Page 21

LYSANDRA

I wake to a distant rumble, unsure at first if it’s thunder or my own heart pounding.

The fortress always breathes with its own currents: footsteps echoing in halls, servants murmuring behind closed doors, the hiss of mana-lamps igniting at dawn.

But this morning, everything feels electric.

My skin prickles with the sense that something is closing in.

I sit up, brushing the tangled strands of locks from my face.

A weak ray of sunlight slips past the heavy drapery, illuminating the dust motes swirling in my chamber.

I’m sore from head to toe—partly from the endless tension coiling through me these days, partly from the bruises that still linger.

But my thoughts flash back to Xelith’s warnings.

The council demands results… a day or two to decide… illusions… enthrallment…

A shaky breath escapes me. I’ve spent half the night poring over the scraps of farmland data Xelith allowed me to see, searching for a path that spares my rebels from slaughter.

Yet the best I can devise is a partial compromise—leading his forces to enclaves that might be coaxed into surrender, or guiding them away from the smaller, more vulnerable pockets.

But is that betrayal, or the only way to save them? The moral lines blur painfully.

I run a hand over my face and force myself upright. The plush bed, with its dark sheets and embroidered pillows, mocks me with its comfort. I don’t belong in a place like this, coddled by a Dark Elf prince even as my people still cower in secret corners of the farmland.

The door latch clicks, and I stiffen. Usually Xelith knocks, or at least signals me with a scuff of boots.

This time, the intrusion is abrupt. A slender Dark Elf I’ve never seen before sweeps into the room, regal in stiff navy robes trimmed with silver.

He has the bearing of a minor noble: well-groomed, chin held high, eyes flicking around as though everything offends him.

A pair of soldiers flanks him, both wearing the insignia of the fortress guard. My heart slams into my ribs.

“Where is Xelith?” I demand, bristling at the intrusion.

The noble lifts a pale brow, pursing his thin lips. “I’m afraid the prince has been summoned away. Urgent council business.” His gaze roams over me, lingering on the fresh bruise on my forearm. “He left instructions to bring you before me, however. We have… matters to discuss.”

I swallow, recalling no mention from Xelith that some official would come prying. “Matters to discuss? With me?”

He offers a tight smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am Lord Nyrus, an appointed liaison from the council. We’ve heard rumors of your compliance, yet we see little evidence. My presence here ensures you aren’t concealing further… rebellious impulses.”

I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to lash out. “Xelith never said anything about a liaison. Where is he?”

Nyrus gestures impatiently to the guards. They move closer, a silent threat. My pulse kicks up. If I resist, they’ll drag me out by force. And Xelith is absent, leaving me to fend off this council hound alone.

“Very well,” I hiss, forcing calm. “Lead on, then.”

Nyrus inclines his head, spinning on a heel and striding out.

The guards flank me, guiding me down the corridor.

Anger burns in my gut. Did Xelith plan this?

Or is it some sneaky maneuver by the council?

We move through the fortress’s winding halls, passing columns etched with runic designs.

Mana-lamps flicker overhead, shedding a cold light on the polished stone.

At last, we emerge into a small antechamber I don’t recognize, furnished with a long table and two chairs facing each other. A single, sputtering torch on the wall reveals walls lined with shelves of scrolls—like an overflow archive or record room. The air smells of dust and old ink.

Nyrus dismisses the guards with a curt motion, then points to a chair. “Sit.”

I stiffen but comply, dropping into the seat with as much defiance as I can muster. He settles across from me, tapping manicured nails on the table’s edge.

“What do you want?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. “Xelith and I were?—”

“Whatever Prince Xelith promised you is irrelevant,” Nyrus interjects, voice dripping with arrogance. “The council demands direct answers. Have you provided him the locations of your rebel cells?”

My shoulders tense. “I’ve cooperated as much as needed. This intimidation act won’t earn you anything more.”

He scoffs. “Intimidation? My dear, I’m simply verifying you aren’t leading us on a fool’s chase. The farmland watchers insist the rebellion persists. If you truly wish to avoid a purge, you’ll share the hiding spots promptly.”

A sharp retort leaps to my tongue, but I bite it back. If I defy him, the council might move faster to slaughter them. Yet I can’t just hand over everything. My heart races.

Lord Nyrus leans forward, voice dropping in a conspiratorial hush. “I’ll be frank. Xelith’s coddling has raised eyebrows. People suspect… an inappropriate attachment. If I confirm you’re still dangerous, we have cause to override his authority.”

