Page 39

A flicker of confusion crosses her face, but she pushes back with a hiss, pressing a palm to a brooch at her throat. It glows faintly, repelling part of my enthrallment. My heart sinks. She’s wearing a warded talisman.

“Clever,” I grit out, illusions swirling around me in a last-ditch attempt to obscure her line of sight. She conjures a crescent of arcane blades, slicing through the illusions with a savage motion.

I brace, about to fling myself aside, when a swirl of shadow-laced air knocks Sharavel off balance.

Xelith appears from behind, face pale and furious.

He releases a wave of shadow that tangles around her ankles, forcing her to stagger.

Kalthos lunges to defend her, staff raised, but Takar blocks him, sword striking.

Relief floods me. Xelith saw I was in trouble. I push illusions again, layering phantasms around the dais, forcing the remaining guards to see monstrous shapes or swirling voids. Some drop their weapons in terror. Others lash out blindly.

A wild cheer erupts from the orchard rebels as they gain ground. My heart leaps. We might actually break through.

Then a thunderous voice booms from the fortress gates. “Archers, fire!”

I whirl, illusions scattering. A row of archers on the battlements looses a volley of arrows down into the courtyard. Screams pierce the air. My illusions can’t stop physical projectiles. Horror clenches my throat as orchard rebels crumble. We need to end this now.

Xelith roars an order to his men, shadows coalescing into a protective dome overhead. It’s partial, but it intercepts some arrows. Takar shouts for the orchard rebels to fall back into cover behind broken pillars. We’re pinned.

Nyrus emerges in the midst of the chaos, a sadistic grin on his face.

He summons a bolt of arcane lightning, flinging it at Lysandra—at me.

I dodge, illusions flickering wildly. But exhaustion weighs heavily on me.

My enthrallment saps my energy, illusions disorient me as much as them. My knees nearly buckle.

“Lysandra!” Xelith cries, rushing to intercept Nyrus’s second attack. Shadows lash out, colliding with the arc of lightning. The explosive clash throws them both back. Xelith lands hard, groaning. My heart lurches.

I stumble to him, illusions fading. Nyrus laughs, raising his hand for another strike. No. My entire being rebels. Summoning the last reserves of my siren power, I step between Nyrus and Xelith, voice echoing with unstoppable force.

“Cease!” I cry, enthrallment pulsing in every syllable.

A wave of invisible pressure ripples across the courtyard. Guards freeze mid-strike, orchard rebels pause in startled awe. Even Nyrus staggers, arcane energy sputtering in his hands. He fights it, face contorted, but for a moment, he’s locked in place. The archers falter, arrows dipping.

An eerie hush descends, broken only by ragged breathing. My entire body shakes from the strain of channeling that much enthrallment. My vision tunnels, black spots dancing at the edges. But I hold on, pushing the enthralling chord deeper into my voice.

“All of you—drop your weapons,” I command, heart hammering.

Weapons clatter. Some guards collapse to their knees, eyes glazed. Kalthos trembles, staff slipping from his grasp as Takar’s blade draws near. Sharavel staggers, pressing a hand to her ward talisman. Nyrus alone grits his teeth, half resisting, though I see his arms shaking violently.

Pain spears my head, the cost of weaving illusions and enthrallment at once. I can’t maintain this for long. Sweat beads on my brow, arms shaking with exertion. Xelith, still on the ground, stares at me in awe and fear. Takar stands guard, sword poised to protect us both.

Catching my breath, I force the enthrallment one last step. “We are not your slaves or your prey,” I say, voice trembling with raw power. “From this day, the farmland stands free. If any council loyalist dares to violate that freedom, we will return—stronger than you can imagine. Am I clear?”

A ripple of fearful agreement passes through enthralled guards and terrified nobles. Some nod frantically. Others stand mute in the thrall’s haze.

At the dais, Kalthos exhales shakily. “You… you cannot hold us all in thrall forever.”

I grit my teeth, illusions flickering as my stamina wanes. “No,” I admit. “But you’ve seen enough to know we won’t be bent to your will again.”

Nyrus snarls, still half resisting. “You’d threaten the entire council? You’ll be hunted across Protheka for this!”

