Page 16

Xelith glances sidelong at me. “Nervous?”

“Hardly.” I force a scoff, though my skin prickles. This place feels saturated in arcane energies.

“I sense something stirring in the air,” he murmurs, stepping closer to a cluster of bell-shaped blossoms. He runs a gloved finger along one petal, and it glows faintly with violet luminescence. “Mana, perhaps. But it feels different.”

A strange flutter stirs in my chest. Could it be me?

For the past day or so, I’ve experienced odd flashes—like the hallways shifting in and out of focus, or guards momentarily slack-jawed when I speak.

I’ve chalked it up to exhaustion, trauma, or maybe illusions conjured by my resentful imagination.

But last night, I caught a guard spinning in place after I murmured a half-formed curse under my breath. As if he heard a command that no one else did. A chill sweeps through me. No. Don’t be foolish.

“Humans can’t sense mana like your kind,” I say, skirting the question.

He studies me carefully. “No. Typically they can’t.”

Our gazes lock. My throat tightens. Does he suspect something about these incidents? He’s too sharp to ignore them if they happen again.

We continue walking, our footsteps echoing on the cobbled path. A pair of fortress guards emerges from a side gate, crossing our path. They nod at Xelith but cast dark, wary looks at me. One guard’s gaze lingers on my face, a sneer tugging at his lips.

“Trouble, my prince?” the guard asks, eyes flicking between us.

“No,” Xelith replies smoothly. “Simply escorting my… companion through the gardens.”

The guard’s sneer deepens at the word companion.

My temper flares, and a biting retort bubbles in my throat.

Before I can speak, a flicker of sensation radiates from my chest—like a jolt of heat mingled with a swirl of dizziness.

My lips part, but no real words form, just a pulse of intangible force.

The guard’s eyes glaze over for a split second, mouth opening as though he’s been struck. His partner nudges him, frowning. “Hey, you all right?”

He blinks rapidly, stepping back in confusion. Then he clears his throat, face reddening. “S-sorry. Must be the heat.”

I stare, heart pounding. What was that? Xelith’s attention zeroes in on me, silver eyes narrowing.

“Is something wrong?” I say in a rush, desperate to feign ignorance.

His lips tighten. He doesn’t respond immediately, just waves the guards on. They hurry away, throwing uneasy glances over their shoulders.

My skin tingles with the aftershock of whatever just happened. Did I enthrall him, if only for a second? The very idea chills my blood.

Xelith steps closer, voice low. “Lysandra, what did you do?”

I bristle, forcing a casual shrug. “I didn’t do anything. He just… spaced out.”

He studies me like a puzzle he’s dying to solve. “That wasn’t normal.”

“Maybe he’s incompetent,” I retort, trying to hide my trembling hands by folding them under my cloak. “You’d know better than I.”

An uneasy silence hangs between us. Finally, he exhales, leading me further along the path.

The tension coils, thick and pressing. We reach a secluded alcove where a stone bench stands beside a shallow pond.

Mana-lamps cast shifting patterns on the water’s surface, and tiny fish dart beneath lily pads that glow faintly pink.

He halts, turning to face me fully. “I’ve noticed… moments,” he says carefully, “when your presence seems to unsettle those around you. I wonder if you’re aware of it.”

My heart races. He’s dangerously perceptive. “I’m well aware I unsettle them. I’m a human rebel in a fortress full of Dark Elves.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I grit my teeth. “Then speak plainly.”

He studies my face, as though searching for cracks. “You claim humans can’t sense mana. Yet I’ve caught you glancing at illusions in the corridors, reacting to subtle shifts like a sorcerer would. And just now, that guard… it was as if something tugged at his mind.”

My stomach churns. I can’t let him see how much this unnerves me. “Hallucinations from stress,” I say, forcing my voice level. “Being stuck in this fortress is enough to drive anyone half mad.”

His gaze darkens. “You’re lying.”

The flat conviction in his tone rattles me, but I keep my features schooled in defiance. “Even if I were, why do you care? Unless you think I can overshadow you with some hidden power?”

A bitter note creeps into my voice. The idea that I, a battered human, could pose a genuine magical threat to a Dark Elf prince is almost laughable. Except, a whisper in my mind insists it might be possible.

He moves closer, the space between us shrinking until I can almost feel the heat rolling off him. The cool air of the garden mingles with his crisp scent, stirring something uneasy and electric inside me.

