Page 25

“Daevas themselves rarely attack directly,” Darian corrects.

“It’s the monsters they breed we fight constantly, even raiding their settlements at times.

But Faelas’s father… that was different.

Thirteen years ago, he left Izadmond to meet our advising Ahira.

We found them both at the bottom of a ravine—no injuries, no sign of a struggle.

Definitely the work of sorcery. We can’t point a finger at a Firelander, obviously, which leaves us to think it was one of those sorcerous Daevas. ”

To think that these creatures, shadows that I have only read about in books, are real and capable of such insidious acts…

“They were alone? Just the two of them?”

Darian nods. “Firelands investigated, of course, but found nothing. They blamed us for their Ahira’s death, which further strained the already tense relationship between Firelands and Izadeon.”

“I had heard of a Firelands envoy’s death in Izadeon thirteen years ago, but I didn’t know it was a sorcerous Daeva who did it,” I almost whisper.

Such an important envoy being murdered by a Daeva should have been big news—why were we simply told that Izadeon was at fault?

Darian continues, unaware of my inner thoughts.

“Faelas’s father trained the three of us from the time we could barely walk upright.

He was a good man. That’s why Faelas joined the army.

Bahador and I always wanted to be soldiers, both of us.

But Faelas always had his nose stuck in books, even though he’s from a family line of warriors and priests stretching back generations.

He wanted to follow in Bahador’s father’s footsteps and go to Madrisa to become a Master. ” A wry smile touches his lips.

Madrisa, the legendary Academy in Aramis’s capital, Aravan, caters to wealthy, well-connected non-sorcerers.

Unlike the Fire Temple Academy, which is free for all sorcerers, Madrisa commands a hefty tuition.

This ensures its student body is predominantly noble and affluent, though exceptionally talented commoners occasionally earn scholarships.

Students explore law, religion, mathematics, alchemy, and languages. A dedicated few undertake nine years of intense study to become Masters, committed to a life of knowledge .

“The day after we found his father’s body, he walked into the training grounds and asked Bahador to teach him how to fight. Said he was done with books, done with dreaming. Ever since then, there’s been nothing in his head but coming to Jahanwatch.”

A hush falls over us as I take another swig of my ale and watch Faleas. He’s always been so cold and calculating to me, but I feel a sudden wave of empathy towards him, despite barely knowing him. It must be incredibly difficult to abandon your dreams because of a tragedy like that.

My gaze flicks to Bahador, who appears to be flirting with a young, one-starred Martyshwoman.

She is looking at him with an expression typically reserved for gazing at a heavenly angel, and keeps biting her lower lips as Bahador talks to her with a distance that is too close for any casual conversation.

“Is Bahador related to High Lord Demar Dartheon?”

Darian shakes his head, a puzzled look on his face. “No, why would you think that?”

“Hadryk mentioned his father is governing the province.”

Darian smirks. “Ah, that. Bahador’s father isn’t the High Lord, but he’s the next in power—the Chief Advisor of Izadeon.”

My eyebrows shoot to the top of my head.

Faelas is the son of the chief commander, and Bahador is the son of the High Lord’s right-hand man?

These three are clearly from Izadeon’s highest echelons.

Yet there’s a surprising lack of pretension about them.

Very different from the arrogant nobles I’ve encountered in Myra and Firelands.

I look at Darian curiously. “What about your family? Are they in the High Lord’s circle as well?”

“Something like that,” Darian replies, his tone suddenly guarded. He clearly doesn’t want to divulge too much, so I don’t pry, even though I really, really want to.

After a long moment of silence, a chuckle escapes his lips.

“Well, I’ll be damned. We’ve actually managed to have a conversation longer than a heartbeat that doesn’t involve the trials.

You’re usually quiet as a mouse, Arien. It makes a man wonder if winning these trials is the only thing that tickles your fancy about us. ”

“I enjoy talking and getting to know you all,” I protest, a hint of defensiveness in my voice. “I wouldn’t want to pry into matters not meant for my ears.”

