Page 28 of Blood and Thorns

She draws a shaky breath, as though recalling unpleasant memories. “I saw illusions sometimes—like in their banquet halls, they’d conjure illusions of dancing lights or phantom creatures to amuse the guests. But I never personally had illusions cast on me. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

I hum in thought. “Then you’re fortunate. Some dark elves like to toy with their slaves using illusions of terror.”

Her face pales. “I’ve... heard rumors.”

I press on, wanting her to be prepared. “They can conjure phantasms that mimic your worst fears, illusions that distort your surroundings. You’ll need to recognize the signs—blurring at the edges of vision, an odd hum in your ears, a subtle smell of brimstone. If you sense those, break line of sight with the caster or force yourself to focus on something real, like your heartbeat, your breath.”

She listens intently, nodding. Her gaze flicks over the runes again. “Heartbeat, breath,” she repeats. “I can do that.”

A thought occurs, unbidden:If she can’t, if illusions overwhelm her, I’ll have to step in.The idea of her trapped insome conjured nightmare disturbs me more than I’m willing to admit. I shift, unsettled by my own reaction.

Snapping the scroll shut, I tuck it under my arm. “Enough theory. We’ll gather a few resources for you to study in your suite. Then you should rest.”

She nods, pressing her lips together. “Rest sounds... good.”

I sense the wave of fatigue rolling off her—she’s practically swaying on her feet. A spark of guilt flares again.She’s too tired to keep going, and you’re the one pushing her.

“Wait here,” I say, indicating a small stool near the shelf. “I’ll fetch what you need.”

She sits, shoulders sagging in gratitude, as I stride across the library to collect a handful of texts. My mind churns.Why do I feel so responsible for her wellbeing? She’s an operative, not a confidante. Focus.

Yet I can’t simply ignore the tug of protectiveness. It’s small, but persistent—like a thorn lodged under my skin, reminding me of its presence every time I see her worn expression or fresh bruises from training.

Gathering the scrolls and a thin codex on mental defenses, I return to find her leaning against the shelf, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. She quickly straightens when she notices my approach, but she’s not fast enough to hide the fatigue from me.

I place the texts beside her. “These should suffice for tonight. Study them when you can. And if you can’t keep your eyes open, rest. There’s no point memorizing runes in a delirium.”

Her lips twitch in a tired smirk. “I’ll remember that. Or try to.”

We stand in awkward silence. My gaze sweeps over her face, noticing the faint hollows under her cheekbones, the bruise at her jaw, the dryness on her lips from hours of training.She’s pushing herself too hard. Then again, so am I.

With a curt nod, I pull back. “We’re done for now. I’ll escort you to your suite.”

Her brows lift. “You... want to walk me there?”

I stiffen. “House Draeven’s corridors are mostly safe, but I don’t trust certain individuals who might test your boundaries. Given your new status, some might resent you. It’s better if I accompany you.”

She regards me with a flicker of amusement, as if she sees through my half-truth. Yes, it’s safer for her to walk with me. But it’s also an excuse to ensure she returns to her room unharassed. I keep my expression neutral, offering no further explanation.

She stands, clutching the small stack of texts to her chest. “All right,” she says simply.

We move through the library in silence, weaving around shelves. The single librarian on duty—a gaunt Vrakken scribe—barely looks up from his desk as we pass. Our footsteps echo softly over the mosaic floor, blending with the gentle crackle of the library’s chandeliers.

Exiting into the corridor, I notice the flickering torches have been replaced by orbs of arcane light, set in sconces along the wall. They cast a purplish glow, giving everything a faintly surreal quality. There’s a hush at this hour, an anticipation that underscores how lethal the fortress can be once darkness sets in fully.

Valeria seems tense, though whether from fatigue or vigilance, I can’t tell. We walk beside each other, my wings furled tightly to avoid brushing against the stone columns. She glances at them once—something she does occasionally, as if fascinated by the possibility of flight.

The corridors twist until we reach the hallway leading to her suite, flanked by tall windows that overlook the courtyard. Moonlight drapes the exterior, silvering the gargoyles perchedon the walls. I glance outside, noticing the faint forms of patrolling guards.

We stop before her door, the same one bearing House Draeven’s crest. She shifts the texts to one arm, fishing the key from her pocket. After a moment’s fumbling, she unlocks the door. Before stepping inside, she looks back at me.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For, well, all of this. The training, the resources.”

I dip my head, maintaining my composure. “It benefits us both. Remember that.”

Her expression softens, and I catch the subtlest trace of something warm in her gaze—gratitude, or perhaps relief that we can share a moment of civil interaction. It disarms me in a way I’m not prepared for.

She steps past the threshold, sets her scrolls on a small table, then turns. “Would you like to come in?” The question emerges hesitant, as though she’s uncertain of my reaction.

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