🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Sixteen: 16
Veymoor rose like a dagger from the mountain.
Stone towers carved into cliffsides. Walkways stretching like spiderwebs across chasms. Winds so strong they could lift a cloak from your shoulders and toss it into the clouds.
And above it all stood the palace: Blackcrown Spire, carved from obsidian and bone-white marble, guarded by statues with no eyes.
Draven stared at it from the high trail. "It doesn't feel like a city."
"It's not," Elira said softly. "It's a warning."
They entered through the lower gate under false names—Elira's runes masked Draven's mark and dulled the glow beneath Callen's skin.
"Don't speak of the Moonblood here," she warned. "Not even in a whisper."
Veymoor's guards wore bone armor and white hoods. They carried curved blades with no hilts, their fingers wrapped in iron rings.
Inside the city, everything felt cold.
No laughter. No color. No warmth.
Only stone.
Only silence.
The group rented a room in a tower-inn built into the cliff wall. At night, they could see the whole valley below—clouds swirling like rivers of mist.
But Draven barely slept.
That night, the moon rose full—and the locket pulsed softly against his chest.
He dreamt.
Not of fire.
Not of war.
But of a girl.
She stood in a field of feathers. Her eyes were silver. Her hands were red.
"My name," she said, "is Syrien.
The bound flame. The third blade.
If you seek me… beware the mirror."
When he awoke, his skin was cold.
And the moon was still glowing, even as dawn rose.
Callen sat at the edge of the balcony, legs swinging over the cliff. His hand glowed faintly.
"Did you feel it too?" Draven asked.
Callen nodded slowly. "I saw the same girl. But she said something different to me."
"What did she say?"
Callen looked away.
"Only one of you can carry the third name."
That evening, the invitation arrived.
A scroll, sealed with black wax bearing the Hollow Duke's mark: a silver mouth without a tongue.
It read:
"To the travelers of shadow and song,
His Grace welcomes you to a feast of quiet teeth.
Come clothed in courtesy.
And do not speak your real names."
Elira cursed under her breath. "He knows we're here."
"But not who we are?" Draven asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet."
Blackcrown Spire was colder than outside.
No candles.
No voices.
Just halls lined with mirrors, and guards who moved without sound.
The feast hall was long and low. Dozens of guests sat at shadowed tables. No one ate. They just watched.
At the far end sat the Hollow Duke.
He was thin, skin pale and stretched. His mouth had no lips, just a line of shadow stitched into his face. His eyes were bright red.
He rose as they entered.
And smiled without smiling.
"Welcome," he said in a voice too smooth, too empty. "Your presence here is... noticed."
He gestured to a table already set for them.
"Sit. Eat. Drink. And tell me… have you come to find a girl named Syrien?"
Draven froze.
So did Elira.
Callen reached under the table, gripping Draven's hand tight.
They'd walked into a trap.
Far below the palace, something stirred behind the mirrors.
A whisper.
A laugh.
A third name.
Waiting.