Chapter 41

"How are we supposed to get inside?" I say, staring up at the unassuming smooth granite siding constructed into the side of the mountain, "No one can get into Elfhame except those with elvish blood."

The sun is barely peeking over the side of the mountain bringing buttery soft sunshine shimmering into the outcropping Damion had called the horses to a stop in. We had ridden up rarely used mountainous trails through the entire night and I don't know how any of them are still functioning after no sleep. Let alone how Damion, Xavier, and Arden managed to see well enough to steer their horses through the pitch black night-though I assume *that* had something to do with their superior shifter eyesight.

There's nothing significant that stands out about this particular part of the mountain, though the longer we stand here, it's easier to see the subtle differences that set this place apart from the other paths we'd taken to get here. The most noticeable of them is the barely visible inscription carved into the the smooth stone nearly overgrown with ivy.

I can't read the words, but I can tell by looking at it that they're written in some form of Elvish.

*The wall of Elfhame.*

That's what Damion had revealed when he'd finally tugged the horse we've been riding to a stop. All I could do was gape.

The legendary entrance into the original home of the elves. I was taught about the wall in my studies from the palace tutors, but for some reason I'd always imagined it would be different. I guess I'd always expected it to be more.imposing, maybe? That it would have guards outside of it at least. Instead of all that, though, the only visible indication that it is indeed the entrance to the elves' inner sanctum is the inscription carved into the stone and wooden circle built into the granite siding of the mountain.

I say, more to myself than anyone in particular, "I didn't think that anyone besides the elves knew the exact location of the wall."

Then, I remember Marta's words to me in the library when she was explaining the longstanding alliances between elves and shifters due to the powerful relationships they're able to form. *Bonds*.

*"Those types of pairings were rare, but also revered among both of our kinds. That's one of the reasons our people maintained such good alliances with the elves through the years." Marta had explained to me, that day in the library, "There are many of us who hold out hope that the elves will regain their strength one day and return to the lands."*

Is that how they know the location of the wall? Because of the Bonds that used to happen between elves and shifters?

"You're right," Damion says, interrupting my muddled train of thought, "Not many people are made aware of where the wall is located as a matter of safety. The only reason that I was made aware of it is because I was brought here by my father many years ago when he was meeting with the elvish elders. And he only knew how to find the wall because of our previous alliances with them."

I gape over at Damion as shock ripples through me in waves, "You've been inside the wall before?"

"Once," he nods, and I can't decipher the serious set to his shoulders or the stony expression overtaking his face, "But that was a very long time ago."

I feel my eyebrows coming together, "But how were you able to get in?"

I feel him slide from the saddle behind me, landing smoothly on his feet despite the days of hard riding he'd just done. His movements don't give away the smallest sign of stiffness. He reaches up to grab me by the waist to lift me easily from the saddle and holding me steady as I regain a semblance of balance.

"You were right before," Damion says, when he finally steps away from me, "when you said that the wall requires requires an offering of elvish blood in order for it to open. Though, there is another way to ask admittance past the wall."

He takes a step closer to the wall to pull back a layer of overgrown ivy revealing a tarnished silver torch embedded in the stone. The silver blends in with the granite, practically camouflaged into the side of the mountain and I know that there's no way someone would see it themselves if they didn't know it was there.

"When this torch is lit," Damion says, before letting the wall of ivy fall back over the silver, "another twin torch inside the wall lights as well, letting them know that someone is out here asking for an audience. Though, I'm hoping it won't come down to that. The last time, we camped out here for two weeks before they finally decided to grant us an audience. I don't believe we have the luxury of time to wait while they debate our admittance."

Distantly, I notice him shoot a glance down at me that looks almost worried, but it's gone again so quickly that I could have been imagining it. I don't think he's wrong in believing that we're running out of time. Despite Damion passing me my medicine last night, I'd had yet another nose bleed while we'd ridden that had only been staunched by Damion handing me a handkerchief I wouldn't have ever have expected to have been on his person in the first place. And in spite his many attempts to coax water into me from the water skin he'd passed to me as we'd ridden, the nausea makes it impossible for me to get anything down.

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I consider his words, "You said there's another way, didn't you? What's our other option?"

Xavier and Arden dismount from their horses, stretching as they make their way over to stand beside us, "Yes, I've been curious about this myself. What is our other option, sir?" Arden asks, eyeing the wall speculatively.

Damion's face turns grim, "Our other option requires testing out Orn's theory."

I feel my eyebrows come together as confusion simmers through me. My brain is too muddled with the fever and headache to even attempt to hazard any guesses as to what he may mean by this, "And what is Orn's theory?" I ask him.

The exhaustion lining Damion's face becomes even more apparent as he rubs a hand over the sharp lines of his stubbled jaw. He turns to face me fully, leveling the full force of his dark gaze down at me, "He believes that we'll be able open the wall using your blood."

Shock settles in and no one in our group speaks for a moment. To their credit, Arden and Xavier seem almost as floored by this as I am.

"Orn thinks I have elf blood?" I ask slowly.

Damion nods, carefully watching the reactions rise and fall over my face reading every emotion as they play out. His own face remains impassive as I struggle to sort through my racing thoughts.

I have no idea how it would be possible, and I don't have the time to try and sift through all of the ways it could have happened. Because there's only one way to find out.

Holding his eyes, I take a step closer to Damion, then another. He doesn't move, but his chest stills as if he's holding his breath. I let the blankets that are still wrapped over my shoulders drop to the ground to free up my hands. His eyes flick over me, still not moving as I reach toward him to grasp the handle of the dagger I know is strapped into the sheath at his thigh.

The dagger is heavier than I expect as the leather handle of it settles into my palm, the metal glinting in the sunlight. No one speaks or even breaths as I cross the small space between us and the wall. Without giving myself a moment to over think it, and without hesitation I slide the sharp side of the blade across my palm. I barely feel the sting as crimson blood bubbles to my skin and I press my palm to the icy cool surface of the granite wall.

The world goes quiet, and a weight settles over my shoulders, a prickle of heated electricity dancing under my skin. The stone warms beneath my palm, heating as light begins shining in the small facets of rock. There's a groan and a crunch that sends my heartbeat skyrocketing.

And then the rounded entrance of gates slide open.