Something flickered in Ivan’s eyes. A knowledge that chilled me.
“She has the shadows?” he asked, his voice low, deliberate. “She’s a true shadowmancer?”
“The very last,” Vael said, pride curdling in his voice like spoiled wine.
“Interesting.” Ivan’s gaze raked over me, sharp and assessing. There was hunger in it. Not lust—ambition. As if he’d just uncovered a long-buried weapon and was calculating how best to wield it.
Beneath my shirt, the amulet seared against my skin. Not a burn—a warning. Like it had woken.
Something was happening. Something I didn’t yet understand.
Not for the first time, I was grateful I’d given Phoenix the book.
And not for the last, I wondered just how much danger we were really in.
“Sire,” Thorne said, stepping forward, “I should escort Elira to her rooms.”
“Indeed,” Ivan murmured, without looking at either of us.
“Take her tomychambers,” Vael added smoothly, his voice thick with satisfaction. “She’ll be joining me there.”
A silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating.
I looked to Thorne. I pleaded.Beggedwith my eyes.
Please. Don’t.
His jaw twitched. Just once.
“As you wish,” he said flatly. He took my arm. His grip was firm—but not painful.
And he pulled me away,
**
The room was beautiful. At the top of the tower—too high to climb, too far to scream.
The door was thick, iron-braced, locked with something beyond a key.
I tried anyway.
I clawed at the handle. Slammed my shoulder into the frame. Yanked at the chains on my wrists.
Nothing.
I was trapped. Again.
Vael arrived not long after, reverence in every step. He looked around the room like it was sacred.
“Isn’t it incredible?” he said softly. “We’re so high, we can almost see the gods.”
In his arms, he held fabric. Silk. Lace. Gowns. He laid them on the bed with care.
Then he turned to me.
His eyes flicked over the dirt-stained leathers I still wore. He reached out and tugged lightly at the front of them.
“I hate these,” he murmured. “They make you look hard. They make you look… wrong.”
