Waytreader through an am.., p.1
Waytreader (Through an Amethyst Gaze Book 2), page 1
Megan Monte
Waytreader
Copyright © 2026 by Megan Monte
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
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To Jared,
For encouraging me to seize my dreams
(and making me weekly sourdough).
Contents
Before You Continue This Story…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
To the Readers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Before You Continue This Story…
This book contains content that some readers may find disturbing, uncomfortable, or to be a trigger. For a list of trigger/content warnings, please visit my website:
AuthorMeganMonte.com/contentwarnings
Chapter 1
Throbbing aches were the first sensation to reach into the deep, blanketing darkness, slicing holes through those peaceful, empty walls. Next came the warmth pulsing in my chest, as if the elusive sun were beneath my ribs. It was a pleasant feeling, but too foreign to be dismissed, cracking the walls around me further.
Had that been all, I might have slipped back into that blissful, inviting void.
But it wasn’t.
What completely shattered the embrace of sleep was the warm scent of musk and leather that could only belong to him. It was everywhere—in the soft weight draped over me, the cushioned furs beneath my cheek, the cool air itself.
At the recognition, the heat in my chest expanded. I came awake with a gasp, flying forwards.
A heavy woolen blanket pooled at my waist. I was dressed in something thick and warm—an oversized, long-sleeved tunic that swallowed my hands. Braced behind me, my fingers curled into soft fur, set low to the ground. I wasn’t on a mattress, but a covered mat. Ivory canvas walls surrounded me, sunlight seeping through the fabric.
A tent.
I held my breath, waiting for those dreadful wailing cries.
A heartbeat passed, and none came. But other sounds did. Clanging metal, indistinguishable conversations, the occasional shout of a man’s voice. The sounds of work…and weapons?
“How do you feel?”
My attention snapped to a voice on my right.
Ruddy cheeks, a boyish face, shaggy brown hair. Stefano. A bruise marred the skin of his neck where it appeared above tan leathers.
Oh, skies.
There was no easing into awareness, now. No gentle introduction to what I’d done and what I’d learned. Instead, the events of the past days crashed upon me all at once.
The first realization I grasped was that I wasn’t in Koerlyn’s tent, but Harthon’s camp. The second was that those marks around Stefano’s neck were there because Jac had strangled him, while I watched and did nothing.
From the look in Stefano’s blue eyes, he remembered it all.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. Not for what I’d done—Koerlyn might have had Merelda, and I could never risk her life. But I was so terribly sorry he’d been hurt as a result.
He straightened in his wooden chair. “Why would you even think it’s acceptable to apologize?”
My lips parted. “I—”
“I failed. I failed you. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
For a moment, I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. “What are you talking about?”
He ran a hand through his hair, and it was then I noticed how his boyish features were unusually dull, dark circles sweeping beneath his eyes.
“It’s my job to protect you. If I’d been more alert, if I’d had my guard up, I would have been able to help you. Could’ve stopped you from going to Koerlyn.”
No matter how alert, he couldn’t have anticipated Jac’s treachery. No one could have, not when Jac had been so trusted and respected that he’d been assigned as my riding instructor. And he certainly couldn’t have anticipated that I’d allow Jac to deliver me to our greatest enemy.
Stefano was a victim, but he was blaming himself for what I’d been complicit in. That was unacceptable. Skies, it was worse than him being angry at me.
“I didn’t want help. I wronged you. I stood there, watching as Jac strangled you unconscious, and did nothing.” His tortured expression didn’t budge, and my voice found some strength. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this, do you understand me?”
He shook his head, the apple in his throat bobbing. “Under my guard, Koerlyn got his hands on you. There’s nowhere else the blame can rest.”
How could anyone in his position think such a thing? Unless—
“Is that what you’ve been told?”
He stiffened. “Harthon doesn’t put the blame on me, but I know better.”
At the mention of Harthon, a whirlwind of chaotic emotions battered my belly. “Where is he?”
“In the war tent,” he answered. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a full day, and I’m supposed to notify him when you wake. I’ll send someone over now.” He rose to his feet. A heavy sword hung at his hip, and daggers dangled from straps across his chest.
Stefano was always armed, but never so heavily.
I flung the blanket off me and scooted to the edge of the furs. “I’ll go talk to him myself.”
Like it was listening, the warm sensation in my chest flared, and I flinched—not because it was painful, but alarmingly odd.
Foreign as it was, I knew its presence was a blessing. It was there that the way into the Domus now lived—an underground path only the magvis had known of, before passing it to me as she died. The same path that would bring us through the walls that killed our land, and to the thriving city within them.
