She doesn’t know. But neither does Nyssa. The truth is a wound that never healed. What happened at Emerald Hill was a betrayalthat stained all sides. I was still young then, merely a pup compared to my father and his commanders, but I had been tasked with keeping the diplomacy talks afloat ahead of another attempt at a peace treaty.
I worked closely with Sarah Salem on that. We were so close to putting an end to the violence, to forging something real from the ashes of our hatred. But we were ambushed. The bitterness of that day lingers in my heart, a cold stone that the centuries have failed to wear down. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that the past cannot be changed.
When I turn, I find Esme’s gaze has drifted back to the Salem buckle. The sword was a failed distraction.
“You’re really not telling me everything about that piece,” she murmurs, her voice low.
“It’s not my story to tell,” I reply, the words feeling inadequate even as I say them.
“I’d summon Arturius, if he’s still able to retain his spirit form. Given how old he is, I doubt it…” Her voice trails off, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. “On top of that, Draethys keeps me from reaching out to my ancestors.” She turns fully, her body now angled to face me, the full weight of her dark, intense eyes pinning me in place. “This place you brought me to… it’s a spiritual dead zone. It severs the Path of Eternal Vigil. You’ve cut me off from my power, from my family, from my history.”
The accusation hangs in the cold, still air, and I don’t deny it.
“My coven is my strength. My ancestors are my shield,” she continues, her gaze unwavering. “And you’ve taken both. So don’t you dare talk to me about stories thataren’t yours to tell.As long as I am trapped here, cut off and blind, every single one of these secrets is my business.” Her tone drops lower, to almost a whisper. “And I will uncover them. With or without your help.”
Her defiance is a wildfire, set in the heart of a mountain. It is the very essence of the Salems I once knew, the quality that made them such formidable allies and devastating enemies. It is the reason I need her. And the reason she may very well destroy me.
She walks off, but I can’t help watching.
Even in the functional lines of the Bellatorium uniform, she has a lethal grace that’s impossible to ignore. Her hips sway with each angry step, her spine ramrod straight. That indomitable Salem pride. It is the single greatest threat to my plans, and the very thing that sets my blood on fire.
Infuriating. Exquisite.
10
ESME
That wasn’t just a belt buckle and Dayn knows it.
I didn’t tell him I know what it is either. I hope he doesn’t suspect that I do, given my little performance.
“There will be more rumors about you in the days to come,” Nyssa warns as we walk back to the royal palace. “What happened in the combat arena had the students talking. I mean, even before Lord Daynthazar arrived. Thank the gods he dismissed everyone for… whatever it was the two of you did.”
“Dayn is the one who wanted to send me there,” I reply with a shrug. “Not my fault.”
My fingers twitch at my side as the Salem disc flashes through my mind again. The serpent's three heads, the dried blood texture.
“Something's troubling you,” Nyssa says softly. Her eyes track my face as we slip through shadow-drenched alleyways toward the palace's service entrance. We’ve agreed to keep out of the public eye as much as possible, given my notoriety.
I force my lips into a half-smile. “In Draethys? Pick a reason.”
I don’t enjoy being dishonest with Nyssa, but it’s necessary.
The Arturius Salem disc is something far more important and it could very well be my way out of here—provided I find a way back into the Repository to grab it. I’ve seen its kind before, in theforbidden sections of Darkbirch’s library, locked behind wards even I wasn’t permitted to pass. They aren’t decorations. They are keys. Portal matrices, capable of navigating the ley lines that crisscross the world. High-grade magic. The kind of thing my grandmother told me I would never need. She told me my skills were for the battlefield, not the arcane workshop.
Brynn would probably know better how to use it. She’s read enough books. All I have is a pretty good idea of how it works and my darkblood instincts to guide me. Given the circumstances, it will have to do.
We push through the service door and make our way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper floors, guided by torches on the stone walls. The amber lights cast long shadows, but I find them welcoming. Familiar. Eerily kind to my soul. After the searing chaos in the arena, the cool, quiet dark feels like coming home. It reminds me that even here, in the heart of the dragon’s den, there are still places where I can hide.
Upon reaching my room, Nyssa glances left and right along the corridor, then briefly leans in. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t,” she mutters.
I frown at her. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Nyssa doesn’t immediately respond, though I see the doubt in her eyes. The concern. But she lets a heavy sigh out and takes a couple of steps back.
“I’ll come for you when it’s time for dinner. Lord Daynthazar has reserved one of the private dining rooms on the ground floor for us,” she says.
“How kind,” I reply.
