Page 67

Her presence, as always, is a palpable shift in the very air around her.

Dressed in her signature black leather, her silver hair catches the moonlight and reflects it with a glow.

The woman who had dominated my thoughts, my dreams, my ambitions, almost every day since I was nine years old.

Martyshbod Lirael. Her eyes, a piercing, almost unnervingly bright blue, lock onto mine.

How did she get here? How did she even know we were here?

A heavy silence descends, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the leaves. She stands there, the most powerful woman on the continent, observing us with a calm, assessing gaze.

Zanyar is the first to speak. “How long have you been following us?”

“Since you chose her as your partner,” Martyshbod Lirael replies calmly, her piercing blue eyes now holding Zanyar’s gaze.

The leader of Martysh, the most prestigious army in the realm, commanding over hundreds of thousands of soldiers, has been following two contenders this whole time? It seems inconceivable, yet her presence speaks for itself. Zanyar doesn’t seem shocked by this revelation, though.

“You had your men tailing me all this time, there was no need for you to trouble yourself personally.”

The warmth, the openness in him is completely gone, replaced by his usual cool, detached composure. He’s Zanyar Zareen again, the untouchable Ahira, the heir Aramis never had.

Martyshbod Lirael’s lips curve into a slight smile, a hint of amusement that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Let’s not overestimate their success, Ahira Zareen.

Their surveillance has been adequate, at best. Hardly discreet.

Which is precisely why I deemed them unsuitable for tonight’s delicate operation.

A wise decision, wouldn’t you agree? Considering you, a trained Fire Eye, remained blissfully unaware of my presence, even as I shadowed your every move from brothel districts to passing through enchanted gates and noble gatherings to your current predicament.

” She pauses, letting her words sink in.

She must have been under an invisibility spell. But for this long? That would drain even the most powerful nine-ringed, but she appears sharp and strong after casting a spell that potent for a whole day. And why would she go to such lengths in the first place?

“I wanted to stay in the shadows and observe, to allow you to almost carry out your orders unimpeded. But Arien proved to be rather discerning. She saw through your act before you could complete your task.” Her gaze flicks to me, and I can see a hint of respect in their depth.

“What order?” I squeak, my eyes cutting quickly to Zanyar.

“The order Emmengar gave him,” Lirael says casually, her gaze shifting from me back to Zanyar.

“I’ve been curious as to why you haven’t executed it yet.

You’ve had ample opportunity. But…” She pauses, a sly, almost mocking smirk playing on her lips.

“. . . after witnessing that rather touching confession, it all became clear. Your fondness for Arien has complicated matters. Delayed the inevitable. You hoped that she might be persuaded by your promises, that she might choose a different path willingly. But even you, Ahira Zareen, can’t defy a direct order from your masters forever. ”

“What order?” The words explode from me, a shout that rips through the quiet night.

It’s not smart to yell at the woman who holds my future in her hands, the woman who, moments ago, saved my life.

But I can’t help it. The near-death experience has pushed me to the edge.

I’m teetering on the brink, and I need answers now .

Martyshbod Lirael looks at me coolly. “To ensure you won’t win these trials. An order given to him by Emmengar himself.”

Her words stun me into silence. I turn to Zanyar, expecting— needing —him to deny it, to laugh it off as some cruel, twisted joke. But his face is a storm. He’s staring at Lirael, not with surprise, but with a cold, cold fury.

“Is that… is that true?” I ask as my gaze darts between him and Lirael.

Zanyar doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze remains on Lirael, and a muscle in his jaw ticks, a visible sign of his tightly controlled tension.

So I turn to Lirael, my voice hardening with a desperate need for answers. “Why would Ahira Emmengar want me out of the trials? He gave me his blessing.”

“Perhaps,” Lirael says, waving an elegant hand at Zanyar, “you should ask the person he entrusted with that task.”

“I never intended to force her to lose,” Zanyar growls.

Martyshbod’s lips curve into a slow, sarcastic smile. “Is that why you separated her from her allies? Led her to this secluded location?” The mockery is blatant.

Her words hit their mark. Zanyar’s control snaps. He finally turns to me, his eyes blazing. “I brought you here to offer you a choice, a different future. To convince you with words. Not to…” He stops, unable to finish the sentence.

