Page 26 of Blood and Thorns

“In part,” I say, leaning forward. “I also need to know if he’s forging alliances with the monarchy that could undermine our advantage. If he’s courting the Miou, the possibility of him raising an army against us isn’t far-fetched.”

She nods, absorbing the information with that same keen focus I observed the day she gleaned Sarith’s shipping schedule.“What about intel on his household? Servants? Is there a better angle than going straight to him?”

“You’ll have to infiltrate his circle carefully. Maybe pose as a house slave—someone who can attend to him or his immediate advisors. But you’ll need the right credentials.”

She frowns. “Credentials?”

I push another parchment across the table. “A forged letter from a dark elf merchant who deals in slaves, referencing you as a skilled personal attendant. We have a contact who can produce it—someone who owes House Draeven more than a few favors. You’ll need to memorize every detail, from the merchant’s name to how you ended up on the market. If your cover story wavers, you’ll be caught.”

Her fingers tighten around the edges of the parchment, eyes roving over the carefully inked lines. “So that’s my next mission.”

I incline my head. “In about a week, perhaps two at most. You’re not ready yet for that level of infiltration—your accent, your knowledge of court protocols, your reflexes. But soon.”

She absorbs that, and a hush follows. The candles on the table flicker, casting elongated shadows across her face. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, the mix of fear and resolve that’s become so familiar to me.

Finally, she sets the parchment aside. “What else do I need to learn before we set this in motion?”

I lean back. “You tell me. You lived among dark elves—what do you think you’re missing?”

She purses her lips, thinking. “When I was a concubine, I had no reason to pay attention to formalities beyond what kept me alive. Now, I need a deeper understanding of their caste system, their lines of succession, and any subfactions that might resent Xathien’s rise. If I can find a faction that distrusts him, I might glean secrets from them.”

A ripple of admiration skims through me.She’s quick.“Exactly. Seek out the cracks. Dark elves excel at backstabbing their rivals. If you can exploit that, you might uncover what Xathien’s hiding.”

She nods, and her fingers drum once on the tabletop. I notice a shallow scrape on her knuckles—the result of a stray blade in training, no doubt. A flicker of annoyance stirs in me that Helrath pushes her so hard. But I stamp it down. He’s doing his job, and she needs it.We both do.

Clearing my throat, I pick up a leather-bound tome from the small stack to my right. “Here’s a compiled text on the current dark elf monarchy. Names, castes, notable alliances. Study it, memorize it. We’ll quiz you tomorrow.”

She takes the tome with both hands, glancing at the thick pages. “Tomorrow? Do you ever let me rest?”

A ghost of a smirk lifts the corner of my mouth. “You can rest when you’re the one holding the power. Until then, we work.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be sure to carve out time between Helrath’s next attempt to break my bones and my infiltration lessons with you.”

I stiffen, half expecting to scold her for insolence. But something in her dry humor cracks through the tension, and a low chuckle escapes me instead. She blinks, surprise flashing in her eyes—likely never having expected a Vrakken to laugh at a joke that involves mocking their own methods.

I compose myself quickly, straightening. “You’ll be all right. You’ve survived worse.”

A solemn look settles over her face, and for a heartbeat, I glimpse the ghosts of her past. Then she sets the tome down. “True,” she says softly. “And I’m still here.”

We regard each other across the table. My mind flickers with the memory of her standing defiant in the training hall, refusing to yield even when Helrath knocked her down. The fear wasthere, yes, but so was the fierce will to rise again. I can’t recall the last time I saw such resilience in a human—most are too cowed, or too broken, to keep fighting.

I rise, tension coiled in my muscles. Crossing to a nearby shelf, I retrieve a different scroll. “Let’s see if your recall is up to par,” I say, changing tack. “We’ll do a practice round. I have a roster of dark elf officials. Name them, their caste, and their known allegiances if you can.”

She groans but stands as well, moving to the other side of the table so we’re shoulder to shoulder, peering down at the open scroll. It’s annotated in my handwriting, which she’s grown used to deciphering.

“All right,” she murmurs. “Let’s start with House Ithanel. The patriarch is Lord Dathar Ithanel, a Khuzuth noble with a seat in the monarchy’s inner council. He’s rumored to support aggressive expansion into human territory.”

I nod, impressed she remembers. “Go on.”

She continues, scanning the list: a minor official in the merchant class, a dark elf general famed for his cruelty, a Chivdouyu musician whose art is favored by certain aristocrats. Her voice, though tired, remains steady as she recites known alliances. I correct her gently when she confuses a detail or misses a nuance—like which official has ties to the monarchy’s grand treasury.

The longer she speaks, the more I sense her mind sharpening, fueled by her determination. Leaning in, I can catch the faintest scent of her hair—something like clean soap from the fortress baths, edged with the metallic tang of sweat from earlier training. My chest constricts at the unbidden awareness.Focus, Vaelorian.

Yet I can’t deny a certain... protectiveness. She’s pushing herself to the brink, holding onto that fragile hope that she can change her fate. And damn me, I want her to succeed, notjust because it will serve House Draeven’s agenda—but because I can’t stomach the idea of seeing her broken like the many humans I’ve witnessed in this world.

She finishes a summary of one of the lesser vassals, then glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Well? Did I pass your test?”

I snap my mind back to the moment, ignoring my own drifting thoughts. “Better than last time. You only mixed up a couple of genealogies.”

---