My fists clench beneath the table. “So that’s your angle.”

He smiles thinly. “Precisely. If you show me you’re no threat, perhaps I’ll speak in favor of leniency. But if you display even a hint of rebellious magic?—”

I stiffen. “Magic? Humans don’t?—”

A dark gleam lights his eyes. “Humans, no. But there are rumors. Let’s not feign ignorance.” He leans in, searching my face with predatory intensity. My pulse skitters. He’s fishing for confirmation. My chest tightens.

Faint footsteps echo outside, but no one appears. Anxiety knots in my stomach. Nyrus rises abruptly, coming around the table. I stand reflexively, stepping back until my spine nearly presses against the wall of shelves. He corners me, arms folded behind his back, eyes cold as a predator’s.

“Show me,” he says quietly.

I stare, heart hammering. “Show you what?”

“Whatever trick enthralls guards. The illusions rumored to swirl around you. Prove to me you’re dangerous, or I’ll assume it’s a lie.” There’s a perverse challenge in his voice, as though he’s certain I’m bluffing.

I flush with anger. “You want me to demonstrate something I don’t even understand? What if you’re disappointed?”

He snorts. “Then you’ll be carted off to a public square. The council will tear away Xelith’s pretense of control and do what should have been done from the start.”

Panic flares. If I try to conjure illusions, I might expose my powers fully. But refusing might condemn me as useless. Either way, they’ll use it against me. My breathing grows ragged.

“What’s the matter?” Nyrus hisses, stepping closer. “Cat got your tongue? Or is it fear?”

My fists tighten, nails digging into my palms. Adrenaline surges in my veins. The memory of that guard in the garden flickers through my mind—the moment I felt a swirl of heat and accidentally made him stumble. Something stirs in my chest, an intangible warmth coiling beneath my sternum.

Nyrus sneers. “Just as I thought. A pathetic sham. Xelith was a fool to?—”

“Enough,” I snap, voice trembling with suppressed fury.

A strange pulse ripples in my throat. My vision narrows. A wave of dizzying heat explodes behind my eyes, as though my blood ignites from within. I can’t hold it back. The air crackles around us, mana-lamps sputtering in response.

Nyrus’s gaze flutters, his lips parting. “What…?”

My heart pounds. I sense a current of energy swirling in the room, tethered to me. The shelves, the dusty scrolls—everything seems to blur at the edges. And Nyrus stands at the center of my focus, eyes flickering with confusion, enthrallment.

I hear a voice speaking, soft and compelling. My voice , but layered with a resonance I’ve never heard before. “Leave me alone,” I murmur, yet it echoes as if amplified by magic. “You will forget this conversation. You will walk away.”

He makes a choked sound, pupils dilating. For a terrifying instant, I see the reflection of my own eyes in his—dark, swirling with an inhuman glow. My pulse screams in protest, but I can’t tear myself away.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Nyrus staggers back. His expression goes slack, arms falling to his sides. The lamp above us flickers violently, arcs of mana dancing along its metal base.

I gulp air, limbs shaking. What am I doing? The wave of enthrallment intensifies, and I watch, horrified yet transfixed, as Nyrus’s arrogance melts into a docile blankness. He blinks sluggishly, teetering on his feet.

“Go,” I repeat, desperation coloring my tone. Another wave of that intangible force pulses from my throat. “Just… go.”

He turns woodenly, stumbling toward the door. The handle clanks, and he disappears into the corridor. My breath explodes in a ragged gasp, knees threatening to buckle. The swirl of heat recedes, leaving me lightheaded. I slump against the shelf, mind reeling.

I enthralled him. I actually forced him to obey. A roiling mixture of triumph and horror churns in my gut. My voice pulses with raw magic I can’t control. Am I monstrous? Or is this the key to my freedom?

A noise jolts me. Footsteps—heavier than Nyrus’s—echo outside. I brace, fear pounding in my temples. Then the door cracks open, revealing Xelith. He halts in the doorway, cloak draped around his shoulders. His gaze sweeps the room, landing on me as I tremble by the shelves.

“What happened?” he demands, voice low and urgent.

I swallow, still dizzy. “Nyrus. He—he cornered me. He wanted proof of my magic.” The words tumble out in a breathless rush.

His silver eyes widen. “Your illusions? Did you?—?”

I shake my head, tears threatening. “It wasn’t illusions. I… I enthralled him. He walked away like a puppet.”