Page 11 of Blood and Thorns

A handful of Vrakken move about, some practicing combat drills, their movements swift and lethal. I notice that each has a unique variation of wings—one with mottled gray membranes, another with sleek midnight black. Their eyes flick to me, then to Vaelorian, and recognition dawns. They step aside, continuing their drills but clearly aware of our presence.

“This,” Vaelorian says, gesturing to the open floor, “is where you’ll learn the skills needed to survive in the field. Though you’ll rely mostly on guile inside dark elf courts, it won’t hurt to know how to defend yourself if cornered.”

I swallow, my pulse skipping. “So I’ll learn to fight?”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “Yes. You might never match a dark elf soldier blow for blow, but you can learn to evade and strike at opportune moments. Their arrogance is their weakness. Use that.”

He leads me toward a smaller annex off the main chamber. Inside, I see a wide floor marked with chalk outlines, presumably used for sparring practice. Torches in iron sconces cast dancing light over the stone.

A Vrakken man, tall and lean, stands at attention near the far wall. He has short, silvery hair and pale, colorless eyes. An old scar runs across his throat, visible against his chalk-white skin. Vaelorian raises a hand in silent greeting, and the man nods in acknowledgment.

“This is Helrath,” Vaelorian explains. “He’s one of our best instructors in hand-to-hand combat. For the next few days, he’ll be your teacher in the basics. If you fail to meet our standards... well, consider the consequences.”

I tense. Helrath gives me a dispassionate once-over, his expression lacking any overt hostility. “I’ll do my best, my lord,” he addresses Vaelorian, ignoring me. “She’ll need hours of instruction each day if she’s to be anything more than a liability.”

Vaelorian makes a low, thoughtful sound. “She’s more than a liability, given the right motivation.”

For some reason, the confidence in his voice sends a ripple of warmth through me. It’s unsettling—he’s still a Vrakken, and I’m still a human trying to survive. Yet, I can’t deny the strange sense of validation that stirs inside me.

Helrath remains composed, glancing at me with an air of mild resignation. “We’ll see,” he says. “We start tomorrow at dawn.”

With that settled, Vaelorian turns, leading me back out of the annex into the main training hall. A pair of Vrakken spar in the center, the clash of steel echoing off columns. The sheer speed of their movements—blurs of inky black and flashes of pale limbs—makes my stomach lurch. If they fought me, I wouldn’t last a heartbeat.

We keep walking, and eventually, Vaelorian gestures toward a side corridor. “We’ll return here tomorrow. For now, I want to show you the library. You’ll study the dark elf dialects, the nuances in their mannerisms, and the formalities they use in court. Even the smallest misstep could compromise you.”

I follow him, my mind reeling from the onslaught of changes. A day ago, I was certain I’d end up as a blood thrall if not outright slaughtered. Now, I’m being led to a library in a Vrakken fortress to prepare for espionage.

“What if I fail to gain their trust?” I ask quietly.

Vaelorian’s expression remains cool. “You won’t. You already lived among them for years. You know how to blend in. The difference now is that you’ll have me backing you, providing resources. And remember,” he adds, his voice softening to a dangerous hush, “failure is not an option for either of us.”

A subtle shiver snakes along my spine. The weight of this agreement settles heavier in my chest. If I betray him, he’ll kill me. If I fail, the dark elves will kill me. The only path is forward, with every step measured.

We climbanother set of stairs. The fortress reveals more of its grandeur: vaulted corridors with stained-glass windows that filter in diluted sunlight, alcoves adorned with carved stone beasts, and thick drapery that muffles our footsteps. Despite the elegance, there’s a pervasive quiet that keeps tension coiled in my gut. At least in the dark elf estate, there was constant noise—servants scurrying, decadent parties, the ring of clinking goblets. Here, every presence feels watchful, every corner a potential den of secrets.

A pair of large double doors at the end of the corridor loom before us. Vaelorian pushes one open, revealing an immense library lit by tall windows on one side. Shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls stand in perfect rows. The musty scent of vellum and aged leather wafts across my senses. Small reading tables are arranged near the windows, their surfaces cluttered with open tomes and quills.

My breath catches. I’ve never seen so many texts in one place, not even in the dark elf noble houses. Back there, libraries were for the privileged few, but I sometimes snuck glances. This,though, is a trove of knowledge waiting to be explored—if I’m allowed.

“I’ll assign you a study schedule,” Vaelorian says, moving between the tables. He picks up a slender volume, flipping through pages, each covered in tight script. “The dark elves are cunning with their language. They have variations of politeness, deception hidden in subtle word choices. You’ll need to master those if you want to hold your own in conversation.”

I absorb his words, trying to ignore the swirl of excitement at the idea of learning more. Knowledge has always been my secret armor. “And if I need something more advanced?”

He slips the book back onto a shelf. “Ask me or one of the librarians. You’ll have limited supervised access.”

I nod, imagining the hours I’ll spend poring over archaic scripts and memorizing new vocabulary. A heavy task, but one that could keep me alive.

Vaelorian steps closer, the dappled sunlight from a high window illuminating the faint silver veins in his dark wings. I can see the tension along his jawline, as if he’s weighing whether to confide further. Finally, he murmurs, “I don’t do this lightly. I’m risking a great deal by trusting you. If you decide to sabotage me, I will make sure that betrayal is your last mistake.”

His threat should terrify me. It does, in a way. But it also clarifies that we’re bound by mutual necessity. If I do this well, he stands to gain power. If I fail, or if I succeed too much and the dark elves discover me, I’ll be torn apart.

“I understand,” I say, voice steady. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

We regard each other in the hush of the library. A flicker of something other than distrust gleams in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps. Then he inhales as though releasing the tension in his lungs.

“Good,” he replies, turning away to exit the library. “I’ll show you your updated quarters. You won’t be staying in that small guest room anymore.”

Surprise tightens my chest. “You’re... moving me somewhere else?”

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