My legs threaten to give out, but I hold firm. Let them hunt. We bought ourselves a chance. If we remain any longer, we risk a second wave of archers or the wards that might break my enthrallment entirely.

“Fall back,” Xelith croaks, pulling himself upright. He staggers, one hand pressed to his ribs, but he regains enough composure to lead. “Everyone, we withdraw—now!”

Takar and the orchard rebels echo the order. We hustle away, stepping over the groaning forms of enthralled guards. My illusions swirl in partial arches overhead, forming a corridor of visual distortions to mask our retreat from any archers who might snap out of the trance.

Outside, the courtyard lies in battered ruin, littered with dropped weapons and wounded soldiers. A few orchard rebels help carry their own wounded. We can’t do more to save them all, or risk more casualties.

We break from the main gate, stepping over rubble. My illusions begin to fade. The enthrallment hum in my throat dwindles. My limbs shake, close to collapse. I sense Xelith at my side, shadows drifting around him in a protective swirl.

One final volley of arrows shoots from the ramparts, but Takar’s men raise shields, deflecting most. A rebel cries out in pain, but overall, we remain intact enough to flee. We did it.

The orchard illusions gutter out, my vision dimming. Gasping for air, I nearly topple. Xelith catches me, arms strong despite his own injuries. “Steady,” he murmurs.

My mind spins. We forced the council into submission, at least for a moment. We revealed the siren power in full, enthralling half their guard. But this victory tastes bittersweet. We can’t hold Pyrthos, and now we’ll be labeled criminals across Protheka.

Still, as we limp out of the fortress’s reach, a ragged cry of triumph rises from our battered ranks. The farmland enclaves see we are not helpless sheep, that the council’s fortress can be breached by illusions and sirenblood and unwavering unity.

My knees buckle, but Xelith hoists me onto a waiting horse. He swings up behind me, ignoring his own pain. The orchard rebels set a perimeter, scanning for pursuit. The fortress gates remain open, but the enthralled guards are in no shape to chase us.

“We’ll be hunted,” I rasp, leaning against Xelith’s chest. Every fiber of my being aches from overextending my magic.

He nods, arms wrapping around me. “We will,” he agrees softly. “But so long as we stand together, they won’t find easy prey.”

That flicker of reassurance warms me. My eyelids droop, exhaustion claiming me. But I force them open long enough to see the fortress walls receding, the council’s vantage slipping away. We proved our point.

As our force regroups on the road, Takar relays instructions for a southern march. The orchard enclaves rally around us, cheering Lysandra Riven and Prince Xelith, the two who defied the invincible fortress. I’m too drained to do more than offer a weak smile in return.

Xelith presses a gentle kiss to my temple, voice thick with relief. “You were brilliant,” he murmurs, “and terrifying.”

I let out a shaky laugh, hardly believing what we accomplished. The courtyard confrontation might be over, but I know the war is far from done. Still, we live. We hold our freedom. We’ve shattered the council’s illusion of untouchable might.

Night will come, and with it, the first steps of a new era—for humans, for Dark Elves, for anyone who stands outside the council’s grip. We’ll be branded fugitives, traitors. But as I settle against Xelith, allowing him to support my weight, I feel a fierce spark of hope in my chest.

Because we confronted them. We revealed my siren power to the world, and Xelith stood with me, brandishing his shadow magic in open defiance.

We gave them a taste of what united forces—human and Dark Elf—can achieve.

If they want to hunt us, let them. We’ll carve our path across Protheka, forging new alliances, protecting the enclaves still shackled by fear.

One battered band of outcasts we may be, but we hold a victory that resonates: that no tyranny is absolute, that illusions, enthrallment, and conviction can unseat even the mightiest fortress. And though the council may mount a grand pursuit, I won’t face it alone. I have Xelith, and he has me.

The orchard illusions fade, the fortress shrinking behind us as our ragged army presses onward.

My eyes slide shut in exhaustion, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and Xelith’s steady heartbeat against my back.

The final battle is yet to come, but for now, we’ve seized a foothold in a war that once seemed hopeless.

And I realize, with a surge of fierce gratitude, that in my darkest hour, I found a partner who’d tear down an empire to keep me free—and I’d do the same for him.