Page 27

ZARETH

M y reflections in the polished glass of the Velcorin estate’s reception hall whisper reminders of my heritage: crimson hair bound at my nape, obsidian skin accentuated by golden psionic sigils that spiral down my neck.

People bow or avert their eyes when they see me, proof of my family’s longstanding authority over the psionic arts.

I relish the sway we hold over Orthani, an unspoken dominion that slips under the daily grind of politics and war.

Yet, since Selene’s capture, that quiet certainty has cracked, replaced by a churning need I can’t fully name.

I step toward a cluster of subdued courtiers, acknowledging them with the slightest inclination of my head.

They hush instantly, clearing a path for me.

Most have heard the rumors: the purna survived Vaelith’s displays, the girl in the fortress is still under lock, and I, Zareth Velcorin, apparently lost the bid to shape her mind.

She ended up under Vaelith’s “military use” contract, a decision that still gnaws at me.

“Lord Zareth,” a timid attendant murmurs, bowing. “Shall I summon your carriage?”

I wave him away. “No.” My voice is quiet, yet final. I have a different plan tonight—one that doesn’t involve parading about in finery. I have no interest in Orthani’s social events. My attention is fixed on her.

Though the council in their short-sightedness gave Selene to Vaelith, I’ve not relinquished my right to examine her.

I’ve waited for an opportune moment to slip past his watchers, to corner her into another psionic test. My mind’s abuzz with half-formed strategies, each driven by that single, maddening reality: her mental defenses remain defiant, and I want them undone.

A hush falls as I exit my estate, stepping into the moonlit courtyard.

The sky churns with low-hanging clouds, a perpetual gloom that Orthani claims for itself.

My personal guard stands at attention near the tall iron gates, but I keep my retinue minimal tonight—just two men whose purpose is mostly for show.

They know I prefer to handle the real threats with my psionic abilities.

My cloak trails behind me, black velvet offset by slim gold patterns that frame my collar and sleeves.

I strike a path along a back street, mind fixed on Vaelith’s domain.

He stationed Selene in the southwestern wing, I recall, having gleaned that detail from gossip among the court’s lesser ranks.

Vaelith’s once-lonely estate is now a nest of tension.

Soldiers hover, suspicious of infiltration.

It won’t matter. I’ve been in and out of more secure places.

As I move through Orthani’s labyrinth of streets, my fingertips tingle with the subtle hum of power.

I taste the city’s wards in the night air, the layered spells that once belonged to my ancestors, twisted into protective shells for Orthani’s keep.

My mouth curves. If I can find her, slip a tendril of mental energy across her defenses, the rest can follow.

I hunger to see her mind yield. The previous time I tested her, I barely scratched the surface, and it was enough to leave me enthralled.

I slow my pace near Vaelith’s outer wall.

Guards patrol the top—dark silhouettes pacing back and forth.

My lips part in a sardonic smile. Vaelith invests heavily in discipline, hardly surprising for a commander.

But discipline alone can’t stop a skilled psion.

I breathe deeply, focusing on the nearest sentry’s mental presence, letting the faint vibrations of my psionic sense drift upward.

A gentle push, carefully tuned, wraps his awareness in a calm haze.

He won’t notice me. He thinks there’s no reason to look down.

I slip through a side gate used for deliveries, surreptitiously applying a slight mental nudge to the guard posted there as well.

His posture droops, eyelids heavy. Perfect.

I step past him, letting the darkness swallow my approach.

The courtyard within is lined with stone paths and a large fountain shaped like a serpent.

Ornate banners bearing Vaelith’s insignia dangle from tall lampposts.

The hush of night clings to every corner.

A pair of soldiers cross the courtyard, their footsteps resonating.

I flatten against the shadow of a column, letting them pass.

My heart quickens with anticipation. I know I should maintain composure, that letting my obsession rule me is unwise.

But each step closer to her only inflames that compulsion.

My mind replays how she looked that day in the war chamber: proud, unflinching, a challenge in every breath.

Once the soldiers vanish, I move to a side entrance leading into the southwestern wing.

There, a single guard stands, bored. I place one palm on the nearest stone wall, letting the faint threads of psionic suggestion reach for his consciousness.

