Page 17 of Blood and Thorns

My study is a smaller chamber adjoining my private quarters. It holds a single desk, stacks of scrolls, and a tall window that lets in enough light to read by without straining. I settle behind the desk, rummaging through notes that detail potential operations in the dark elf capital.

A scratch on the door interrupts my thoughts. “Enter,” I call.

The door swings open to reveal a familiar figure. Her hair is iron-gray, braided around a thin circlet that denotes her station as my mother’s advisor. Erlena, a senior steward of House Draeven. She offers a deferential bow.

“Lord Vaelorian,” she says, voice smooth. “The Matriarch asks for your presence in the main audience chamber.”

I stifle a sigh. “Very well. Is it urgent?”

“She indicated it concerns strategy regarding the newly arrived tributes,” Erlena replies. “I suspect Lady Brinda wishes to hear your report on them.”

I nod, rising. So, my mother wants an update, likely focused on Valeria. As I make my way out of the study, Erlena falls into step beside me.

We navigate the winding corridors until we reach a pair of opulent doors carved with scenes of winged figures subduing monstrous beasts. Guards stationed on either side snap to attention. Inside, the audience chamber is a grand space: polished floors, a high vaulted ceiling, and a single dais where my mother typically receives visitors.

Brinda stands near the middle of the room, dressed in a gown of deep indigo that shimmers with embedded crystals. Her long, silver hair cascades down her back, a testament to her ancient lineage. A cluster of lesser Vrakken courtiers hovers at a respectful distance. At our approach, she dismisses them with a flick of her wrist, turning her full attention to me.

“Vaelorian,” she greets, eyes flickering like ice under candlelight. “I trust you’re making progress with our new acquisitions?”

I bow slightly. “Yes. Two of them have been assigned to menial tasks, as you instructed. The third, Valeria, is currently in training.”

Her lips curve in a small, knowing smile. “Ah, the intriguing one. I sense in her a potential we cannot afford to squander.”

I keep my expression measured. “I’ve begun teaching her basic self-defense and infiltration methods. She’ll require more than a few days, of course, but she appears—motivated.”

Brinda’s gaze sharpens. “Motivated is good. But you must be certain she doesn’t turn that motivation against us. Humans are fickle, easily swayed by illusions of freedom.”

My jaw tightens. She echoes the very debate roiling inside me. “I’m aware, Mother. I plan to test her loyalty at every step.”

One of the courtiers steps forward, a tall Vrakken male with silver-streaked hair. “Forgive me, Matriarch,” he says, “but may I ask: is it wise to invest so heavily in a human’s training? Surely we have Vrakken more suited to espionage.”

Brinda turns her cool stare on him. “The dark elves watch our kind far too closely. They know the threat we pose. A human, however, can slip through the cracks, overlooked and underestimated. This is our advantage. If Valeria proves incompetent, we lose little. If she thrives, we gain everything.”

A quiet murmur of agreement ripples among the courtiers. I sense their curiosity, their hunger for any detail that might secure them a place in my mother’s good graces.

Brinda waves them off again, beckoning me closer. When I stand before her, she lowers her voice. “You seem unsettled, Vaelorian. Are you certain you have the resolve to do what must be done if she fails?”

I meet her gaze without flinching. “I am. She means nothing if she can’t deliver.”

My mother studies me, and for an instant, I wonder if she sees the faint flicker of doubt I’m trying to bury. But her expression remains unreadable. Finally, she nods. “Good. Then push her. The dark elves grow bolder every day. We need leverage, and soon.”

My own words echo in my head:If she fails, discard her.A vow I must uphold.

“Yes, Matriarch.”

Brinda dismisses me with a graceful tilt of her hand, turning to address another matter with the courtiers. I stride out of the audience chamber, tension coiled in my muscles.Push her, indeed.

I return to my study, formulating a plan. A direct infiltration mission might be too soon, but perhaps a small test of her cunning is in order—something contained within House Draeven’s walls, where I can control the variables.

By midday, I’ve arranged the bare bones of a challenge: Valeria will be tasked with gathering a specific piece of information from one of my more reticent allies, a Vrakken named Sarith who’s in charge of certain supply lines. Sarith can be tight-lipped, suspicious of humans. If Valeria can coax knowledge of the next supply shipment’s route without rousing his suspicion, that’ll prove her budding skill in manipulation.

The day passes in a blur of preparations. Servants come and go, bringing me scrolls and updates about minor fortress details. I keep half an ear open, but my focus remains on drafting instructions for Valeria’s test.

Finally, near the time of the midday bell, I sense her presence approaching my study. A moment later, a tentative knock sounds.

“Enter,” I call.

Valeria steps in, looking weary but resolute. She’s changed into a fresh tunic—still House Draeven black with subtle embroidery at the collar. A faint bruise darkens her forearm, likely from training with Helrath.

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