Page 52 of Blood and Thorns

Half Vrakken.Even thinking the words sets my heart thudding painfully. I recall the look on Vaelorian’s face as he finally admitted the truth he’d kept from me. He’d known—or at least suspected—for weeks. And he let me run around like a naïve fool, oblivious to the half-monster lurking under my skin.

I press my palm to my stomach, fighting the wave of nausea that churns there. How could I have missed the signs? The heightened senses, the inexplicable speed, the fact I barely flinch at illusions meant to terrify. Yet not once did I suspect that my father might have been a Vrakken. The dark elves told me my father was human, a worthless wretch killed for resisting their cruelty. A lie, it seems. Or maybe they believed it themselves.

A sharp knock startles me. My pulse jerks. I spin, half expecting Vaelorian to barge in with more half-baked excuses. But the door stays shut. Another knock—this one a little softer.

Taking a slow breath, I approach and open it just enough to see who stands beyond. Helrath, House Draeven’s weapons master, fills the gap with his formidable presence. His pale eyes dart over my face, taking in the tension in my posture.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly. “You look…” He trails off, brow furrowed. “Heard about the… incident in the reception hall.”

I exhale shakily.“Incident”is a mild word for nearly being bitten, and then discovering my blood is lethal to full-blood Vrakken. “I’m fine.”

He shifts his stance, wings twitching behind him. “Vaelorian asked if I’d check on you. He’s busy trying to calm rumors.”

At the mention of Vaelorian, anger burns through me. I clench my jaw. “I don’t need him sending a guard dog to coddle me.”

Helrath’s mouth thins. “I’m no one’s guard dog. But if you want to be alone, I’ll go.”

Part of me wants to slam the door and vanish into my own misery, but I exhale, counting to three, forcing back tears that still threaten. “Stay,” I say wearily. “You might as well come in.”

He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My suite feels too small now—somehow more claustrophobic since I learned the truth. Helrath’s gaze sweeps the room, then lands on me again.

He sets a hand on his hip. “So… you really are half Vrakken?”

The wordreallystings, as if he’s verifying something preposterous. I nod, crossing my arms. “That’s what everyone’s saying. Didn’t Vaelorian pass around the news with his morning tea?” The bitterness in my tone is sharp.

Helrath snorts. “Vaelorian’s tearing himself up trying to contain it. But after that idiot from House Sharath tried to feed on you and got singed, it’s not exactly a secret. The rumor mill’s churning.”

I sink onto the edge of my bed, which sits near the unlit fireplace. “Let them gossip. It’s not like I can hide that I burned someone’s mouth.”

He doesn’t argue. Silence weighs on us. Outside, the wind howls across the fortress battlements. A swirl of moonlit dust drifts in front of the window. Helrath finally steps closer, arms folded across his broad chest. “I was training you all this time. Should’ve noticed the signs myself.”

I give a half shrug. “You knew I was different. Everyone saw how fast I learned illusions, how quickly I healed from bruises. But no one guessed I had Vrakken blood.”

His lips twist. “Vaelorian had his suspicions. Didn’t share them with me. Typical of him, he likes to keep secrets.”

A ragged laugh escapes me. “That’s an understatement.”

Helrath studies me, his gaze unexpectedly gentle. “You’re angry. Understandable.”

“Angry doesn’t begin to cover it.” My voice shakes. My nails dig into my palms. “I can’t believe he let me walk around ignorant of what I truly am, using me for infiltration missions, half waiting for me to reveal myself. I feel like a lab animal.”

Helrath grimaces. “He can be cold. But everything he does?—”

“Is for House Draeven, right?” I cut in, chest tightening. “Or so he says. That doesn’t make me any less furious. I’m a living being, not a tool.”

He nods, silent sympathy in his expression. “He’s always been that way, shaped by the Matriarch’s demands. He doesn’t let emotions sway him—most of the time. But I’ve seen how he looks at you. Don’t assume you’re just a pawn.”

I scoff, bitterness rising. “He uses me, then claims it’s for my protection. He’s never fully honest. And when I call him on it, he says it’s complicated or that I couldn’t handle the truth. Now I’m left with this… monstrous lineage, and no idea what it means for me.”

Helrath’s posture softens. “You’re not monstrous. Being half Vrakken doesn’t automatically make you evil, or savage, or anything else. It’s just power. You decide how to wield it.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. “The dark elves might dissect me if they find out. Vrakken see me as an abomination. Where do I belong? Nowhere. And Vaelorian—” I bite my lip. “I hate him right now. But I can’t… I can’t ignore what we had, or the fact that he’s the only one who seemed to believe in me from the start.”

“That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?” Helrath murmurs. “You can hate him for his methods, but you also know he’s not lying about the danger. House Draeven may be your best shield.”

I shake my head, tears slipping free. “He’s always three steps ahead, manipulating me. I thought we had… something real. But it’s overshadowed by this betrayal.”

Helrath sinks onto a nearby chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not good with emotional stuff. But from what I see, you have two choices: you can confront him, lay all your anger on the table and see if he’ll meet you halfway, or you can run. If you run, though, you’ll be hunted by dark elves who’d love to experiment on you, and maybe some Vrakken who see you as a threat.”

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