Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 47

The thick scent of stale ale, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies hits me the moment we cross the threshold of the inn. It’s a massive, chaotic labyrinth of a place, packed to the rafters with rowdy regulars slamming tankards onto sticky tables. Men with no dignity shout over the roar of the crowd, while women dressed in cheap silks work the smoke-filled rooms for coin, laughing loudly at terrible jokes just to empty a traveller’s pockets.

I slide into a wooden booth tucked away in the farthest, darkest corner of the back wall, trying to shrink into the shadows. Kaelen leaves me there for a moment, his towering frame cutting a stark, commanding path through the chaos as he heads toward the heavy wooden bar to find the proprietor and secure us a room.

As he walks away, my eyes follow him—and I'm definitely not the only one.

I watch, my jaw tightening, as two of the working women pause mid-stride, their eyes scanning up his broad back and lingering on the sheer breadth of his shoulders. One of them bites her lip, whispering something to her companion as they gaze after him a little too fondly. A hot, territorial prickle flares up in my chest, but before I can get completely lost in my own scowl, Kaelen turns back around. He completely ignores the heavy stares aimed at him, his moss-green eyes locked entirely on me as he navigates the crowd and slides into the bench across from me.

"The place is too busy for my liking," I mutter over the din, leaning in so he can hear me over a group of drunkards singing a slurred sea shanty three tables over. "And apparently, the local view is very popular."

Kaelen lets out a low, dry chuckle, though his eyes are entirely serious as he scans our immediate surroundings, his hand instinctively resting near his belt. "It’s a tavern near a trade route, Red. It’s always going to be loud. But we have a room. The barkeep is having the keys brought up now."

He leans across the table, his gaze dropping to my hidden, raw hands. "We get a drink, we look for a target for your memory walk, and then we get upstairs. Deal?"

“By target you mean a room, right? There’s no chance I can straddle you and hold a stone that makes me glow in a room full of people, the straddle part I’d do but not the glowing”

A sudden, choked sound leaves Kaelen’s throat, and he coughs rapidly into his fist, his entire face flushing a deep, sudden crimson. He stares at me across the sticky table, his moss-green eyes wide with absolute, stunned disbelief.

"I meant a memory target, Iris," he manages to get out, his voice a strained, low hiss as he leans across the table, desperately trying to keep our conversation completely private over the roar of the tavern. "Someone with a fresh, useful memory we can extract for directions."

He glances quickly around the rowdy room, making sure none of the nearby drunkards are paying attention to us, before his gaze snaps right back to me. The embarrassment fades into a dark, smouldering heat that completely replaces the exhaustion in his eyes. A slow, wicked grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his voice dropping into a rough, dangerous whisper.

"But I like your interpretation a hell of a lot better," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto mine with a heavy, deliberate intensity. "And for the record... I am holding you to that first part the absolute second, we are behind a locked door. Glowing or not."

He straightens up slightly as a young tavern maid scurries past, dropping a heavy iron key onto our table with a distracted nod before disappearing back into the crowd. Kaelen covers the key with his large hand, his fingers sliding it closer to me.

"The room is at the top of the stairs, end of the hall," he says, his voice thick with a sudden, tense anticipation. "Let's find our target quickly so we can get up there. I think we've both waited long enough."

My smug smile falters, replaced by a sudden wave of confusion. I stare at him across the table, my brow furrowing as his words sink in.

"Are you trying to avoid me using the stone because of what happened last time?" I ask, my voice dropping into a quiet, serious hiss. "Kaelen, I have absolutely no idea how to interrogate someone. That’s your area of expertise, not mine. I can't just pick a stranger out of a crowd and pluck a map out of their head."

I lean in closer over the sticky wood, gesturing subtly between us.

"The only way I can get memories—the only way I know how to find a direction for us to head in—is by using the stone to talk to my mother. The way Aster taught me." I shake my head, a sudden realization dawning on me as I look at the tight, protective line of his jaw. "You're trying to pivot, aren't you? You don't want me touching that magic again after how much it tore into me yesterday."

Kaelen doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at his hand resting over the iron room key, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table. The sudden, wicked heat that had been in his eyes just a moment ago completely evaporates, replaced by that heavy, agonizingly familiar tension.

He lets out a long, slow breath through his nose, his broad shoulders dropping just a fraction. When he finally looks back up at me, the truth is written plain across his face.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice rough and incredibly quiet beneath the roar of the tavern. "Yeah, Iris, I am."

He leans in further, his moss-green eyes fierce with a protective, desperate intensity. "Yesterday almost destroyed you. You were shaking, and for a few minutes, I didn't think you were going to come back to me at all. So, excuse me if my first instinct isn't to shove that glowing piece of rock back into your hands the second we get a moment of peace."

He reaches across the table, his fingers gently brushing against my bandaged wrist, careful to avoid the raw skin of my knuckles.

"I know it's how Aster taught you. I know it's our only real lead," he murmurs, his jaw clenching. "But I'm terrified of what it's doing to you, Red. I can interrogate a man, sure. I can break a spy or pull information out of a smuggler with my bare hands. But I can't fight a goddamn ghost inside your head, and I can't protect you from a magic I don't understand."

He looks at me, his gaze searching mine, completely open and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be. "If we do this... if you go back into that stone tonight, you have to promise me you'll let me be that anchor. No running. No pulling away. You take me with you."

The tight, white-knuckled grip Kaelen has on the edge of the table eases slightly as my fingers slide over his. I squeeze his large hand firmly, grounding him before he actually manages to splinter the wood.

"Ok," I say, my voice steady, leaving no room for argument. "We will be smart about this. Last time I was under for too long, but we know better now."

I lean in closer, mapping out the plan so he can see the logic, so he can see that I am trying to survive this just as much as he wants me to.

"You count my heartbeats," I instruct, keeping my eyes locked on his intense, moss-green gaze. "If I am not back before beat 120, you pull me out. No hesitation, no waiting. And you keep talking to me while I'm under. Whisper sweet words in my ear, keep me focused on your voice, keep me anchored to you. I'll also take the elixir Aster gave me before we start. How does that sound?"

Kaelen stares at me, his chest rising and falling in deep, deliberate breaths as he processes the conditions. I can see the calculating warrior in him weighing the risks, measuring the 120 beats—just about two minutes—against the terrifying vastness of the magic. The mention of the elixir seems to give him a fraction of peace, his rigid posture softening just enough for him to turn his hand over and interlace his fingers tightly with mine.

"One hundred and twenty beats," he repeats, his voice a low, gravelly vow. "Not a single breath longer. If I have to rip that stone from your hands and drag you back myself, I will."

He squeezes my hand, a dark, fiercely possessive warmth returning to his eyes as he leans in even closer. "And as for the whispering... you have a deal, Red. I’ll make sure you can’t hear anything else but me."

He slides the iron room key out from under his palm and pushes it into my hand. "Drink the rest of your ale. We're going up."

All was well, until the moment that heavy, grease-stained hand clamps down on my shoulder, the tavern around us seems to drop into a sudden, suffocating silence.