Page 38

SELENE

I wake before the sun has fully crested Orthani’s jagged skyline, my pulse still unsteady from a fitful doze.

My new chamber in Vaelith’s east wing is more comfortable than the dungeon or the barracks, but no plush bed or soft linens can soothe the whirl of conflicting loyalties in my mind.

I tumble out of the sheets, rolling my shoulders as I test any bruises left from yesterday’s infiltration drills.

My skin tingles where Vaelith’s hands clutched me.

The memory splices unease with smoldering need, leaving me more disoriented than any prison cell ever could.

I pull on a plain tunic and fitted trousers, ignoring the ache in my thighs.

Each faint twinge calls up images of our savage closeness, how we clashed until desire overcame us.

I want to hate him for it, but the rest of me hungers for another taste.

Shaking off the thought, I approach the washbasin to splash water on my face.

The cold shock helps me focus. Today’s tasks loom: I must keep playing Orthani’s game, gleaning more intel, sowing quiet sabotage.

And in the back of my mind lingers Eryx’s proposition—his promise of a shared plot to ruin the council and free Ai.

I rub a hand over my stiff neck, heading for the door.

A guard stands outside, as always. He steps back at my approach, letting me roam so long as I don’t stray beyond the boundaries Vaelith set.

I need some open air, at least for a moment.

But as I enter the corridor, a subtle shift in the estate’s atmosphere prickles along my senses.

Guards hurry by with hushed voices, as if on alert.

A tension seeps through the walls that I can’t quite place.

I head for the courtyard, hoping to practice forms and settle my restless energy.

My guard trails behind me. The morning air is crisp, the sky tinted with a dull purple that heralds another overcast day.

I cross the flagstones, scanning for any sign of Vaelith.

Not here. Maybe he’s convened with the war council early. Fine. The fewer eyes, the better.

I slip behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges, intent on drilling with my dagger.

My guard stands at a discreet distance, arms folded.

I exhale and start cycling through the motions—slash, pivot, strike.

My mind empties into each movement, letting me vanish from the swirl of Eryx’s demands and Vaelith’s hold.

For a few precious breaths, I’m simply honing my lethal skill.

From the corner of my vision, a dark shape appears.

My instincts flare, and I spin to face it.

Zareth emerges from behind a twisted statue, his robed figure almost gliding across the stones.

My stomach lurches. Of the three men entangled in my captivity, Zareth is the one who truly unnerves me.

His psionic mastery brushes under my guard, prying at the corners of my mind.

I see the faint flicker of gold in his eyes, the sign of intense arcane power.

My guard stiffens, hand on his sword. Zareth doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he stares straight at me, a cool smile curving his lips. “I’d like a word with Selene,” he says softly, addressing the guard as though he’s irrelevant. “Return to your post.”

The guard hesitates. “Commander Vaelith said?—”

Zareth lifts a slender hand, and a subtle wave of psionic force crackles in the air.

The guard’s eyes glaze over, his posture slackening.

My heart seizes at the brazen display of mind control.

In two slow strides, the guard turns, walking away with a blank expression.

Zareth’s magic nearly hums against my skin.

A tremor of anger and wariness flows through me. “How dare you manipulate him?” I snap, stepping back a pace.

Zareth cants his head, red hair shimmering in the half-light. “You speak as if I haven’t done this a thousand times. And you, little purna, speak as if you truly care for a guard who’d toss you to the council if you slipped.” His voice is low, seductive in its arrogance.

I tighten my grip on my dagger, refusing to show fear. “I care about not having you violate the minds around me. You have no right.”

He smirks. “Orthani gave me every right. My house’s lineage ensures it.

” Then his gaze drifts up and down my figure, as though dissecting me.

“You’ve grown bolder since our last exchange.

Perhaps Vaelith’s questionable… indulgences embolden you.

” A flicker of malice sparkles in his eyes.

“No matter. Today, I’ve come to claim what should be mine from the start. ”

A prickle of warning tingles over my scalp. My dagger lifts a fraction, ready to parry. “I’m no one’s property. Vaelith might think otherwise, but I’ll remind you both if necessary.”