“Humor me,” he says softly. “If you did have some latent power, it would be in your best interest to share it with me rather than let the council discover it. They’d see it as grounds for immediate execution.”

I clench my jaw, my pulse thundering. What if he’s right? If the council found out humans could wield magic, they’d react with brutal efficiency.

I let out a harsh breath. “So you’re offering protection if I confess to something that might not even exist?”

He cocks his head, gaze tracing the lines of my face. “Is it so unthinkable that you possess abilities you never imagined? The world is vast, and the Sirens?—”

He breaks off abruptly, but my ears catch that final word. My heart jolts. “Sirens? That’s… that’s a myth, right?”

His lips press into a tight line. “Some claim so. But I’ve read accounts suggesting otherwise.”

A swirl of fear and strange excitement churns within me. Sirens were said to enthrall with their voices, to manipulate minds. If that’s more than legend, and I share some blood with them—no, that’s absurd. Still, my heart hammers, recalling how the guard’s eyes glazed over.

I force a laugh, shaky but determined. “You think I’m a Siren? Next, you’ll accuse me of sprouting wings.”

He doesn’t smile. “Joke if you wish, but be mindful. Legends sometimes carry a grain of truth. Should the council suspect any trace of Siren magic, they’d call for your head without hesitation. The sirenblood was supposedly wiped out for a reason.”

My stomach twists. “You’re serious.”

He lifts a shoulder in a fluid shrug. “I deal in possibilities. For now, keep your secrets if you must. But if you cause more magical ‘accidents,’ I won’t be able to hide it.”

Anger flares—anger at the situation, at him, at the possibility my own body might betray me. “Maybe I want the council to see,” I retort. “I’m sick of playing by your rules.”

He regards me with that infuriating calm. “This fortress would devour you if you tried. I—” He hesitates, glancing away, as though checking for eavesdroppers. “I prefer to keep you alive, Lysandra. Even if you drive me mad in the process.”

There’s a hint of something in his tone that jolts me—a raw edge. I swallow, realizing we stand mere inches apart. My next breath stutters, and I force myself to hold his stare. The tension hums, a reminder that behind our mutual hostility lies a disconcerting awareness.

“Careful, Xelith,” I say, trying to sound bold. “Your fascination is showing.”

A faint, humorless chuckle. “Takes one to know one, does it not?”

The second those words leave his lips, my chest tightens. Is he right? Am I equally fixated on him, despite my hate? My mind rebels against the notion, yet my traitorous heartbeat thrums.

“Shall we go?” I bite out, stepping back.

He nods, though his gaze lingers on my face. “Let’s.”

We exit the garden, tension spinning in the wake of our footsteps.

In the corridors, more soldiers pass, some saluting Xelith with a clenched fist to the chest. I’m thankful for the cloak’s hood, which I pull up to conceal my features.

Whispers follow us, speculation about the human woman under the exiled prince’s wing.

He leads me around a sharp turn, into a narrower passage lit by flickering mana-lamps. The path slopes downward, the air chilling. My guard goes up—it’s reminiscent of the route to the dungeons.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” he replies. “Patience.”

My jaw clenches. Every step intensifies the hush until we reach a set of double doors carved with an elaborate crest—a serpent wound around a sword. House Vaeranthe’s symbol, no doubt. Xelith touches the latch, mana shimmering as wards dissolve.

Inside, I find a broad room lined with shelves of tomes, crates, and bundled scrolls. It smells of old parchment, leather, and the faint tang of dust. A single table occupies the center, with scattered documents pinned in place by weights shaped like miniature gargoyles.

Xelith shuts the door, effectively sealing us in. Mana-lamps flare brighter, illuminating rows of ledgers and records. My brow furrows. This is some kind of archive.

He moves to the table, setting the farmland rosters he received earlier among the scattered papers. “I do a fair amount of my… behind-the-scenes work here.”

Suspicion gnaws at me. “Why show me your private archive? You must realize I could glean valuable intel from this.”

He meets my gaze calmly. “I want you to glean it. Let’s call it an incentive for cooperation. If you help me keep the council at bay, you might find information that could ease the plight of your rebels.”

I cross my arms, uncertain. “And you’re trusting me not to burn the place?”

“If you did, you’d lose the very intel that might save your people,” he says lightly. “Besides, I suspect you want to preserve knowledge that could be used against me, not destroy it.”

I stiffen. “So you’re letting me see your secrets to gain leverage over me? Typical.”