“And what were you planning to do if Arien refused your generous offer?” Lirael presses.

“Stay out of this,” Zanyar roars, his eyes blazing and his face flushed. His control seems to be completely shattered.

I’ve never seen him like this, so completely unraveled. He’s glaring at Lirael, the intensity of his fury radiating off him in waves, and for a terrifying moment, I think he might actually attack her.

Lirael, however, looks on at him with an almost amused smile playing on her lips, as though he is a cute kitten rather than the fierce warrior I know him to be .

Zanyar forces himself to calm down with a visible effort. He closes his eyes and takes several deep, shuddering breaths. When he opens them again, he turns to me, and the rage is gone, replaced by a weary, almost pleading look. “Arien. I would never hurt you. Never.”

“Was it all a lie?” I whisper. “This whole confession? Did you make it up because you found it beneath you to force me?”

A hollow ache settles in my chest. I wanted to believe him.

That small, foolish, hopeful part of me, the part that had been so unexpectedly moved by his confession, yearned to believe that someone like him, someone I’d once thought of as the most fascinating man in the world, had actually seen me and cared for me.

It feels so cruel of him. To use my past, my vulnerabilities, and my traumas against me. He didn’t have to go that far.

“No,” Zanyar says forcefully. He takes a step forward, then stops abruptly when I involuntarily flinch.

“Arien, I’ve never lied to you,” his voice is raw with emotion.

“I may have withheld information, I may have been circumspect, but I have never uttered a lie to you. Not about this. Not about anything. Ever.”

I search his eyes, those intense emerald depths, seeking for truth. But only doubt rises in my throat. I take another step back, creating more distance between us. Zanyar’s eyes cloud with a profound sadness, and his face contorts with a palpable hurt.

I remain silent, lost in a maelstrom of confusion, hurt, and a strange, unwelcome grief. He, too, seems to have run out of words. His usual composure is fractured. He looks… lost. Defeated.

Martyshbod Lirael interjects, “Touching as this little moment is, dawn approaches. And I am here to ensure Arien’s success in the trial. Fortunately, the requirements are simple: both of you must reach Jahanwatch. Alive. With your stones. Your condition is irrelevant.”

Before I can even process her words, she flicks her wrist with a casual, almost dismissive gesture, and darkness, absolute and terrifying, swallows me whole.

##################

My eyelids flutter open, and I’m immediately assaulted by a harsh brightness. Wincing, I blink against it, my eyes struggling to adjust.

Where am I?

My vision slowly clears, and the room comes into focus: walls lined with detailed maps, a massive desk overflowing with a jumble of documents, scrolls, and quills, and the scent of old parchment and ink filling the air.

My neck aches with a sharp, stabbing pain as I try to sit up.

I’m in an unfamiliar, high-backed chair, and sunlight streams through a nearby window.

Sunlight.

My heart lurches. I’ve slept through the night. Did I miss the deadline? Failed the trial? I jump up from the chair with a frantic, jerky movement, my head spinning.

And then I see her. Martyshbod Lirael.

Standing by the window, her gaze fixed on the rising sun. I suddenly realize that this is Lirael’s solar, the very place Darian and I had spied upon more than two moons ago. It feels like another lifetime.

“The trial… ” I stammer.

She doesn’t move or turn to me. “You have passed the trial. I enchanted your horses to carry you and that boy back to Jahanwatch. Your stones were returned as well. You arrived just before dawn.”

I stare at her, my mind struggling to reconcile with her words. Lirael finally turns to me, her gaze sweeping over me, assessing. “I’m pleased that your first thought, after such a turbulent night, is of the trial. It suggests that Zareen hasn’t entirely succeeded in swaying you from your purpose.”

My legs betray me, and I sink back into the chair.

Thirst claws at my throat, and my stomach growls.

I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.

Martyshbod Lirael gestures toward a small table beside me, where I see a bowl of ripe fruit, a loaf of freshly baked bread, small pies, and a pitcher of water.

It’s a tempting spread, but even the thought of eating feels like too much effort.

Still, I reach for a goblet of water and manage to break off a piece of bread.

I’m starving, but I can barely force myself to chew and swallow.

Each bite feels like a monumental task. Soon, I abandon the effort, letting the bread fall back onto the plate, and simply sit with my gaze fixed on the uneaten food.