Page 45

VAELORIAN

I stare at the double doors of the council chamber, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. Every muscle tenses in anticipation of yet another confrontation, but I remind myself that Valeria is counting on me.

If I falter now, she faces a world of torment from both Protheka’s dark elf fanatics and our own paranoid Council.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I push open the doors.

Inside, a hush settles over the circular room.

Torchlight casts dancing shadows along the carved walls, which depict battles of centuries past—Vrakken clashing with orcs, with dark elves, with monstrous beasts.

Rows of seats rise in tiers, each occupied by House Draeven’s influential nobles, matriarchs and patriarchs of lesser lines, and a smattering of elder advisors.

At the head, naturally, presides my mother, Matriarch Brinda, regal in her formal robes.

Her silver-white hair glints with the flames’ glow.

She surveys me with an unreadable expression.

Normally, I can guess her moods by the tilt of her chin or the arch of her brow, but tonight she’s as closed off as a locked vault.

After everything—the half-blood revelation, the rescued Vrakken captives, and the rumors swirling about an approaching dark elf army—this council session is meant to be an emergency measure.

We need a united front. We need to decide how to face Xathien’s threat.

Yet as I stand there, wings tucked behind me, an odd tension prickles along my spine.

Something’s off in the arrangement of seats, in the way certain councilors refuse to meet my eye.

They murmur among themselves, hushed phrases that spark suspicion in my gut.

My mother raps a staff on the stone floor.

“Vaelorian Draeven.” Her voice carries through the chamber, echoing under the vaulted ceiling. “We convene to address the infiltration mission’s outcome, the fate of the half-blood in our midst, and the dark elves’ mobilization. We trust you have intelligence to share.”

I stride to the center of the room, ignoring the stare of an older councilor to my left whose lips purse in disapproval.

“My infiltration force successfully rescued multiple Vrakken captives from Xathien’s caravan.

Their testimonies confirm the dark elves’ essence-harvesting plan, validating Valeria’s intel.

We have enough proof to rally other Vrakken Houses—if we act swiftly. ”

A shifting of bodies, a wave of murmurs.

One council member—Lord Syrath, a venerable Vrakken with salt-and-pepper hair—leans forward.

“That is encouraging news. We applaud the rescue. Yet we also hear rumors that the half-blood—” his mouth twists on the term, “—has drawn further dark elf aggression. An entire army mobilizes near our borders, specifically to capture her.”

I sense a trap in his tone. “Yes,” I say carefully, “the dark elves know about her. They see her lineage as a direct path to harnessing new magic. That is more reason we must unify. If they capture her, or any potential half-blood, they’ll only grow stronger.”

Brinda raises her staff again. “And yet the Council remains uneasy. An abomination within our walls?—”

Rage flickers inside me. “I object to that term. She is no abomination.”

A few voices hiss or scoff. My mother’s gaze narrows, and she inclines her head in a chilling calm. “We have ancient laws condemning half-bloods, Vaelorian. The Council cannot disregard them lightly.”

I clench my jaw, scanning the assembly. I see Helrath lurking near the periphery, arms folded.

He gives me a subtle nod, urging caution.

Valeria stands at the chamber’s edge with a guard, posture tight and defiant as she meets the cold stares.

She won’t flinch. My chest constricts at how alone she must feel, a swirl of half-lidded scorn from so many Vrakken.

But I can’t let them savage her in a knee-jerk condemnation.

“You argue tradition,” I say, forcing a calm tone, “but tradition also demanded we remain underground, away from the surface, centuries ago. Times change. Xathien’s threat dwarfs any archaic fear of half-breeds.

Valeria is the reason we have living proof of the dark elves’ atrocities. She saved lives. She is an asset.”

Lord Syrath scowls. “And also a beacon for the dark elves, who march upon us. Some whisper that handing her over might spare House Draeven from a costly war. That the dark elves want her above all else.”

An immediate wave of protest stirs from some council members—others, however, remain silent.

My fury sharpens. Handing her over? Over my dead body.

“That would be a catastrophic mistake,” I retort, voice echoing.

“They’d only be emboldened to strike further once they gleaned every secret from her blood.

