Page 30 of Shattered Crown

The wards flared, forcing Thorne back. Their time was up.

“I love you,” they said simultaneously, the words carrying all the longing of their separation.

Then Thorne was back in the safe house, gasping from the effort. Elena steadied him while Briar made worried noises.

“That was foolish,” Elena scolded.

“That was necessary,” Thorne countered.

* * *

Elena foundhim in the basement garden at midnight, pacing between the ancient oak's roots like a caged animal. The tree's branches trembled in sympathy with his agitation, leaves rustling without wind. Luminescent fungi cast an eerie blue glow across the stone walls, and the air smelled of earth and old magic.

“You'll wear a groove in the earth if you keep that up,” she said, settling onto a moss-covered stone. Her dark hair was unbound for once, falling in waves around her shoulders, and she wore a simple linen dress rather than her usual traveling clothes. The informality made her seem younger, more approachable.

Thorne didn't pause in his pacing. “I can feel him getting further away. Not physically, but... the bond feels strained. Muffled.”

“The palace wards are designed to do exactly that,” Elena replied, pulling a worn leather journal from her satchel. The book was thick with age, its pages yellowed and edges soft from centuries of handling. “My ancestors documented similar tactics during the last guardian purge.”

That got his attention. He stopped, turning to face her. “Your family kept records?”

“We kept everything.” She opened the journal, revealing pages covered in coded script interspersed with detailed drawings. “Guard rotations, ward patterns, which nobles could be trusted, which foods were safe for guardians to eat in human form. My grandmother made me memorize it all before I could read properly.”

Thorne moved closer, drawn despite himself. The journal smelled of lavender and age, preservation spells woven into its binding. “How far back do these records go?”

“To the beginning,” Elena said softly. “To Lysander and the first Elena. Their story isn't what your histories claim.”

Briar materialized from the shadows, her small form glowing faintly as she perched on Elena's shoulder. Tonight she wore a crown of tiny white flowers that cast their own light.

Elena flipped to a detailed diagram of the palace grounds, annotated with symbols Thorne didn't recognize. Unlike official maps, this one showed hidden passages, forgotten chambers, and something more—lines of power that coursed beneath the stone like veins of light.

“See these marks?” Elena traced a finger along a curving line. “They indicate weak points in the magical defenses. Places where the ley lines run too close to the surface for even royal mages to fully suppress. The palace was built on an ancient guardian site. They tried to bind the power, but earth magic isn't so easily chained.”

“You're suggesting infiltration,” Thorne said, leaning closer to study the map. The detail was extraordinary—every gargoyle, every hidden door, every shift in the stonework marked with precision.

“I'm suggesting patience and planning.” Her tone sharpened. “Which seems to be in short supply with you.”

Thorne's form flickered with irritation. “Every moment we delay?—”

“Every moment we delay is a moment we're not walking into a trap,” Elena cut him off. “You think you're the first guardian to try a direct assault on the palace? The stones are still stained with their blood. Here.” She flipped to another page, this one showing a list of names and dates. “Guardian Shira, 1453, attempted to rescue her human lover from the dungeons. They found pieces of her scattered across three counties. Guardian Moren, 1582, tried to storm the throne room during a full moon. His antlers still decorate the king's private study.”

The rebuke stung, but Thorne couldn't deny its truth. He sank onto another stone, suddenly weary. “Then what do you propose?”

Elena's expression softened slightly. “First, we need to understand what we're really up against.” She turned to another page, this one depicting ritual circles drawn with mathematical precision. “These binding ceremonies require specific components, specific timing. If we can disrupt even one element...”

“The whole thing falls apart,” Briar finished, hopping from Elena's shoulder to examine the diagrams more closely. “Like pulling a thread from a tapestry.”

“The components list is particularly interesting,” Elena continued, pointing to a section written in what looked like alchemical notation. “Dragon's blood—not actual dragon's blood, but the resin. Moonstone ground under a new moon. Water from a spring that's never seen sunlight. They're gathering traditional binding elements, but there's something else. Something they're trying to hide.”

She pulled out another, newer document—a shipping manifest she'd somehow acquired. “Look at these entries. Iron filings, yes, that's expected. But why would they need so much salt from the Dead Sea? And what's this—'specialized containment vessels, lead-lined, quantity twelve'?”

Thorne studied the manifest, his ancient mind parsing the implications. “They're not just trying to bind guardian magic. They're trying to store it.”

“Exactly.” Elena's eyes gleamed with the thrill of discovery. “This isn't just about controlling you or the Eldergrove. They want to harvest guardian magic itself, bottle it like wine.”

As the night deepened, Elena revealed more of her family's hidden knowledge. She showed him correspondence between her ancestors and various guardian enclaves, creating a picture of a vast underground network that had survived centuries of persecution.

“We've had people inside the palace for generations,” she explained, pulling out a thin sheet that proved to be a floor plan drawn on near-transparent paper. “Servants, minor nobles, even a few guards. They pass information through dead drops, coded messages in laundry lists, that sort of thing.”

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