Page 19 of Blood and Thorns

I skim the runes. Sure enough, Sarith scrawled a date and time next to the crate references. A quiet satisfaction coils in my chest. “You managed this in under ten minutes?”

She exhales, tension draining from her expression. “He’s testy, but not immune to a bit of harmless confusion. I just acted like I was trying to reconcile inventory, and he slipped up by confirming exactly when that crate is due to depart.”

I nod, returning the ledger. “Impressive. You adapted to his moods, feigned ignorance. He never suspected you were anything but a clueless servant.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “It’s easy enough to play clueless. I’ve been doing it for years with the dark elves.”

I study her face, a swirl of approval and something else stirring inside me. This was a minor test, but she passed with skill. “Very well. This proves you can glean information with subtlety, if not under real danger. You’ll need to build on that.”

She nods, eyes glinting with a mix of relief and pride. “I will.”

I find myself stepping closer, lowering my voice. “Well done, Valeria.”

A strange flicker passes between us, a silent acknowledgment that this success is a step toward forging trust. Neither of us dares speak it, but the tension in the air is undeniable. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then darts away.Careful.

I clear my throat, stepping back. “Return that ledger. Then get some rest. You’ve done enough for today.”

She dips her head, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Thank you.”

I watch her walk off, ledger tucked against her side. The sway of her steps betrays a weariness from training, yet also a confidence that wasn’t there yesterday.Good.She’s growing into her role.

Once she disappears around the corner, I release a slow breath. My debate isn’t settled—trust is a lofty commodity—but today’s performance tilts the scales in her favor. She’s cunning enough to glean critical details in a matter of minutes. With the right guidance, she could thrive among the dark elves, plucking secrets before they ever realize she’s a threat.

But my mother is right: if Valeria falters, or if she betrays us, I must discard her. There’s no room for half-measures in this conflict.

Still, I can’t deny a flicker of anticipation at the thought of seeing how far she can go. The defiance in her eyes, the quiet intelligence in her words—like a puzzle I’m both creating and solving. In time, I may discover her true limits.

For now, I allow myself a measured smile. She’s passed the first test. Many more lie ahead, and I intend to push her to the brink. One way or another, we’ll discover if she can become the weapon House Draeven needs—or if her spark of promise will fizzle into ashes.

I turn and walk away, footsteps echoing down the corridor. My next task is to report this small success to Brinda. The debate in my mind rages on: I must remain vigilant, never allowing personal fascination to cloud my judgment. Yet the path is set, and I won’t deny the thrill that simmers beneath my steady exterior.

Valeria, I’m watching you.And if you prove me right, you might be the key to toppling the dark elves from within—and perhaps a catalyst for something far more dangerous than either of us can fully comprehend.

5

VALERIA

I’m still trying to catch my breath from my run-in with Sarith when a junior Vrakken attendant finds me in the corridor and informs me that Lord Vaelorian has changed my living arrangements yet again. I’m to collect my scant belongings at once and relocate to new quarters. The attendant—a wiry woman with eyes like smoked glass—offers neither explanation nor emotion as she delivers the news; she merely passes Vaelorian’s sealed parchment into my hand.

The paper is crisp, etched in black ink with elegant sweeps spelling out my name, followed by directions to a part of the citadel I haven’t yet explored. My pulse skips. Ever since Vaelorian asked me to spy on the surly Vrakken in charge of supply routes, I’ve been running on equal parts adrenaline and raw nerves. Being ordered to move again, so soon after I’ve begun settling into my current suite, rattles me.

But I’ve already agreed to place my fate in his hands. This is the price for survival: do what he commands, hope I’m skilled enough to remain useful.

I hurry back to my old room—well, old by a day or two—to gather what few items I have. There’s not much: a spare tunic,the official House Draeven identification writ that Vaelorian provided, and a small stack of scrolls from the library. I cradle them in my arms, ignoring the worried look from the lone guard stationed by the door.

She says nothing as I exit. The tension in the corridor seeps into my bones. It’s mid-afternoon, and more Vrakken are moving about: some in glossy black armor, others in flowing robes embroidered with cryptic runes. Their footsteps echo against the ancient stones, creating a continuous murmur of activity. Once, I would have cowered at the mere sight of so many of these pale-skinned predators. Now, I keep my chin level, though I can’t claim I’m relaxed. Fear lingers in my belly, but I don’t let it conquer me.

Following the instructions on Vaelorian’s parchment, I climb a spiral staircase that winds through the fortress’s mid-level floors. The architecture here is different from the lower halls: the stone is polished to an almost mirror sheen, and the sconces along the walls flicker with a faint violet glow, as if lit by arcane energy rather than mundane flames. Even the air feels charged, crackling with residual magic.

Eventually, I step into a wide hallway lined with tall windows on one side, each draped in sheer black curtains. Beyond the glass, I see a sweeping view of the fortress courtyard—its gargoyles perched along the ramparts, its labyrinth of walled gardens, and the distant ridge of mountains. A faint hush blankets everything this high up, as though the rest of House Draeven is far below.

I pause by a door embossed with a stylized symbol: two overlapping wings and a single thorny rose beneath. It matches the crest on Vaelorian’s parchments, so I check the note in my hand. The final line reads,“Quarters: East Spire. Second door to the right. You’ll know it by the crest.”

I exhale, steadying myself, then push open the door.

Inside, the air is cool and carries a faint scent of candlewax and fresh lilies. I blink, taken aback by the space. It’s bigger than I expected—opulent, even. A canopied bed stands near the far wall, draped in heavy black fabric embroidered with silver threads. A matching set of chairs and a writing desk occupy the room, arranged around a plush circular rug in a shade of midnight blue. Tall bookshelves fill one corner, though they appear mostly empty, as if awaiting new tomes.

On the left, a pair of double doors leads to an adjoining room. I poke my head inside to find a washroom with a marble tub and a tall mirror, reminiscent of the grandiose styles favored by the dark elves. Even so, the carved symbols along the ceiling remind me this is a Vrakken domain—images of serpentine dragons, bat-like creatures, and stylized wings swirl in an unending pattern.

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