Page 27 of Bound In Shadow

The second those words leave his lips, my chest tightens.Is he right? Am I equally fixated on him, despite my hate?My mind rebels against the notion, yet my traitorous heartbeat thrums.

“Shall we go?” I bite out, stepping back.

He nods, though his gaze lingers on my face. “Let’s.”

We exit the garden, tension spinning in the wake of our footsteps. In the corridors, more soldiers pass, some saluting Xelith with a clenched fist to the chest. I’m thankful for the cloak’s hood, which I pull up to conceal my features. Whispers follow us, speculation about the human woman under the exiled prince’s wing.

He leads me around a sharp turn, into a narrower passage lit by flickering mana-lamps. The path slopes downward, the air chilling. My guard goes up—it’s reminiscent of the route to the dungeons.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” he replies. “Patience.”

My jaw clenches. Every step intensifies the hush until we reach a set of double doors carved with an elaborate crest—a serpent wound around a sword. House Vaeranthe’s symbol, no doubt. Xelith touches the latch, mana shimmering as wards dissolve.

Inside, I find a broad room lined with shelves of tomes, crates, and bundled scrolls. It smells of old parchment, leather, and the faint tang of dust. A single table occupies the center, with scattered documents pinned in place by weights shaped like miniature gargoyles.

Xelith shuts the door, effectively sealing us in. Mana-lamps flare brighter, illuminating rows of ledgers and records. My brow furrows. This is some kind of archive.

He moves to the table, setting the farmland rosters he received earlier among the scattered papers. “I do a fair amount of my… behind-the-scenes work here.”

Suspicion gnaws at me. “Why show me your private archive? You must realize I could glean valuable intel from this.”

He meets my gaze calmly. “I want you to glean it. Let’s call it an incentive for cooperation. If you help me keep the council at bay, you might find information that could ease the plight of your rebels.”

I cross my arms, uncertain. “And you’re trusting me not to burn the place?”

“If you did, you’d lose the very intel that might save your people,” he says lightly. “Besides, I suspect you want to preserve knowledge that could be used against me, not destroy it.”

I stiffen. “So you’re letting me see your secrets to gain leverage over me? Typical.”

He shakes his head. “Not leverage. Consider it an… exchange of possible benefits. I can’t stand the council’s tyranny. You can’t stand seeing humans oppressed. Perhaps we can find solutionswithin these records to restructure farmland assignments—or manipulate supply lines to provide safe hiding spots.”

My heart lurches. If that’s true, it’s a lifeline for the rebels. But can I trust him not to twist any plan we devise?

“All right,” I say slowly, stepping forward to glance at the table. Maps of farmland zones sprawl across the surface, dotted with small runic notations. Some correspond to wards, others to resource distribution. I spot a column listing worker quotas—numbers that represent living, breathing people. My stomach churns at how easily they’re reduced to figures.

Xelith hovers near, silent as I scan the documents. I catch glimpses of coded references—maybe routes for shipping taura meat, or supply caravans traveling at specific intervals. If these caravans are lightly guarded, the rebels could intercept them for resources.But do I dare risk another skirmish?

My eyes flick to a side ledger detailing farmland expansions. Some areas mention “unsanctioned infiltration.” Likely that’s referencing my rebels. A pang of grief spears my chest. We used to be so careful, yet we were outmaneuvered.

I swallow hard. “So you’re giving me a chance to help shape the council’s approach?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Xelith confirms, crossing his arms. “If we can quietly ‘rehabilitate’ or reroute certain rebellious cells, the council won’t see cause for a mass cull. You might salvage some of your people.”

I can’t deny the grim relief that floods me.Some is better than none.But a coil of distrust remains. “And in return, you get what you want—credibility, maybe even an end to your exile.”

He offers a tight nod. “Yes.”

We regard each other across the table, tension thick. My mind whirls with the possibilities. If I can direct him to the rebels most in need, if I can ensure no one else is betrayed… maybe we can bide time to gather strength.

The hush in the room crackles with unspoken uncertainty. The notion of working with him makes my skin crawl, yet desperation demands I consider it.

After a moment, he exhales. “That’s enough for now. The day grows long, and you look ready to collapse under the weight of your moral quandary.”

I bristle at his condescending tone. “Don’t speak like you know me.”

His eyes flick over me, unreadable. “I learn more about you every day. You’d be wise to learn about me as well, if you hope to survive.”

---