Page 53 of Shattered Crown

“How much further?” he asked, trying to keep the strain from his voice.

“Not far now,” Lyra replied. “The exit is near the old aqueduct. From there, we can blend with the morning market crowds.”

They emerged through a concealed door disguised as part of a crumbling wall, stepping into the merchants' quarter where the pre-dawn air carried scents of fresh bread and horse manure. Lyra quickly checked their surroundings, then distributed travel supplies she'd prepared.

“Quickly,” she urged. “Sebastian's people are already searching the noble district. We have maybe an hour before they expand to the rest of the city.”

Silas shrugged into a rough wool cloak that itched against his skin. The simple clothes felt strange after weeks of court finery, but also oddly liberating. As he adjusted his collar, he thought of Diana and Kai, still in the palace, risking everything to buy them time.

They moved quickly through awakening streets, keeping to alleys and side passages. Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls, the early morning bustle providing cover for their group. Lyra led with confident purpose, clearly familiar with urban escape routes. She moved like someone who had spent years learning to be invisible in plain sight.

They had just reached the city's outer wall when Silas doubled over, gasping. The bond blazed to life with overwhelming intensity, nearly dropping him to his knees. Images flooded his mind: burning trees wreathed in unnatural flames, spirits screaming as binding spells tore them from their anchors, and Thorne—god, Thorne dissolving into pure energy, spreading himself impossibly thin to hold failing defenses.

“Silas!” Lyra caught him as his legs gave out. “What's happening?”

“Thorne,” Silas managed through gritted teeth. The pain wasn't physical but emotional, spiritual. He could feel his guardian's agony, his desperation, his terrible resolve. “He's pushing himself too far. The forest is falling, and he's—” Another wave of sensation cut off his words.

Lyra supported him as the vision continued. He experienced Thorne's transformation firsthand, felt the terrible cost of unleashing ancient power. The guardian was burning through centuries of accumulated strength in moments, sacrificing pieces of himself to save what remained of the Eldergrove.

As the connection faded to manageable levels, Silas found himself on his hands and knees, trembling. “Everything we thought we knew,” he whispered. “It's all wrong.”

“What did you see?” Lyra demanded, her scholarly curiosity overriding concern.

Silas shared Thorne's revelation, watching as understanding dawned on Lyra's face.

“Father suspected as much,” she breathed. “He's been saying for years that we were fighting the wrong battle.”

“Then we need to hurry,” Silas said, pushing himself to his feet. His legs felt weak, but determination kept him upright.

Lyra nodded grimly. “Father's gathered allies from across the realms, those who've seen the shadow entity's true nature. If anyone can help us understand what's happening, it's them.”

They quickened their pace along the forest path, Silas's mind racing with the memory of the mysterious letter and its mention of the thornless rose—Nathaniel's sign. The answers they sought were close, but so were their enemies.

As if summoned by that thought, shouts echoed from behind them.

“Sebastian's men,” Lyra confirmed, peering around a corner. “Moving fast. They must have picked up our trail.”

What followed was a running battle through farmland and forest edges. Lyra's combat magic proved devastating when they couldn't avoid confrontation, her spells combining human structure with guardian fluidity in ways Silas had never seen.

“Down!” Lyra shouted, pulling Silas behind a stone wall as arrows whistled overhead. She traced symbols in the air, creating a barrier that shimmered like heat haze. “This won't hold long. We need to move.”

Silas found himself naturally taking command, his noble training merging with forest knowledge to coordinate their retreat. He guided them through terrain that favored their smaller group, using creek beds and dense thickets to break line of sight.

“Through here,” he directed, leading them into a narrow ravine. “The rocks will mask our trail.”

They splashed through ankle-deep water, the sound covered by a conveniently timed rain shower. Nature itself seemed to be aiding their escape, though Silas wondered if it was coincidence or some lingering protection from his bond with Thorne.

As they traveled, the group's dynamic shifted. Initial wariness gave way to genuine camaraderie. During a rest stop in an abandoned barn, Lyra shared stories of her upbringing in exile.

“There's a whole community of us,” she explained, cleaning her blade with practiced motions. “Not guardians—they're all gone except Thorne. But families like mine, humans who refused to forget the old ways. Father created a resistance network where we could preserve knowledge the crown wanted erased.”

She described how they'd maintained contact with remaining forest spirits and other magical beings who'd gone into hiding. “We keep the old traditions alive,” she continued. “Healing arts, protective spells, ways of reading nature that most humans have forgotten.”

“Must be difficult,” Silas said. “Living between worlds.”

“It has its own challenges.” Lyra's expression turned thoughtful. “When you grow up knowing magic is real while watching others deny it, you learn to be very careful about who you trust. I was sixteen before I truly grasped that most people would kill us for what we practiced.”

As they continued discussing the resistance movement, Silas realized how much had been happening beneath the surface of society. An entire underground network working to preserve knowledge and protect the few magical beings who remained.

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