A smile ghosts his lips as he reaches for a decanter on the desk.“The Triarch are pleased with your efficiency—as always.They’ve requested…observation.You will monitor her until the trials begin.”
“I’m not a warden.”I snap.
“You are now.”His eyes light with satisfaction, savouring the demotion he’s laid before me.
They think I’m their blade.
They forget a blade can turn.
My jaw clenches.“We’ll see how long she lasts.She likely won’t even survive the first night.”
“That isn’t your concern, boy.”
Disdain rises—a sour taste in my mouth.I let the corner of my lip curl, a slow, deliberate movement that mocks him.He knows I hate his condescension; yet he uses it like a whip.
“If she’s under my control,” I say evenly, “then I decide what she survives.”
Riven’s smile widens—all teeth, no warmth.“Then keep her in one piece, Kael.Until it’s time to take her apart.”
I nod, then turn to leave.
The absence of sound that follows settles deep into my bones.
* * *
I don’t head backto the chamber.Instead, I pause by one of the tall windows overlooking the city.I reach into the reservoir of my power—the flames within flickering as the light of Solan descends over the hills.Instinctively, my hand finds the miren crystal in my pocket.It’s warm and sharp-edged.Obedient.I draw upon the Source, extracting a flurry of faith to replenish my own.
Sparks dance at my fingertips, a surge of heat spreading up my arm.
Auria stretches wide beneath me, a city of light succumbing to the dark.The windows begin to sparkle like false stars in a galaxy of glass—each one concealing the story of the occupants within.
I press my forehead against the cool pane, my glasses meeting with a soft clink.A cloud of vapour forms as I exhale the tension.The world holds a different shape down there; smoother, free from the sharp, dark edges of the Guild.Bound by duty, we sand away the imperfections of a war centuries past, until all that remains is the polished version they see.
Like the marble that imprisons us all.
Sweet honeysuckle fills my nose, making me crave the sanctuary of my room.The solitude.The comfort.Home.
I move through the glassy corridors, my feet following twists and turns etched into memory over the years.My door comes into view—stained, familiar wood.I rest my hand on the surface; light flares, and a mechanism clicks within.
My thoughts turn to the Shadowborne, crumpled on the floor begging for a small mercy.I wonder what she will create with the stylus I gave her—and what it will reveal.
For reasons I don’t care to examine, I want to see what breaks first.
18
SEREN
The morning light finds me before the sound does.It pours through the high windows in thick, golden shafts that sting my eyes and prickle my skin.
Bells chime in the distance.The muffled sounds of market-goers becomes a low, melodic purr—a heartbeat pumping life through the streets of Auria.The city’s ceaseless thrumming pulses against the windowpane, a constant reminder of a life I’m no longer a part of.
A gaping, desolate emptiness collapses inside me.It screams of loss rather than pressure.
I want nothing more than to lie in the silk, shadows curled at my feet, and spiral into the black void expanding within.But my body has other ideas.I push myself up, my muscles aching.My chest is sore to the touch where the crescent burned hot.As the soles of my feet find the cold marble, I hiss at the indulgence.Its glossy, flat surface is a stark betrayal of the damp, creaky floorboards of home.
My toes wiggle, enjoying the sensation.I hate that I do.I shake my head as if the act alone could scour the thoughts away, and make my way toward the washroom, my footsteps slapping against the stone.
The rainbow-rimmed mirror above the basin throws the light straight at me.For a moment, I don’t recognise the girl in the glass.
