. The pressure eased.
Maereth turned, her form already dissolving into shadow. "Find me when you're ready to hear the rest of the truth, little heir."
And then she was gone.
The Grove fell silent.
The Heart-tree's light steadied, though it burned dimmer than before.
Kael exhaled shakily and sheathed his sword. He looked at me—not as a soldier, not as a guardian—but as someone standing at the edge of something vast and terrible.
"You scared me," he said quietly.
"I scared myself," I admitted.
He hesitated, then rested his forehead briefly against mine. Just for a moment. Just enough.
"We'll face it together," he said. "Whatever the forest demands."
The Heart pulsed once, deep and slow.
And far beneath us, the roots shifted—rearranging, preparing.
Because the forest had heard everything.
And it was deciding what to take in return.