Finally, we could access the resources there, and stave off the suffering of our forsaken, withering world.
But that was difficult to appreciate as I shoved to my feet and pain radiated through every muscle, reminding me I’d just run through the woods and flung myself down a roaring river.
Crisp air brushed my exposed calves as my gaze moved around the tent, searching for the boots I’d come here with. “Where’s the war tent?”
“Etarla, you can’t.” Stefano’s words brought my search to a halt.
“What?”
He grimaced. “You can’t go talk to him. You need to stay here.”
“Are we under attack?”
He shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. “I can’t allow you to leave the tent.”
The heat within me instantly cooled.
Allow?
There was a time I had been Harthon’s prisoner, but now I stood at his side as an equal. I’d attended meetings with his cabinet. I’d helped him secure an alliance with Sixth Territory’s Princeps, Aric. I posed as the all-powerful magvis, for Domus’ sake—she who could manipulate the natural world. The weapon of kings past.
I was no prisoner.
Yet, as I stared into Stefano’s regretful eyes, I began to doubt that.
“If I tried to walk out of this tent right now, what would happen?”
“I would stop you.” By the set of his shoulders, he spoke the truth. And he was far too skilled for me to outmaneuver him.
Outrage took root, souring my empty stomach. “Under whose orders?”
It was a wasteful question. I already knew the answer. I just didn’t want to believe it.
“Harthon’s.”
The now-familiar feeling of betrayal settled on my chest, suffocatingly heavy and terribly sharp. “Why?”
He glanced at the tent’s entranceway. “Look, they’re preparing for an attack out there. Koerlyn will be charging us within the day, and—”
“Give me the real reason, Stefano.”
His chest rose on a labored inhale. He sighed it out before delivering the blow. “He doesn’t trust you not to run off to Koerlyn again.”
I recoiled like he’d slapped me.
“It’s not like I did it because I wanted to. Koerlyn doesn’t have Merelda. There’s no need for me to go to him again. It’s not like I…betrayed Harthon. I was forced.”
“That’s not how he sees it.”
This had to be jest. But there was no humor on Stefano’s face.
Disbelief spiraled, making me dizzy.
Harthon viewed me as a traitor.
A traitor.
I was still asleep, and this was a twisted dream. It had to be.
But the chilled air cooling my lungs and the ache of my body felt all too real.
“So I’m a prisoner, then?”
Stefano seemed profoundly uncomfortable with the label. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Harthon sees me as a traitor—” I spat the word out “—and I’m confined to this tent. I can’t leave.” I took a shaky step forward, hardly believing this conversation. I’d thought the nightmare had ended when I escaped Koerlyn. I was wrong. “You’re not keeping me safe—you’re keeping me here. Does that not make me a prisoner?”
“I am here to keep you safe.”
I lunged to the left, toward the flaps that marked the entrance. Quick as a striking snake, Stefano moved, hand shooting out to grab me. I drew back before he needed to make contact, crossing my arms to hide their trembling.
His features fell.
My point was made.
After a heavy silence, Stefano murmured, “I’ll send for Harthon.”
His was the last face I wanted to see. “Don’t bother.”
“You’re awake. I have to notify him.”
Of course. It wasn’t up to me what Stefano did. I had no authority.
I stared down at my tunic while Stefano spoke to a leather-clad soldier outside the entranceway. The clothing dwarfed me, draping to my knees and smothering my hands. Shrugging my shoulder toward my nose, I inhaled.
This, too, smelled like Harthon, just like the bedding. Another glance around the tent told me my own clothes were nowhere to be found.
“Who changed me?” I asked once Stefano finished delivering his message.
“The healer, I think.”
If he had named Harthon, I didn’t know what I would do. Already, I was fairly certain this was his tent. Aside from the bedding, two chairs, and a small chest, it was bare. Whereas most Princepes would have elaborate accommodations, Harthon was practical. He didn’t care much for embellishments or wasteful comforts. The thick bedding was the only feature that went beyond necessity to hint at status. Given its scent, this space was his.
So was the tunic.
I scowled.
Harthon had dressed me in his tunic, but thought me a traitor. I wanted to tear it off, but could see nothing else to wear.
I was about to ask where my clothing went when I was struck by something Stefano said. “What did you mean before—that Koerlyn will attack within the day?”
His hand subconsciously went to his sword. “He wants you back, and he’s chosen immediate action. He’s made it no secret that he’ll be marching his forces into our Territory immediately. It could be as soon as today.”
War. What Stefano spoke of was war, and it might be coming today. And we were just standing here, making small talk in a tent.