“Fair enough. But there’s a difference between quiet observation and vanishing into shadows like you tend to do. Besides, getting to know your allies isn’t prying—it’s good sense,” he says while wiping a trace of ale from his chin with the back of his sleeve.

“Perhaps,” I concede with a sigh. “It’s just… socializing isn’t really my specialty.”

Heat rushes up my neck and flames torch my cheeks as Darian leans in, close , and his voice drops to a low, playful murmur. “Then what is it, my friend? Tell me, and perhaps I, the master of entertainment, can conjure up a suitable distraction.”

His lips, only inches away from me, the teasing glint in his eyes, and that familiar, dangerous spark in them…

My body warms as I hold his gaze. There is something deep in them, beneath the mischief, that shuts out the rest of the room and makes me unable to look away.

The betraying blush creeps up my neck and floods my cheeks.

I try to suppress it, to regain control, and appear unaffected, but it’s no use.

The sudden, overwhelming awareness of him in my space is a fire that races along my skin.

Darian chuckles with a low, resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through my very bones before stepping back, creating much-needed space between us. But the infuriatingly handsome smile that plays on his lips tells me he noticed my reaction. And he enjoyed it.

Gods, he’s charming. I’m realizing his charm is less a fleeting impression and more like an undeniable, ever-present truth.

His good looks aren’t the kind that stops conversations, like Zanyar’s intimidating aura or Bahador’s captivating presence.

No, Darian’s attractiveness is something else entirely.

It is the kind that draws you in, making you want to lean closer and listen to every word.

It is approachable, inviting, like a crackling fireplace on a snowy night.

He has the air of a natural leader, a man other men would willingly follow, not out of fear but out of respect and admiration.

But it isn’t just his lopsided smile or the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs.

It is something more, something that resonates deep within me, a warmth that spreads through me like an ember.

And the more time I spend around him, the more my awareness of his appeal solidifies.

I wonder how he would be with women. I imagine that he would be a slow burn, a captivating addiction, the kind that whispers its way into their veins until it owns them, leaving them wanting more, but ensuring that he remains just beyond their definitive grasp. I can see it so clearly with him.

I cough to steady my composure. “Uh, um… Just not much practice, that’s all.”

“Not much socializing in Firelands, then?”

His gaze never leaves me, and I resist the urge to squirm under the weight of those dark blue eyes. “Not much that I was included in.”

“Is that an Ahira specialty, or was it just you?” he probes gently.

My eyes drop to the floor, my fingers fidgeting with the flagon in my hand. “There were not a lot of girls in Fire Temple. And fraternizing with boys was discouraged. Only two girls were my age, but… they weren’t exactly welcoming.”

A wave of self-consciousness passes through me, and I suddenly feel very awkward and uncomfortable sharing how unliked I was with this man.

“Why not?” he asks, even gentler this time.

I risk a glance at him, and I’m met with a kind smile that somehow manages to be both reassuring and flustering.

My heart does a weird dance in my chest, and I quickly avert my eyes.

I can feel my eyebrows furrowing, but words tumble out, unbidden.

“Firelands prides itself on spotting sorcerers early, training them before they enter Fire Temple Academy. They compensate the families for children to receive rigorous training in arcane arts, history, and alchemy before they turn nine. But my sorcery manifested just moons before I turned nine,” I lie.

“I had no education to speak of. I could barely read, write, or even speak properly, let alone grasp the complexities of sorcery. When I started school, I felt out of place. The other girls were already advanced and looked down on me. ”

I sneak another glance at Darian, half expecting a look of pity or maybe even judgment.

Instead, I find… understanding, and a hint of encouragement.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d spent time as a social outcast—though I can’t imagine someone as charming as Darian ever being an outcast. But whatever emotion is in his dark blue eyes emboldens me, and I continue my tale of woe.