Page 37 of Blood and Thorns

“In two days. You’ll pose as a newly acquired servant for Lord Marik, who’s an old ally of House Draeven. You’ll accompany him and his retinue to the banquet. Your objective is to listen for rumors about orc alliances, possible expansions, or any mention of blood-infused magic.”

She frowns slightly. “Lord Marik… Will he know who I really am?”

I nod. “He’s aware of our arrangement. He’ll protect your cover, but to everyone else, you’re just another slave.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, especially after last night.

She exhales. “I understand. That’s a typical role for humans in dark elf territories.”

“Precisely.” I hesitate, crossing my arms. “You must act the part flawlessly. Any slip, and the entire retinue could be under suspicion.”

She purses her lips. “I won’t slip.”

An urge to reassure her wars with my caution. Instead, I hold out the scroll. “This has the details of the event—location, approximate guest list, likely topics of discussion. Memorize it. You leave tomorrow morning to meet Lord Marik at a rendezvous before traveling together.”

Her eyes widen. “Tomorrow? That soon?”

“Dark elf events don’t give much notice. If they suspect a leak, they’ll change plans. We can’t risk letting this slip through our fingers.”

Valeria takes the scroll, scanning it with furrowed brows. Silence stretches. I catch the tension in her posture—she’s steeling herself for the infiltration. The memory of her in my arms last night gnaws at me.This is a test. She needs to succeed.

A flicker of concern sneaks through my carefully crafted walls. “Are you… ready for this?” I ask, voice dropping a notch.

She lifts her gaze, meeting mine. A storm simmers there, equal parts determination and hidden hurt. “I’ve been training for weeks. Of course I’m ready.”

I detect the faintest tremor in her words. Is that from fear or the aftermath of our abrupt shift in demeanor? Guilt tugs at me. I force it aside.

“Good,” I say tersely. “Gather what you need. Report to my study tonight for final instructions. Then you’ll depart at dawn.”

She nods curtly. Before she can step away, I reach out, intending to offer some measure of reassurance. My hand hovers near her arm. But the memory of last night—her warmth, my guard shattering—floods me, and I recoil.

She catches the aborted gesture, sadness flickering across her features. My chest tightens, but neither of us speaks.Instead, she tucks the scroll under her arm and walks away, shoulders stiff.

Well done, Vaelorian,I think bitterly, turning on my heel.You’ve turned the only person who understands you here into a stranger overnight.But it’s necessary. It must be.

I spend the rest of the morning weaving through House Draeven’s labyrinth of corridors, dealing with lesser tasks: verifying supply routes, receiving updates from scouts, and bracing for the inevitable audience with my mother. Every moment is saturated with disquiet, my mind drifting to Valeria and the upcoming infiltration.

Eventually, I can’t postpone seeing Brinda any longer. I ascend a spiral staircase leading to the fortress’s upper halls, where the audience chamber looms behind gilded doors. Guards in black armor stand vigil, offering deep bows as I approach.

Inside, my mother is in the middle of the center of the expansive chamber, draped in a flowing gown of midnight-blue that sets off her pale skin and silver hair. Several courtiers hover nearby—lesser Vrakken nobility, each jockeying for favor. She dismisses them with a lazy wave the moment she notices me.

“Vaelorian,” she says, voice resonant. “I trust you’ve handled the trifling matters of supply negotiations?”

I give a respectful bow. “Handled, yes. I have an additional matter to report: I’m sending the operative—Valeria—on a minor mission.”

Her eyes sharpen with curiosity. “Already? I assumed you would wait until you were certain she wouldn’t embarrass us. This must be urgent.”

“It is. A banquet is scheduled in the outer provinces. It’s a chance to confirm whether the dark elves have begun forging alliances with certain orc clans. I want her to glean relevant intel.”

Brinda paces in a slow circle around me, the soft rustle of her gown filling the silence. “And you trust this human to accomplish that?”

I resist the urge to bristle. “She has proven her competence in multiple exercises. This mission will test her in a controlled environment. She’ll be under the protection of Lord Marik.”

“Marik,” Brinda muses. “He’s not the most reliable ally, but I suppose he’ll keep her from being slaughtered outright.”

I let a flicker of annoyance pass before controlling my tone. “Indeed.”

She halts, eyes narrowing. “Are you sure you’re not rushing this? If she fails, it reflects poorly on House Draeven—on your leadership.”

The weight of her scrutiny presses on me like a physical force. “I’m aware of the stakes, Matriarch. I believe she’s ready. Her infiltration skills are advanced for a human, and she understands the risk.”

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