The private room Ashlynn led Ollie to was simple but clean. More than anything, the Broken Blade was a tavern, a place for travelers and merchants to stop for food that was cheap, ale that was strong, and hosts that listened to every word that slipped past tired, drunken lips for news that might be of value to the legendary Black Merchant, Marcel.
It wasnât a proper inn, but still, it had a few rooms for special âpatronsâ of the Broken Blade and its mysterious owner. There wasnât much to the room beyond a small bed, a washstand, and a chest for personal effects. The room was lit by a trio of simple, tallow candles that cast dancing shadows across the wooden walls, and a single narrow window looked out over the darkened street below.
Ashlynn helped Ollie settle onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were gentle, but her emerald eyes were still shadowed with worry. Even after the healing sheâd given him downstairs, she could see the tremor in his steps. When he climbed the stairs, leaning on her for support, she felt the way he held himself too carefully, as if afraid sudden movement might shatter something fragile inside.
"How do you feel?" she asked quietly, taking a seat next to him on the narrow bed so that she could continue to support him while they talked.
"Better," Ollie said, and it was true enough. The crushing exhaustion that had threatened to pull him under had eased, and the constant ache in his bones had faded to a dull background throb. "Whatever you did earlier helped a lot. I think I could even manage some light witchcraft if I needed to."
"Not too much," he said quickly when he saw Ashlynnâs darkening expression. "Just enough to use these," he said, resting his hand on the pommel of Frost Fang after brushing his fingertips across the hilt of the darksteel cleaver that had been the first fighting knife Marcel taught him how to use.
"Donât," Ashlynn said sharply, her hand shooting out to grip his wrist, holding it so tightly that Ollie could feel the bones of his wrist pressing together. "Ollie, donât use any of your power. Not even the little bit that it takes to use your cleaver. Not until Iâve had a chance to heal you properly."
Ollie blinked at the intensity in her voice, and more than that, at the fear he saw lurking behind her emerald eyes.
"I know you only healed me enough to stop things from getting worse," he said carefully. "And I know I pushed myself too far in order to heal Lady Cerys. But Iâve recovered from exhaustion before. It just takes time and rest, doesnât it?"
"I can hang on for a few more days," Ollie promised. "Iâll be careful. With you and Isabell here, not to mention Marcel and Ignatious, you wonât need me for much. And when itâs over, I promise to go back home to recuperate. Iâm sure Old Nan wonât mind watching over me for a few days, or even weeks, and Iâll be good as new by spring."
Ashlynnâs grip on his wrist tightened enough that he grimaced, and for a moment she seemed to struggle with something. Then, slowly, she released him and reached into the small leather pouch at her belt.
"Thereâs something I need to show you," she said quietly. "Something Nyrielle and I created before I left the Vale. We were... We were preparing for the possibility that the Church might have surprises waiting for us. Weapons or warriors we couldnât anticipate. Things that might threaten even you or Ignatious," she said, looking deeply into his pale eyes to make sure he understood.
Loman Lothian had been a horrifying surprise for Sybyllâs forces during the assault on Hanrahan. Everyone knew about his powers as a healer, and that one day, he might ascend to one of the Churchâs highest positions as an Exemplar. But Loman had built his reputation in Lothian March as a healer, and even when he helped Liam Dunn in the young lordâs most recent campaign against the outlying villages this summer, Loman had confined himself to the healerâs tents.
No one had expected that he would command the fearsome sorcery of Exemplar Domas Onaitis, the Emissary of the Ascended Archer. That surprise had cost Lord Jalal his arm and very nearly his life, and dozens more had died to Lomanâs rain of luminous arrows. If the Church had managed to keep the truth of Lomanâs powers concealed, even while rumors of his future ascendance swirled, then who knew what else they might be concealing within the Lothian temple?
Nyrielle understood very well how terrifying the Church could be when it was willing to make the sacrifices necessary to summon its full might. That was one of the reasons sheâd only directly attacked Lothian City once, in order to avenge her parents and her grandsire, Torbin.
Now that Ashlynn was preparing to venture into the heart of the lionâs den, she did everything she could to help ensure that Ashlynn and her loved ones would come home from this final confrontation with the Lothians safely, and one of those preparations lay nestled in the pouch at Ashlynnâs waist.
Slowly, Ashlynn drew out a small object wrapped in a soft, midnight blue piece of cloth, handling it with reverent care as she peeled back the layers to reveal the treasure that lay within.
Before he even saw it, Ollieâs breath caught in his chest. He could feel the intense energy resting just beneath the thin layer of fabric, and when Ashlynn pulled the last corner of the dark fabric aside, Ollieâs eyes opened wide in surprise.
Resting in Ashlynnâs palm was an acorn unlike any heâd ever seen. It was larger than a normal acorn, nearly the size of a chickenâs egg, and its surface seemed to shimmer with an inner light that shifted between deep crimson, midnight blue, and rich emerald green. The cap was crafted from what looked like darkened wood, almost black, with intricate patterns carved into its surface that seemed to move and flow like living vines even as he watched.
"Itâs beautiful," Ollie whispered, unable to look away from the mesmerizing play of light across its surface.
"Itâs called a Blood Acorn," Ashlynn said softly. "Itâs a combination of Nyrielleâs blood sorcery and my witchcraft, created with not just Virveâs help, but the help of the Ancient Oak itself. We were only able to make three of them," she said, pausing as her fingers curled protectively around the acorn.
She wished that sheâd had more time to prepare these. More than that, she wished that sheâd never need to use one of them, because they were intended as a last hope against the most dire of disasters they could imagine. And now, before sheâd even reached Lothian City, she was already preparing to use one of them...