Page 48

A wave of satisfaction washes over me, though I fight to keep my regal composure.

The crowd mutters, excitement growing. I sense people trying to approach me, curious about my claims. I pivot gracefully, gliding through the onlookers as if I belong, offering cryptic nods and half-smiles.

Whispers follow in my wake: “Is she truly Lady Veloras reborn?” “Could that house still exist in secret?” “What does it mean for Orthani’s purge of purna centuries ago? ”

I relish their unease. My presence is an affront to everything they think they know of Orthani’s supremacy.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Vaelith entering the ballroom, scanning the crowd with that stern air of command.

My pulse flips. He’s seen me in countless forms, but never quite like this.

Will he recognize me? Possibly. My illusions are thorough, but Vaelith’s eyes are trained to catch subtle details.

I shift deeper into the throng, letting ruffled skirts and polished boots swirl around me.

The music changes to a slower waltz, pairs forming on the dance floor.

I linger at the edge, considering whether to join, when a group of younger nobles approaches, curiosity lighting their features.

One, a tall woman in a turquoise gown, offers a hesitant curtsy.

“Pardon me, my lady, but your presence is… extraordinary. Are you truly Lady Irena?”

I meet her gaze with a mild, distant smile. “I answer to that name, though perhaps your records show me as dead. Orthani’s archives often mislead.”

She pales a bit, but fascination overrules fear. Another nobleman pipes in, “If you are the rumored caretaker of purna, that might incite quite the scandal. The council?—”

I raise a finger, silencing him gently. “The council can stand aside. Orthani has toyed with forbidden punishments. Enough. I come to remind them that even ghosts can return when wrongdoing is left unatoned.”

A hush cloaks the group, a mixture of awe and dread.

Perfect. By sowing these seeds, I stoke the city’s fear that purna are never truly gone—my infiltration in full display.

And behind them, I spot Vaelith at last. He stands stiffly near a marble column, eyes locked on me.

My chest tightens at the swirl of emotion flickering in his gaze: suspicion, recognition, a flicker of something akin to pride or admiration.

I give him the slightest nod, acknowledging our recent heated struggles.

He moves closer, parting the crowd with subtle authority.

The onlookers hush, stepping aside to let the famed Commander approach.

He halts before me, expression carefully neutral.

The hush intensifies. He studies me, scanning my silvery hair, my regal bearing.

“You’re causing quite a stir,” he says, voice pitched low, though the tension coils behind each word.

A playful grin curls my lips. “Surely Orthani welcomes all of its nobility, even those thought long lost.”

He frowns, shifting to a more private tone. “You risk exposing your magic. This entire charade could unravel.”

I arch my brow. “Concern, Commander? Or does the legend of Lady Veloras rattle your precious traditions?”

He exhales, gaze flicking over the ring of curious onlookers. “Take my arm,” he orders under his breath. “Let’s dance, or appear to, while we discuss your madness in a less public manner.”

I nearly laugh at how seamlessly he tries to salvage control, but I give him a gracious inclination of my head.

“As you wish, dear Commander.” I rest my hand lightly on his arm, and we step onto the dance floor among the swirling couples.

The music strikes a stately rhythm, and we join the waltz, turning in sweeping arcs of polished marble.

The hush around us breaks into a buzz of commentary: “Commander Vaelith dancing with that mysterious noblewoman?” “Who is she?” I hear them murmur. The tension thickens as Vaelith and I spin gracefully, each step a negotiation of power.

He leans in, voice taut. “You’re pushing Orthani’s patience. Zareth already suspects you. If he tears down your illusions mid-gala, it could lead to an open confrontation.”

I smile sweetly, keeping my posture elegant. “Yes, and if he does, he reveals he’s battling a purna in front of the entire court. That might blow open his collar fiasco, or show the council how desperate he is. Either way, chaos suits me.”

His jaw tenses, though I sense a reluctant admiration. “Always so fearless. This stunt is… impressive, if reckless. Do you intend to spark a riot tonight?”

I shake my head, letting the transformation’s silver tresses brush my shoulders.

“Not a riot, just a reminder. Orthani thrives on illusions of safety. False assurances that they’ve eradicated purna.

This appearance unsettles them, draws more doubts.

