Page 49

I pivot, letting my gaze sweep the crowd. “I seek no vendetta. Only a reminder that purna—those hunted by Orthani—can never be fully stamped out. Let Orthani recall it cannot silence every bloodline it deems unfit. Let them know that what they kill might rise again.”

A crackle of tension. Some watchers shiver.

Others exchange glances that suggest this talk resonates with old resentments or personal fear.

My pulse thrums with victory—this single performance has sown doubt across the city’s elite.

Zareth stands rooted, jaws clenched, powerless to forcibly rip away my illusions.

Vaelith lurks by a pillar, face unreadable, but I catch a flicker of respect in his eyes.

Amid the swirl of mutters, I slip off the dais and vanish into the throng.

Several nobles try to chase me with questions, but I slip away deftly.

My illusions hold strong, though I feel the strain on my arcane reserves.

My mind spins with satisfaction: I’ve planted a seed of fear that Orthani’s purges never truly cleansed the city.

That any house they killed might return.

That purna still lurk among them, unstoppable.

Eventually, I find a side corridor lined with potted ferns, far from prying eyes.

I take a moment to breathe, adrenaline coursing.

The music from the main hall drifts faintly.

My illusions remain stable, though I sense a faint headache from the continuous drain.

I grin, letting my shoulders relax. This was a triumph.

I scattered seeds of panic, defied Zareth publicly, and stoked the notion that purna stand on Orthani’s threshold.

A soft footstep behind me. I spin, half expecting Zareth or guards, but discover Vaelith stepping from the shadows.

My heart leaps, recalling how tension with him soared recently.

He stands tall, formal attire accentuating his broad form.

The flicker of torchlight catches the fierce angles of his face.

“You always court danger,” he murmurs, voice low.

I smile, letting the archaic illusions remain. “Danger is Orthani’s language. I speak it fluently.”

His gaze flicks over my silver hair, the half-haunted glow of my eyes. “You had them all transfixed. Even Zareth trembled.” He exhales. “You’re dancing on a blade’s edge, forging illusions that might provoke the council. Are you satisfied with the chaos you created?”

My pulse thrums with pride. “Yes. Orthani sees a ghost tonight, and rumor will spread like wildfire. This gives me an advantage. Let them reevaluate their security, fear purna’s return.

” I step closer, adjusting the angle of my face so that my illusions remain in partial shadow, ensuring he can’t see my real features slip.

He hesitates, eyes reflecting a swirl of emotions. “I can’t openly condone it,” he says quietly, “but part of me… admires your boldness.” He glances around, ensuring no one lingers to hear. “You realize Zareth won’t rest. He’ll attempt to pry the truth from you next time he catches you alone.”

I shrug lightly. “He tried to collar me once and failed. If he tries again, I’ll remind him of that humiliation.” Then, my voice softens. “I saw your expression in the hall, Vaelith. It didn’t look like mere discipline. It looked like… pride.”

A flicker crosses his face. “Damn you,” he mutters under his breath.

“I’m torn between wanting to protect you from the fallout and wanting to drag you back to your rooms so you stop flaunting your power.

” He steps nearer, voice dropping further.

“And I recall your arrangement—your freedom to slip between other men’s arms if you choose.

Yet I can’t tear myself away from you either. ”

Heat stirs in my chest, a swirl of conflicting affection. “Let me have this triumph,” I whisper, “and perhaps later, I might reward your loyalty.” The innuendo hums between us. I see his jaw tense, desire warring with jealousy yet again.

We stand in silence for a breath, the far-off melody of music drifting.

The side corridor is deserted, potted ferns rustling in a faint draft.

Finally, Vaelith huffs, stepping back. “Return to the gala if you wish, but watch your back. Zareth might pounce on your performance’s aftermath. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

I nod, stepping away from him. My illusions swirl in place, sustaining my specter-like aura. “Thank you,” I say, surprising even myself with the sincerity. “Despite everything, your presence here steadies me.”

He tilts his head, eyes burning with unspoken longing, then turns and disappears down the corridor.

I watch him go, heart in my throat. Then I compose myself, smoothing my gown.

My illusions remain strong, though they test my stamina.

I vow to keep the facade intact for the rest of the gala, letting the rumor mill swirl.

Eventually, I drift back into the main hall, weaving among the lords and ladies who still whisper about Lady Veloras resurrected.

A swirl of adrenaline pulses in my blood.

I linger at the edges, refusing to let Zareth trap me.

The excitement of the moment hums in the air—some fear me, some want to unravel my secrets, all enthralled by the notion that a centuries-dead noble just walked into Orthani’s heart.

By the time the gala winds down, I’ve sowed enough chaos to further Eryx’s sabotage plans and my infiltration.

The entire court has heard the rumors. Some suspect it’s a prank or a cunning transformative ploy, but no one dares openly challenge me after Zareth’s retreat.

I slip out well before the final dance, stepping into the cold night of Orthani’s streets.

My illusions finally fade once I’m alone in a shadowed alley.

I gasp at the sudden release, my hair reverting to its dark hue, my face returning to its usual shape.

A wave of fatigue hits me, but satisfaction warms my core.

This night was a victory. Zareth cowered, Vaelith’s uncertain pride burned in his eyes, and the city’s nobles reel with speculation.

I can almost sense Ai’s cryptic prophecy weaving tighter: “One will betray.” Maybe multiple betrayals swirl around me, but with each bold move, I carve a path to Ai’s freedom and Orthani’s downfall.

My footsteps echo as I head back toward the estate, planning to reenter my rooms before dawn.

If Vaelith intercepts me, perhaps I’ll let him glimpse the raw triumph shining in my eyes.

He might not wholeheartedly condone my stunts, but he can’t stifle his admiration either—and that gives me leverage.

The same with Eryx, fueling sabotage from the shadows, enthralled by my cunning.

And Zareth? He stands on the brink of losing control, a threat I relish thwarting at every turn.

Tonight, the noble gala was my stage, and Orthani watched a ghost reclaim her power.

Soon, the city will face a real haunting when Eryx and I sabotage their supply lines, tipping Orthani’s carefully balanced structure into chaos.

For now, I walk the quiet streets, letting the moon witness my silent grin.

I proved that neither time nor Orthani’s brutal edicts can extinguish the specter of purna resilience.

Lady Irena Veloras’ echo remains etched in the minds of those who saw me tonight, and they’ll tremble at the possibility that more ghosts—more purna—might be lurking.

With that heady knowledge, I disappear into the labyrinth of alleys, slipping past dozing guards, returning to the estate’s side entrance.

A single guard nods as I pass, likely assuming I’m one of the returning gala guests.

He doesn’t recognize me as the haunting figure who unsettled half the court.

Perfect. Tomorrow, Orthani awakens to new rumors, deeper fractures in their illusions of security.

And I’ll be ready to exploit every crack.