Later that evening, the castle halls buzzed with whispers. The king had locked himself away, and his council met in hushed tones. But Roman and Snora had their own council—hiding behind barrels in the stables, the pendant between them.
Snora turned the silver charm in her fingers. "The Tree of Chains," she murmured. "I've seen it before… in the healer's scrolls. It's an old sigil. Forbidden magic. A house long thought extinct."
Roman crouched beside her, eyes glowing with curiosity. "A house with a secret, maybe? What if the envoy found something in Graythorn—something tied to them?"
Before Snora could answer, the stable door creaked. They froze.
In walked Thorn, the blacksmith's son—broad-shouldered, soot-smudged, and always frowning. He glanced at them and crossed his arms.
"I saw you two slip that pendant. You think I'm deaf?" He stepped closer. "You're messing with things above your heads."
Roman tensed. "You gonna tell?"
Thorn hesitated, then snatched the pendant. "No. I'm coming with you."
Snora blinked. "With us where?"
"To Graythorn," Thorn said. "That symbol… it was branded on my mother's wrist. She never spoke of it. Said it was cursed blood."
The three of them sat in silence. Outside, the wind howled like it carried a warning.
Just then, a figure slipped into the stable's shadows. A girl with a hood pulled low and a confident smirk.
"Not to interrupt," she said, "but if you're heading into Graythorn, you'll want someone who knows how to pick a lock."
Elia, dressed like a thief but speaking like a noble, tossed a dagger into the wood post beside them.
Snora raised a brow. "And who exactly are you?"
Elia smiled slyly. "Let's just say I'm no one… officially. But unofficially, I have reason to believe that envoy wasn't just lost. He was taken."
Roman's mind raced. The pendant. The cursed keep. A noble girl in hiding. And now Thorn's family secret.
One thing was certain—Graythorn held answers.
And they were going to find them.