We must deny them that advantage and unify Vrakken Houses to repel their incursion. ”

Brinda lifts a hand, quieting the murmurs.

She appears thoughtful, but her eyes hold concern.

“Vaelorian speaks sense in one regard: appeasing the dark elves by offering the half-blood is no guarantee of peace. They have grown bold, and Xathien’s hunger for Vrakken essence extends beyond just one hybrid.

” She shifts her gaze. “Yet the Council wonders how we quell the tension her presence creates among our allied Houses. Some threaten to withdraw support if we shelter her.”

A vise seems to tighten around my chest. They’re cornering me with political might.

If we lose key allies, House Draeven stands alone.

My wings twitch involuntarily, a sign of agitation.

“We show them the testimonies of the rescued. We demonstrate that with Valeria’s infiltration prowess, we can outmaneuver Xathien.

The half-blood is no threat to us, but a bulwark against the true enemy. ”

I pivot slightly, addressing the entire chamber. “Give me time to gather more allies from our neighboring Houses. Let me leverage our new proof. Once we rally a formidable coalition, the dark elves cannot intimidate us with their army. Then you will see Valeria’s worth beyond any prejudice.”

A hush extends. Some council members exchange glances, uncertain.

A glimmer of hope surges in me—perhaps reason can prevail.

Then, from the shadows near the chamber’s entrance, a new figure emerges, stepping into the circle of torchlight.

My insides coil with alarm. It’s Mahir, a Vrakken noble I’ve trusted for years—he handled clandestine negotiations for House Draeven’s benefit, a so-called ally.

But his presence now is unscheduled, and the tension on his face sets me on edge.

He clears his throat, scanning the chamber with dramatic flourish. “Council members, Matriarch, I bring an urgent matter that cannot wait.”

Brinda’s brow arches. “Speak, Mahir. We are in session.”

A hush falls, so complete I hear the crackle of torch flames.

Mahir’s expression holds an odd mix of regret and cunning.

“I regret that it falls to me to reveal a grave betrayal. Lord Vaelorian’s infiltration team was not the only party gleaning secrets.

I have discovered that the half-blood’s existence was leaked directly to the dark elves—the very details of her identity, her role, and House Draeven’s plan. ”

My blood chills. Who would do that? My mother’s staff strikes the floor sharply, echoing like thunder. Gasps ripple through the assembly. I whirl to face Mahir fully, heart hammering. “What do you mean, leaked to the dark elves?”

Mahir presses his lips together in a parody of sorrow.

“I fear some within House Draeven have struck a deal, exchanging knowledge about the half-blood for dark elf backing in future disputes. Or so the rumors say.” He lifts his head.

“I have evidence that an alliance has formed behind your back, Vaelorian. A hidden faction that deems the half-blood a liability, too dangerous to House Draeven. They sold out her identity and location.”

I stare at him, shock warring with rage. “This is… monstrous. If true, we have a traitor in our midst. Name them.”

His eyes flick aside, voice hushed. “All signs point to it being an inside job from one of your closest confidants. My sources whisper the traitor is none other than Helrath?—”

My mind blanks. Helrath? That can’t be. He’s fought by my side, trained Valeria, risked his life more times than I can count. But the chamber erupts in confusion, voices rising. My mother pounds her staff again.

“Silence!” she snaps. “This accusation is dire. We cannot convict Helrath without proof, but we must investigate immediately. If Helrath is indeed the leak, the dark elves might already be on their way here.”

Lord Syrath’s voice rings out: “We should confine both the half-blood and Helrath until we ascertain the truth. This is no time for leniency.”

Panic claws at me. If the Council confines Valeria, she’s effectively at their mercy.

My trust in Helrath runs deep—he wouldn’t betray me, would he?

But Mahir’s calm, lethal manner suggests he’s come armed with more than rumor.

A swirl of suspicion churns. Is Helrath truly the traitor, or is Mahir forging evidence?

Before I can speak, the doors to the council chamber fly open. A breathless guard staggers in, crying, “Dark elves! They’ve breached the outer gate! We’re under attack—dozens of soldiers within our walls!”