Page 13 of Bound In Shadow

Rhazien gives a soft grunt of assent. “I’ll make arrangements.” He bows once more and departs, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, I retrieve the parchment from my desk. The single candle’s flame flickers, casting jagged shadows on the scrawled lines. The words ‘execution’ and ‘reinstatement’ glare at me in rigid strokes of ink.I could end this tomorrow.One swift stroke of a blade, one public display of Lysandra’s severed head, and the council would be appeased.

But every time I picture that scenario, an uneasy churn lances my gut. It’s not just that I abhor delivering such a violent spectacle to quell the council’s bloodlust. It’s that Lysandra’s defiance intrigues me in a way that’s difficult to ignore. She’s a living representation of everything that unsettles the Dark Elfstatus quo. Would it not be more advantageous to harness her rather than discard her?

Setting the parchment aside, I leave my quarters. The corridors feel endless in the dead of night. Torch sconces glow at intervals, each flame tinted with a faint purple hue, courtesy of the mana crystals we use in Pyrthos for illumination. My boots echo on the polished floor.

I stride past a pair of patrolling guards, ignoring their salutes. My destination is a small walkway that overlooks the fortress courtyard. Beyond the arched openings, the sky spreads wide and star-flecked. The moon hangs low, painting the courtyard’s black stone in silver relief.

From this vantage, I recall seeing Lysandra dragged inside by the soldiers the day her rebellion fell. She was battered but unbroken. That moment signaled her entry into my domain—unbeknownst to both of us, it would set off a chain of events neither side anticipated. I lean on the balustrade, letting the night air wash over me.

Indecision gnaws at my mind. The council won’t wait forever. Rumor has it they’ll convene soon to finalize their demands. If I defy them, I might as well carve a fresh brand of exile into my life. But the alternative is losing any chance of forging an alliance with the woman who might be the key to unraveling their hold on Pyrthos.

She is the catalyst. I sense it like a storm on the horizon, pressing against the thick air. If I kill her, I remain a puppet for the council to jerk around whenever they please. If I keep her, I risk their ire.Which poison do I swallow?

A memory surfaces: the flicker of Lysandra’s gaze meeting mine, unafraid. So few humans have dared to look at me like that, even before my exile. That spark drives me to do something reckless. The thought of letting them snuff out her life enrages me in a way that’s both exhilarating and unsettling.

Decision coalesces in my mind. Slowly, I straighten from the balustrade, my resolve settling into place.I won’t kill her.Not yet. Not when she could be the weapon I’ve been searching for—someone who shares a hatred for the powers that be, someone bold enough to attempt the unimaginable. If I’m cunning, I can keep the council at bay, claiming I need time to extract valuable information from her. That should buy me enough space to see if she’s truly worth the risk.

My pulse quickens, excitement coursing through my veins. This path feels dangerous, but it aligns better with my nature than meek capitulation. I turn on my heel and retrace my steps into the fortress interior. If I’m going to defy the council, I need a strategy, and that means speaking to Lysandra directly. No more subtle hints or empty threats.

I snake through the corridors until I reach the section housing her temporary quarters. At the door, two guards stand watch, exactly as Rhazien arranged. They stiffen when they see me. One fumbles for the key.

“Open it,” I say under my breath, determined not to wake everyone in the fortress.

They comply. The door unlocks with a click, and I slip inside. A lantern hangs from a hook on the wall, illuminating the small space with a subdued glow. She’s there, lying on a narrow bed. Her manacled wrists rest atop the thin blanket, and though her eyes are closed, her expression is far from peaceful.

I make sure the door’s shut before I approach. Her breath catches, as if she senses someone near. She blinks awake, storm-gray eyes focusing on me. Immediately, her hands jerk, the chain clattering. She tries to sit up, wincing at some unseen pain in her side.

I hold up a hand to show I’m not here to hurt her. “Quiet,” I murmur. “It’s late.”

She eyes me with wariness. “What do you want?”

Standing at the foot of the bed, I keep my voice low. “Word travels fast around the fortress. The council recorded your… official status earlier. They’re unhappy you still draw breath. You know that, right?”

She huffs a short laugh that contains no amusement. “It’s painfully obvious. Didn’t you send me there to be humiliated? Forced me to claim I’m your captive?”

My jaw tightens. “I didn’t send you to them. They took it upon themselves to assert the council’s power. I simply made certain they didn’t execute you outright.”

She shifts, pressing a hand to her bandaged side. “How magnanimous,” she drawls, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

I step closer, leaning over the bed. A flicker of defiance lights her gaze, reminding me not to get too close. Still, I can’t stop from noticing the curve of her lips, or how the tension in her posture accentuates the sleek lines of her shoulders. Her physical appeal is an uninvited distraction, but it’s there, pulsing beneath every sharp retort she offers.

“Listen,” I say, pitching my voice lower. “This is bigger than your pride or mine. The council wants your head. They’re pressing me to deliver it. If I do, my exile might end. If I don’t, they’ll brand me a full traitor—and your days will be numbered.”

A strange gleam appears in her eyes. “So that’s it,” she murmurs. “My life is a bargaining chip for your politics. If I’m lucky, you’ll keep me breathing until you get what you want.”

“That’s one way to see it,” I allow. “Another is that I’m risking my own precarious standing by not killing you.”

Her chain rattles as she pushes herself into a sitting position. The bed creaks under her slight weight. “So what do you get out of this… arrangement?”

My thoughts skim dangerous territory—the notion of using her influence, her possible hidden powers. And there’s theundeniable spark that draws me to her, though I’d never admit it so plainly. “You could be useful,” I say, keeping my tone even. “You have a sway over the human rebels. If we harness that, we might accomplish something that benefits us both.”

She studies me, eyes narrowed. “You talk about harnessing me like I’m a weapon.”

I shrug. “In many ways, you are. But perhaps you’re more than that.” My voice softens. “You want freedom for your people, don’t you?”

She doesn’t break my gaze. “I do.”

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