Page 27 of Blood and Thorns

She sighs, shutting the scroll with a tired motion. “Thank the gods.”

A beat of silence stretches. I can hear the library’s distant hush—the occasional turning of pages from some scholar in another aisle, the soft flicker of candles overhead. This quiet time is the closest I come to any sense of calm in House Draeven.And ironically, it’s with a human.

“How do you do it?” she asks suddenly, not looking at me. “How do you keep so many factions in line, so many plans spinning? Doesn’t it ever wear on you?”

I lean one hip against the table, crossing my arms. “It’s all I’ve known. My mother raised me on the principle that every breath you take should be spent plotting or defending your place in this world. She taught me that if we let our guard down, the dark elves would crush us again.”

Her brow furrows. “Again?”

I hesitate. The history of the Vrakken War with the dark elves is not exactly a secret, but we seldom discuss it in detail—especially not with humans. My mother claims it’s too personal, too rife with old wounds. But Valeria’s earnest curiosity pricks something in me.

“Our kind fought theirs centuries ago,” I say at last. “The dark elves drove many of us underground. House Draeven managed to survive on the surface by forging strategic truces, but we stillremember what it’s like to be hunted. That memory fuels our determination to remain the predators, not the prey.”

She nods slowly, a shadow of empathy in her gaze. “Sounds like both sides see themselves as victims.”

A grim smile twists my lips. “Victims? Perhaps. But the dark elves are hardly victims now. They have an iron hold on much of the surface. They treat humans as livestock. Vrakken, though... in some circles, we’re still considered rumors or nightmares best forgotten.”

Her lips tighten. “I knew nothing of the Vrakken until I was brought here. My old masters talked about you like the monsters under the bed that might snatch us if we misbehaved.”

A harsh laugh slips from me. “Monsters under the bed. We do little to dispel that image. Fear is a useful tool.”

She lowers her gaze, fiddling with the corner of the tome on the table. “You’re not like them, though. At least, not in the way I expected.”

I go very still. “Explain.”

She shrugs one shoulder, a tentative movement. “I assumed any Vrakken was just as sadistic as the dark elves who used me. But you... you’re cold, calculating, yes, and clearly dangerous. But you don’t revel in cruelty. It’s more like a necessity to you.”

Her words pierce deeper than I expect. I mask the flicker of reaction behind a slow exhale, letting my wings shift. “Cruelty for cruelty’s sake is a waste of energy,” I say. “We can be merciless when needed. Yet I find no pleasure in it.”

She meets my gaze, and I detect a glimmer of acceptance. Then she quickly looks away, as if embarrassed she revealed too much.

I push off from the table, sensing we’re straying into a precariously personal territory. It’s better to keep emotional distance; I can’t show weakness, even to her. Especially notto her.She’s an operative,I remind myself.Your focus must remain on the mission.

“So,” I begin, voice cooling. “That’s enough theoretical talk for one night. Let’s move on to practical training.”

She frowns. “More? I thought we covered infiltration planning.”

“This training is different,” I say, heading for a section of the library rarely used. Old shelves line the walls here, stacked with scrolls detailing illusions, wards, and illusions used by both Vrakken and dark elves. “You need to understand the magic they might throw at you, at least in theory. If a dark elf tries to enthrall your mind, do you know how to resist?”

Her eyes widen. “I’ve never had to resist mental enchantments. The dark elves typically used physical threats or punishments, not illusions.”

“That was because you were a low-risk slave. This time, you’re posing as a potential threat—maybe even an intimate in a noble’s household. They could use enthrallment to ensure your silence.”

She inhales sharply. “All right. Tell me what I need to do.”

I scan the spines of dusty scrolls, finally selecting one that addresses mental resilience. I lay it out on a narrow reading stand, beckoning her to join me. She stands close enough that I catch her scent again—clean soap, underlying tension, something distinctly her. Ignoring the awareness, I trace a finger over the diagrams.

“This incantation,” I point to a spiral of runes, “represents a mind-bending technique favored by certain dark elf conjurers. It’s weaker than full-blown illusions, but if you’re unprepared, it can disorient you, even force you to speak secrets.”

Her mouth slants in a grim line. “I’d prefer to avoid that.”

“Then memorize the runes,” I say, voice steady. “And learn the mental exercises that help shield your thoughts. They’re not foolproof, but they give you a fighting chance.”

She nods, carefully brushing her fingertips over the drawn runes as if capturing every curve in her memory. I watch her closely, noticing the tightness around her eyes. She’s pushing through exhaustion.Perhaps I’m overloading her.

A pang of regret twinges in my chest. I clench my jaw, tamping it down.No,I chastise myself.She asked for this chance. She wants to survive. Our time is short. If she fails, everything I’ve worked for crumbles.

To lighten the mounting tension, I shift the focus to a simpler topic. “Tell me about your experience with dark elf magic, if any. Did you see them cast illusions or wards in their estates?”

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