Page 43 of Blood and Thorns

Calm down,I admonish myself. If I draw attention now, I could jeopardize everything. A wave of nausea hits, and I grip a nearby pillar. My senses are too sharp; I can detect the heartbeat of a noblewoman ten feet away. That shouldn’t be possible.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to breathe slowly. Helrath’s training echoes in my mind:When overstimulated, ground yourself. Focus on a single concrete detail.I concentrate on the smooth marble under my palm, letting its cool texture anchor me. Slowly, the rush of sensations dulls to a manageable level.

No one notices my brief lapse, thank the gods. I resume my role, crossing the floor as if I’m simply a servant fulfilling my duties. Lord Marik’s retinue is gathered near an ornate side table. I spot him in conversation with a pair of dark elves.

Approaching, I incline my head. “My lord,” I say softly.

He excuses himself from the conversation, stepping aside with me. Under the guise of handing him a fresh goblet, I murmur, “I have news—important.”

His gaze flicks over my face, noting the urgency. “We should step outside for air,” he announces, loud enough for others to hear. To them, it seems he’s bored or wants a change of scenery.

We exit onto a small balcony overlooking a courtyard. The night air is crisp, a relief after the oppressive heat of the banquethall. Two of Marik’s personal guards stand nearby, discreet but watchful. He waves them off.

“What is it?” Marik demands in a low voice, leaning close so others won’t overhear.

I recount what I’ve discovered: references to an upcoming “batch” of Vrakken, essence extraction, Lord Xathien’s involvement, and the locked room where I suspect a captive might be. Marik’s jaw tightens.

“That’s dire,” he mutters. “This banquet is more than a simple gathering—it’s a cover for these monsters to discuss furthering their experiments.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “We need to get word to House Draeven fast. Vaelorian must know.”

Marik studies me. “You’ve done well, Valeria. But be cautious. If they suspect you learned too much, they won’t hesitate to end you.”

The mention of my name and Vaelorian in the same breath sends a sharp pang through my chest. I bury it, nodding. “I’m leaving as soon as I can. Another hour, perhaps, to avoid suspicion.”

He agrees, placing a hand on my shoulder in a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Go. I’ll linger to keep up appearances.”

Returning inside, I make sure not to rush. A hasty exit might draw attention. Instead, I resume serving tasks, dropping a polite curtsy here, a murmured apology there. My mind swirls with worry for the captive Vrakken behind that locked door—and anger at how the dark elves treat them like lab specimens.

Eventually, the banquet’s momentum shifts. Some nobles drift to private chambers, others dance in slow, sensuous patterns under illusions of starlight conjured by hired spellcasters. I slip away quietly, turning over my tray to another servant with an excuse about fetching something from the carriage.

Outside, the courtyard is bathed in moonlight. I breathe easier, though the tension remains. My heightened senses are still humming, making the nighttime smells—cool stone, distant flowers, lingering torch smoke—alarmingly vivid.

At the far corner of the courtyard, a small stable yard houses the carriages belonging to various guests. I spot the modest one Lord Marik loaned me. It’s parked near a cluster of grander vehicles, each lacquered in dark colors and bearing the sigils of prominent families.

I hurry to the driver, who’s dozing on a bench. He startles awake. “We leaving already?”

“Yes,” I whisper, checking our surroundings. No one else is near. “I have what I need. We depart now, quietly.”

He nods, hurrying to hitch the horses. Within minutes, we’re trotting out of the estate’s gates. My heart thunders until the guard tower is out of sight. The night beyond stretches wide, an open road lit by pale moonbeams.

I did it. I have the intel.But my uneasy mind can’t forget the locked door, the muffled moans.Hold on,I tell myself.Vaelorian will know what to do. We’ll stop this.

The carriage ride back to the agreed rendezvous is long, almost two days. During the journey, my heightened senses continue to plague me. I pick up the driver’s hushed snores through the partition, smell the horses’ sweat when we slow to rest, sense birds stirring in the trees before I can see them. It’s overwhelming. More than once, I recall Vaelorian’s voice telling me to ground myself. I grip the seat, focusing on the grain of the wood under my fingertips.

At last, we reach the designated meeting spot—an abandoned farmhouse near a river crossing. Lord Marik arranged this as a safe location for me to switch carriages. By the time I arrive, I’m exhausted and frayed, but relieved to see House Draeven’s riders waiting.

They guide me back to the fortress with minimal rest stops. My mind spins with the knowledge I carry. By the time I glimpse the spires of House Draeven rising against the horizon, my nerves are taut. I can’t wait to share what I’ve learned with Vaelorian, though a knot of dread tugs at me—our parting was strained.

The fortress gates open. Vrakken guards peer at me with mild curiosity as I pass. I feel like a phantom, carrying the smell and tension of the dark elf banquet on my skin. A stable hand helps me dismount, and I slip into the interior halls, the clang of gates sealing behind me.

I expect a formal reception, maybe a steward or Helrath demanding a report. Instead, Vaelorian himself waits in the main foyer, leaning against a column. His eyes snap to me the instant I enter, dark irises reflecting a swirl of restrained emotion—relief, perhaps, or anger.

I swallow, stepping forward. “I have news,” I say, my voice rasping from travel.

He nods curtly, posture rigid. “My study.” He turns on his heel, wings rustling beneath his coat. Without another word, he strides away.

I follow, blood pounding. I want to grab him, to confirm he’s real, that I’m safe. But we’re in public view, and we both know better. We reach his study in tense silence. As fast as the door shuts behind us, he rounds on me.

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