Perfect for our sabotage efforts in the coming days. ”

He spins me gracefully, a tension in his grip that betrays the swirl of emotions roiling under his stoic facade. “You’re toying with a dagger’s edge, Selene.”

My name on his lips, whispered so no one overhears, sends a thrill down my spine. “I always have, Vaelith. You should be used to it by now.”

He scowls, pulling me closer as the dance intensifies. “I can’t stop you. But don’t expect me to clean up your mess if Zareth corners you. He’s unhinged after your last encounter.”

I let out a dry laugh. “If he tries cornering me, I’ll remind him again of how I bested him before.”

Our conversation is cut short by the music’s shift into a gentler passage, the crowd of dancers pressing closer.

We drift in near silence, locked in a swirl of contradictory tension.

I feel his body’s warmth, the memory of us crashing in lust, tangled with my knowledge that I also shared that heat with Eryx.

Vaelith’s jealousy hums under the surface, but here on the dance floor, we maintain the veneer of decorum.

As the music fades, we part, offering a polite bow to each other.

Applause ripples among the dancers, though many stares remain fixed on me.

My heart pulses with savage satisfaction.

I slip from Vaelith’s side, moving toward a dais where a trio of nobles gossip.

They hush when I approach, feigning cordiality.

Suddenly, a hush sweeps the room again—Zareth has returned, flanked by two robed psions.

The tension in his stance radiates malice.

He addresses the entire court, voice amplified by a subtle trick of arcane resonance.

“My lords and ladies, we have a visitor among us claiming to be Lady Irena Veloras, an impossibility. I’d ask for her to step forth and clarify her lineage, lest we harbor an imposter exploiting ancient fears. ”

The gathered nobles shift uncertainly. Some cling to the intrigue, others recoil.

I tilt my head, letting a cold smile curve my mouth.

“You question my right to appear at Orthani’s gala, Lord Zareth?

” I keep my tone calm yet echoing across the hall.

“Shall we examine the skeletons in your House’s vault before we test my lineage? ”

A ripple of uneasy laughter skims the crowd.

Zareth’s face darkens, his eyes glinting dangerously.

The two psions behind him shift, preparing for a mental assault if commanded.

My heart hammers, but I maintain my regal facade.

At any moment, we could erupt into a magical duel.

Yet Orthani’s watchers see this as pure drama, enthralled by the potential scandal.

I sense Vaelith on the sidelines, tense, ready to intervene if needed.

Zareth steps forward, raising a robed arm. “If you are who you claim, let us see you recite the ancient vow your House once swore to the Thirteen. A vow only a true Veloras could know.” A cunning test.

My stomach twists. He’s referencing a vow I’ve barely gleaned from old records.

Fortunately, Eryx’s infiltration retrieved some scraps of the oath.

I recall the archaic phrases. Steeling myself, I recite them in a lilting tone, weaving in bits of formal archaic speech.

The hush intensifies as my words bounce off marble pillars, echoing in the vast hall.

Zareth’s expression flattens. He didn’t expect me to pass.

The assembled nobles exchange shocked murmurs.

Some clench their fists or place hands over their hearts, unsettled by the significance of that vow.

I sense the tide turning in my favor, rumors of a vengeful spirit or a living descendant swirling anew.

Zareth forces a brittle smile. “An impressive recital. But illusions can be taught. House Veloras was stamped out. You’re no more than a cunning pretender. Surrender your charade, or I’ll show these lords your true identity.”

Ice crawls along my spine, but I tilt my head imperiously. “Show them, then. Reveal your psionic wrath in front of all Orthani, repeating your attempt to enslave a noble mind?” I let my voice ring, ensuring no one forgets his rumored collar fiasco. “Or do you fear repeating that failure?”

He seethes, eyes flicking to the gawking crowd.

He can’t strike me down openly without scandal.

My blood thrums. I press the advantage, stepping up onto a smaller dais near the main stage.

“Orthani was built upon the bones of betrayed houses,” I proclaim, voice carrying.

“Lady Veloras may have perished, but her legacy remains. And that legacy does not yield to fear or psionic tyranny.”

Nervous chatter erupts. I spy some older nobles edging away, as if my presence curses them.

Younger ones watch with open fascination.

Among them stands a woman with an embroidered fan, eyes gleaming with excitement.

She calls out, “If House Veloras truly stands, what do you seek from Orthani tonight?”