Zareth’s grin widens, twisted. “You misunderstand. I don’t come to debate your cage.

I come to secure your mind.” Faster than I expect, he whips out a slender band from his robes.

A hush of raw magic clings to its surface, runes etched in shimmering lines.

“A collar,” he purrs, “for your mind, not your neck. Once worn, it seeps into your thoughts, binds your will to me.”

My stomach knots. I sense the horrifying potential of that artifact. If he locks my mind, I become a puppet. A wave of defiance surges in me. “Over my dead body.”

He arches a brow. “That can be arranged,” he murmurs, stepping closer, boots whispering across the courtyard’s stones.

“But the council wants you alive. Let’s not force me to make a mess.

Stand still, little witch, and let me slip this collar onto your thoughts.

Then we can proceed with more interesting tests. ”

A hiss tears from my throat. I lash out with the dagger, but he anticipates, darting back.

My blade whistles through empty air. He clicks his tongue, raising his robed arm.

Psionic force slams into me, invisible pressure driving me to my knees.

Pain blossoms along my spine. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out.

He steps forward, expression almost lazy. “Your psionic resistance is noteworthy, but you’re no master. Once this collar links to your mind, all your cunning, your illusions—” he sneers the last word— “will serve me.”

Rage flares. My entire being rejects the idea of mental servitude.

Summoning the swirl of my psionic power, I push back against the invisible weight.

My breath hitches. I manage to stand, knees shaking from the strain.

Zareth’s brow furrows, as though he’s impressed.

Then his eyes glow gold, ramping up the pressure.

The courtyard spins, lines blurring as he tries to break my mental defenses. My chest feels tight, each breath labored. He extends the band in his hand, arcane runes shimmering like venomous serpents. My temples throb, but I cling to every ounce of defiance. “No,” I gasp.

He steps closer, triumphant. “Yes,” he whispers, raising the band. I see the faint lines of runic script that must latch onto the victim’s mind. If it touches me, I might never break free again. Desperation roars in my chest.

I push every thought aside, letting that primal part of my mind awaken.

The part that Eryx’s talk of sabotage stoked, the part that thrives on cunning illusions.

Drawing on the swirl of arcane energy in my veins, I channel it into a sharp mental spear.

My vision flickers, but I direct the thrust at Zareth, aiming to overwhelm his own concentration.

His eyes widen as he senses the sudden surge. “What?—”

I bare my teeth. “You want to own my mind? Let’s see if you can handle it.

” With a surge, I unleash a wave of mental distortion.

Not illusions—just a brutal twisting of the psionic field that spawns horrifying visions in his consciousness.

Nightmarish shapes swirl at the edges of his eyes, dark whispers hissing.

He staggers, losing hold on the telekinetic force pinning me. Freedom rushes through my limbs. I gasp, staggering upright. Zareth grips the band, fury twisting his face. “You dare?” he snarls, voice ragged.

I roll my shoulders, dagger at the ready.

“I dare,” I hiss back, letting the hallucinations intensify.

I direct them with savage glee: shadows creeping over his skin, flickers of monstrous faces leering from the corners of his sight.

If I push too hard, Orthani’s wards might detect an abnormally intense psionic fight, but I can’t hold back. This is life or death.

Zareth’s knees buckle. He clutches his skull, dropping the collar band.

I note its arcane glimmer fading on the stones.

The man who normally exudes unflappable psionic mastery now trembles, sweat beading on his brow.

I don’t let up, pressing the wave further.

Sinuous shapes swirl in his peripheral vision, spectral horrors that claw at him.

He chokes out a breath. “Stop,” he hisses, voice cracking. “I’ll—” But his threat never finishes. The illusions tighten their grip, forcing him to stagger backward. My heart races, half exhilarated, half terrified by how close I came to subjugation.

A cluster of guards appear around the courtyard’s edge, alerted by the commotion.

I sense them gawking as they see Zareth hunched in agony.

The band lies at my feet, faint embers flickering from its runes.

I could destroy it with one well-placed dagger strike, ensuring no other mind-enslaving attempts.

My instincts scream to do so, but the guards might swarm me if I sabotage a revered noble’s property.