My efforts must remain subtle—Vaelith’s wards might detect a heavy mental assault.

Instead, I slip a gentle wave of reassurance into the guard’s thoughts, telling him he hears nothing, sees nothing.

He relaxes, turning his gaze elsewhere. I stride through, cloak brushing my ankles.

Inside, the corridor is dimly lit by arcane lanterns that cast a deep purple glow.

The air smells of old incense. Doors line the hallway, each carved from heavy wood.

My senses flick along them, searching for a sign of her presence.

Tension crawls across my skin. If Vaelith or his men catch me, I’ll have to talk my way out—claim official business, maybe.

But I’m done with subtlety. I want her mind bare, if only to confirm that her defiance remains.

I sense a faint trace of the purna’s aura near the far end. A heavier ward rests around one door, presumably a fallback measure for high-level threats. My mouth curves in a satisfied grin. That must be her room. I approach, pressing an ear to the door, hearing only silence.

Testing the latch, I find it locked. I rest my palm against the wood and channel a minute whisper of psionic energy.

The wards sizzle, cautioning me not to break them outright.

Instead, I coax the lock to turn, flooding the mechanism with a subtle surge that disrupts its alignment.

The latch clicks. I grin. Vaelith underestimates my cunning if he believes a lock is enough.

Slowly, I push the door open, stepping into a small chamber lit only by a single ember of mage-light on a table.

My pulse leaps. Selene stands at the window, wearing plain training leathers, her dark hair pulled back in a casual knot.

She stiffens the instant I cross the threshold.

I watch her silhouette in the gloom—a coiled tension, a readiness to strike.

That immediate awareness of my presence makes me thrill.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, voice pitched low. She turns, giving me a full view of her face. Her eyes gleam with suspicion, and maybe something sharper. She’s every bit the caged predator I remember, refusing to cower.

I let the door click shut, ensuring we’re alone. “Visiting you,” I say, letting an edge of mockery tinge my tone. “Vaelith was most ungenerous, hoarding you for his so-called ‘military use.’ But the council did not forbid me from checking your well-being, dear purna.”

Her mouth tightens. “Your concern is touching,” she says, sarcasm laced into every syllable. “If you think I’ll come willingly so you can dig around in my head, you’re mistaken.”

I prowl closer, letting my psionic aura expand fractionally, tasting the edges of her mental shields.

She bristles, raising her internal walls so quickly it’s as though I’ve hit a fortress wall.

A flicker of delight runs down my spine.

“You’re consistent, at least,” I murmur.

“Your mind is still sealed tight, so deliciously inaccessible. I want to see it yield, Selene.”

She steps back, pressing against the windowsill. Her glare could start a fire. The swirl of tension coils in the small room, overshadowing the hush of night beyond. “You’re obsessed,” she says, voice quiet but fierce.

My pulse thuds in agreement. “Perhaps. I find your resistance an aphrodisiac.” I speak the truth, though it’s as unsettling to me as it is to her. Usually, minds break with minimal effort. But she remains unbroken, and that defiance stirs a craving I can’t quell.

She lifts her chin. “Then prepare for disappointment, because I won’t break.”

I let out a low laugh, stepping into her space until I’m close enough to catch her scent—a mix of leather, sweat, and underlying magic.

“We’ll see.” My voice dips, carrying an undercurrent of challenge.

“It’s not every day I meet a mind that stings me back when I press.

Feels like I’m dancing on knives. My arrogance never failed me before, but you, little purna, slip through my grasp. ”

Her breathing grows shallower, though she hides it well. “That’s the difference between us. You see minds as toys. I see you as a nuisance.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Nuisance? I suspect you enjoy our collisions more than you admit. Otherwise, you’d be calling the guards.”

She hesitates, possibly realizing I’m right.

Or maybe it’s my psionic presence weaving the faintest whisper of enthrallment into the air.

But her mind is too tightly shielded to let me enthrall her fully.

I sense only surface impressions, fleeting glimpses of her anger, her wariness, that flicker of something deeper.

The fact that I can’t push beyond it fuels my obsession further.

“I might call them yet,” she snaps, gaze cutting to the door. “Vaelith doesn’t want you near me.”