The silver manacles had left Celesse's wrists aching even after the guards removed them and locked her in the holding cell. Through the bond, she felt Dacian's fury simmering somewhere in the palace—he was under house arrest in the royal wing while she sat on cold stone.
One anchor broken. Four remaining. And they were both prisoners.
Celesse wrapped her arms around herself against the chill. The cell had no windows, just a small grate near the ceiling that let in cold air and distant sounds. Breaking the first anchor had nearly killed Dacian—the violent shift, the loss of control, the way his wolf had turned feral and aggressive. Each anchor they destroyed brought him closer to becoming something he couldn't come back from.
There had to be another way. Some method to disable the hex without tearing him apart in the process.
She needed to go back into the dreamscape. Map the remaining anchors more carefully, understand their structure well enough to find a weakness.
Celesse lay back on the narrow cot and began her preparation. No moonflower oil—they'd confiscated her supplies. She tore a strip from her sleeve for the silk anchor and tied it around her wrist. No silver compass. She'd have to navigate by instinct.
She closed her eyes and pushed.
The transition came harder this time, resisted by exhaustion and the cell's oppressive atmosphere. But she forced herself through, and Dacian's dreamscape forest materialized around her.
Something was wrong. The trees were darker, their branches twisted like claws. The rust-red threads pulsed erratically—the hex was destabilizing with one anchor gone, compensating in ways that made the entire structure more dangerous.
Celesse moved carefully, avoiding the threads. She needed to find the second anchor—the one embedded in the Tithe Bridge. If she could understand its structure before they attempted to break it, maybe she could prevent another violent collapse.
She followed the thread that led toward the bridge's location, navigating dense dreamscape forest where the rust-red filaments formed walls and barriers. After what felt like hours, she found it: the second anchor pulsing in the distance like a crimson heartbeat.
But she wasn't alone.
A figure moved near the anchor—humanoid but blurred, their edges indistinct as if they weren't entirely solid. Another threadwalker. Someone else in the dreamscape.
Celesse froze, watching. The figure knelt beside the second anchor, hands moving in patterns she recognized: advanced weaving, the kind that took years to master. They were manipulating the anchor—not breaking it, but strengthening it, adding new defenses.
The rival threadwalker. The one Marin had hired.
Celesse moved closer, trying to see more clearly. The figure was female, she could tell by body shape and movement. Scars covered her visible skin—thick, raised marks as if she'd been burned or cut repeatedly.
The woman's head snapped up.
Even without clear facial features—the dreamscape didn't always render them—Celesse knew she'd been spotted. The rival straightened and turned to face her.
They stared at each other across the dreamscape. Two threadwalkers, two consciousnesses sharing the same magical space.
Then the rival moved. Her hands wove patterns in the air, and black-violet threads erupted from her fingers. They formed an image between them: Celesse's own face, rendered in thread and shadow, with a thin line drawn across the throat. Blood-red threads dripped from the wound.
A threat. Crystal clear.
Celesse tried to respond, to weave her own counter, but the rival was already moving. She raced toward the second anchor with inhuman speed, her scarred hands touching it with practiced precision.
"No!" Celesse lunged forward, but the rival completed her weaving in seconds. The anchor's defenses flared brighter, reinforced.
Then the rival vanished. Not pulled back to the waking world, but actively disappeared—using a technique Celesse had only read about in old guild texts.
Ash-glamour. A way to mask your presence in the dreamscape, to become invisible to other walkers. It required incredible skill.
Celesse spun, searching for any trace. The woman was gone completely, leaving only a faint scent in the dreamscape air: ash and burnt sage. The same signature she'd detected on Marin.
The second anchor pulsed brighter now, wrapped in new defensive threads. Whatever the rival had done made it harder—maybe impossible—to break safely.
Celesse forced herself awake.
Her body jerked upright on the cot, gasping. The cell materialized around her—cold stone, thin blanket, guards talking outside. Through the bond, she felt Dacian's answering concern. He knew she'd threadwalked, knew something had gone wrong.
She needed to tell him. Needed to warn him about the rival, about the strengthened defenses.
But she was locked in a cell with no way to reach him.
Celesse stood and pressed her ear against the door. The guards were changing shifts, their voices drifting through.
"—King's under house arrest until the tribunal—"
"—evidence against the threadwalker. Grayclaw's pushing for execution—"
Her blood went cold. They were building a case. If they executed her or exiled her beyond the bond's distance, Dacian would die instantly.
Which was exactly what Marin wanted.
The door opened suddenly. Renna stepped through, holding a scroll with an official seal. The guards started to protest, but she cut them off.
"Oath-scribe privilege. I'm interviewing the prisoner regarding contract violations."
They obeyed reluctantly, and the door locked behind her.
Renna turned immediately. "You saw her."
Celesse nodded. "In the dreamscape. Scarred extensively. She threatened me, then reinforced the second anchor before I could stop her. She used ash-glamour."
Renna's face darkened. "That's not just any technique. That's from the old schools—techniques Kael Grayclaw mastered before the guild suppressed them."
"Dacian's mate?"
"She was a brilliant threadwalker. She taught methods the guild claimed were too dangerous. After she died, those techniques were supposed to die with her." Renna sat on the cot. "Someone taught the rival Kael's methods. Someone who knew her intimately."
"Or someone who was there when she died," Celesse said quietly.
"Thane's investigating now. He got himself released by claiming he needed to secure the King's quarters. But he's actually searching Marin's rooms."
"That's dangerous—"
"We need proof." Renna stood. "Something concrete that ties Marin to the rival, to everything. Without it, Vorin will push through the tribunal."
A distant crash echoed through the palace, followed by shouting.
"That's the guest wing," Renna said, eyes wide.
Footsteps thundered in the corridor. The door burst open—Thane, breathing hard, clothes torn and bloodied. He held a leather-bound ledger in one hand and a knife in the other.
"Found it," he gasped. "Marin's private accounts. Payments to a 'memory-keeper' starting three weeks ago. Ten thousand silver fenris."
Renna grabbed the ledger and flipped through it rapidly. "This is in Marin's hand. I've seen his oath-signatures." She looked up. "This is proof. He hired the rival threadwalker before we ever summoned Celesse."
"He knew Dacian would need a threadwalker eventually," Celesse said. "So he hired one first, someone he could control. And planned to frame whoever you brought in."
"Either way, Marin wins," Thane added grimly. "If Dacian never hired anyone, the rival would just accelerate the hex until it killed him."
Guards appeared in the doorway, weapons drawn. "Enforcer Ashmark, return to—"
"I'm operating under the King's authority." Thane held up the ledger. "And I have evidence of conspiracy against the crown. Take me to Chancellor Vorin. Now."
The guards hesitated, clearly torn. Renna stepped forward.
"This is an oath-scribe matter. Conspiracy, false testimony, contract fraud. The tribunal will convene—but it won't be about the King's fitness. It will be about Alpha Grayclaw's treason."
That word decided them. One guard nodded. "The Chancellor is in the throne room with the alpha. They're discussing the King's situation."
"Perfect," Thane said. "Let's give them something new to discuss."