Amelia looks up from across the courtyard, sensing the shift even without words. Our eyes meet. I don’t tell her yet. But Velcryn is calling. And the Matrons never summon without blood on their minds.
13
AMELIA
He tells me he has to return to Velcryn at dawn. He says it casually like he’s discussing the weather.
“The Matrons have demanded an audience,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his glove with precise, deliberate movements. “They want to assess the bond. And me.”
“Assess how?” I ask.
His mouth curves faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “They want to see whether I’ve changed.”
The word hangs between us.
“Have you?” I ask.
His dark gaze flicks to mine. “That’s what they intend to determine.”
I step closer despite myself. “What do they think the bond does? Corrupts you? Weakens you?”
“They think it compromises me.” A pause. “They think you do.”
My magic stirs at that, offended and restless.
“And what do you think?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer immediately. That’s how I know it matters.
“I think,” he says slowly, “that the bond accelerates alignment. Power seeks power. It doesn’t dilute. It amplifies.”
I cross my arms. “You’re avoiding something.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Am I?”
“Yes. What do they really want?”
“To see whether I still serve Velcryn first.”
“And do you?”
The question lands harder than I expect.
His jaw tightens. “I serve Velcryn. I always will.”
It’s not the whole truth. I feel that much.
“What do you want, Zeidan?” I ask quietly.
Something shifts in him. The air changes. The bond tightens, attentive.
“You know why I offered the bond,” he says.
“No,” I cut in. “I know what you said. Resources. Reinforcement. Strategy. But you didn’t do it just to keep me from turning against you. And you didn’t do it because you trust me.”
His gaze sharpens. “Careful.”
“Tell me the truth.”