“Why are we not heading back to the city center, gathering our forces?”
A corner of his lips hitched, an arrogance I’d never seen on him. “We’re staying right here so he can meet us, and we can destroy him.”
“Do we even have all our forces here?”
“We have enough.”
Slowly, I shook my head. For weeks, I’d known Koerlyn would likely prepare an aggressive offensive. He and Harthon were the only two Princepes who knew the magvis had given me the path into the Domus when she changed my eyes. From the moment Harthon had stolen me from him, Koerlyn wanted me back. And now that I’d just slipped from his grasp again, it seemed battle was his strategy.
But for that all to come to fruition now, so suddenly—it was too real, too soon.
And Stefano was being entirely too casual about the whole thing.
“So we’re just sitting here, waiting for him to come, weapons ready? What happens if we lose?”
Stefano’s eyes flashed with something fierce. “We aren’t just sitting. We’re preparing. And we won’t lose.”
On wooden legs, I stumbled to the bed and collapsed.
I was about to be in the middle of a war.
Could a girl not catch a damn break?
In my Second Territory village, I’d known suffering and hardship. I’d even known death. But aside from what happened to my parents, it was rarely the violent kind.
But ever since the magvis altered my eyes, that had changed. I’d seen more violence and danger in the past few weeks than I had in years combined, and I’d even started to learn how to inflict violence upon others. But I still wasn’t used to it, and I hadn’t even learned weapons with Callen yet.
I was so terribly unprepared for battle, it was laughable.
Except it wasn’t remotely funny. People were about to die. I might be one of them.
“You should drink,” Stefano said.
Dazed, I looked up to find a metal cup in his hand. “So the prisoner’s allowed water?” I said, taking the cup.
Again, his throat bobbed. “That’s not what you are.”
“That’s exactly what she is,” a deep, powerful voice said.
My insides hollowed out. Then the warmth in my chest burst, that heat flinging as far as my shoulders before drawing back toward its core.
It confirmed what I was quickly learning. The pulsating kernel of knowledge was its own separate entity, existing within me, because at the sound of Harthon’s voice, Etarla felt anything but warm. The sudden intensity of both sensations nearly made me drop the cup. I barely managed to keep it in my grasp, expelling a harsh breath as I battled both my body and the presence that’d entered this tent. A presence so authoritative and powerful, it could only belong to him.
The man who’d forced me into his world.
The man who’d kissed and held me as if I were something precious, all while hiding that he was with those mercenaries who’d killed my birth parents and razed my village to the ground. That it’d been his father’s men who’d irrevocably altered my life.
The man who now thought me a traitor.
Setting my jaw, I stood and faced him.
Harthon was dressed for war. He wore his typical earth-toned trousers and tan leathers. The textured shell was tightly molded to a muscular chest and wide shoulders, giving way to the long sleeves of a black tunic—sleeves I knew covered corded, scarred arms. Over them were thick leather arm guards, above and below each elbow. Plates of the same material armored his shins and wrapped around two strong thighs. Black straps laden with more daggers than usual were fastened across his abdomen, and behind his shoulders, the hilts of two swords protruded from their sheaths.
“I’m no traitor,” I said evenly, finally dragging my gaze to his face.
A series of braids pulled his dark brown hair away from his forehead, leaving the rest hanging loose to his shoulders. The whiskers lining his square jaw were longer than I remembered. Rather than unkempt, the result was half-rugged and half-wild, something that reminded me of those vicious wolves we’d encountered in Fifth. It was only accentuated by the fierce set of his jaw, the strong lines of his slightly crooked nose, and those dark eyes that regarded me with stony indifference.
Harthon had never looked at me in such a way.
“You handed yourself to Koerlyn.”
He said it with such blunt simplicity, he couldn’t possibly know the entire situation.
“It’s not that simple. I received a note stating he had Merelda, and—”
“I know what the note said.”
I stared at him, waiting for a flicker of understanding. There was none.
“So you know that I didn’t go to him willingly. That I was forced to do what I did.”
He took a step forward, and his cold façade slipped, revealing a fury that seeped into his voice. “You weren’t forced to do anything. You made a choice, and that choice was to keep that note to yourself rather than tell me. To deliver yourself to Koerlyn without a thought to what that could mean for yourself or this world.”
No doubt, what I had done was dangerous. But for him to belittle my actions, to make such assumptions, was just obtuse.
I matched his step with two of my own, the metal cup in my hand trembling. “I spent a lot of damned time thinking about what it could mean for this world. It’s not like I would have stayed with him. I was already thinking of escape when I left the Citadel—”
