Page 61 of Blood and Thorns

She’s not just a subordinate. She’s not just a half-blood. She’s the one who ignited something in me I never expected to feel.Attachment. Concern.A wry laugh escapes me at the memory of how I used to mock lesser lords for falling for their thralls. Now, fate twists me with the same predicament. Except she’s no mere thrall—she’s half Vrakken, a fierce operative who might be pivotal in saving us all.

A knock on the door jolts me. “Enter,” I call, setting my empty glass aside.

A guard peeks in, announcing that my mother requests my presence in the citadel courtyard. She wants to see me off before the mission. My back tenses, but I nod. Another meeting—no rest for the weary.

In the courtyard, dusk settles in a wash of purple and gold across the sky. A contingent of soldiers organizes supplies, leading horses to the stables, double-checking weapons. My mother stands near a central fountain, her regal form silhouetted by the last rays of sunlight. I approach, wings folded, feeling the curious stares of half a dozen attendants.

“Matriarch,” I say quietly, nodding in respect.

She turns, expression neutral. “Vaelorian. You leave soon for the pass?”

“Tomorrow at first light,” I confirm. “We aim to intercept Xathien’s convoy by midday. Our illusions should mask us from their scouts.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “I came to wish you success—and to remind you of your promise. Protecting the half-blood is your choice, but if the plan fails or if she’s captured, the Council will not hesitate to brand you irresponsible.”

Anger flares, but I keep it leashed. “We won’t fail.”

She nods, her silver hair catching the light. “Very well. Return victorious. Bring me proof we can rally the rest of the Houses with.”

I sense an undercurrent of genuine concern beneath her stern facade. She doesn’t show affection openly, but I know she worries. If we lose at the pass, Xathien grows stronger, and House Draeven’s position weakens. Tying ourselves to a half-blood might only accelerate that decline. My mother must weigh the survival of our entire House. Yet I see in her eyes a hint of reluctant acceptance that I’m forging my own path.

“I’ll bring you all the proof you need,” I vow. “And I’ll keep her safe.”

Brinda’s lips press together. Then she nods once more, dismissing me. “Go. Prepare. We can’t afford mistakes.”

I pivot away, ignoring the swirl of onlookers. My wings unfurl slightly, and I stride across the courtyard, heading back inside.My mind is awash with half-formed thoughts: the plan for tomorrow, Valeria’s precarious standing, the Council’s threats. Through it all, a single certainty anchors me: I won’t relinquish her. My loyalty to House Draeven stands, but my loyalty to her has grown too strong to deny.

Night creeps in fully, and I gather the last of my gear from my study: a spelled blade, a set of runic tokens for illusions, and a map with scribbled notes. Then I step into the corridor, intending to finalize a quick meeting with Helrath before daybreak. My footsteps echo in the long hallway, the sconces guttering with each drift of air.

At the corridor’s end, I pause, sensing a presence. Valeria steps around the corner, nearly colliding with me. She’s clad in dark traveling clothes, a cloak draped over her shoulders, hair partially braided for convenience. Her eyes flicker with tension, but there’s less raw anger than before. We both freeze, heartbeats thudding in the hush.

She speaks first, voice subdued. “You’re leaving soon?”

“In a few hours,” I confirm. “We’ll ride out before dawn. And you?” I tilt my head, noticing she carries a small pack. “You’re… also leaving with us, right? Part of the infiltration squad.”

She nods. “Helrath told me to be ready.”

We stand in awkward silence, weighed down by unspoken grievances and this strange resonance that still hums between us. At last, she swallows. “I thought about going to my suite and locking myself in, ignoring everyone until morning. But… I wanted to see you. Make sure we’re on the same page for tomorrow.”

My chest tightens. “We are. I won’t let any harm come to you. If things go awry, you break off, hide in illusions, do whatever it takes to survive.”

Her gaze flicks to the floor. “That’s not what I meant. I meant… your mother, the Council, all of it. I’m not naïve; if the mission fails, they’ll scapegoat me.”

I inhale, stepping closer. She stiffens but doesn’t retreat. “They might try,” I admit. “But as long as I draw breath, they won’t succeed.”

Her eyes glimmer, a swirl of bitterness and hope. “You’re so certain you can override them?”

“I have to be.” The words come out raw. “I won’t allow them to kill you. Or cast you out. Or degrade you for something beyond your control. I swear it on my own blood.”

She meets my gaze, tears threatening to form again. “Why do you care so much?”

The question lances me. I want to sayI love you, but do I even know love, shaped as I am by House Draeven’s ruthless culture? Perhaps it’s the closest I’ve come. Instead, I set a hand gently on her upper arm, careful not to startle her. She doesn’t jerk away. “Because you deserve better than what the world has given you. And I can’t stand by while they treat you like a curse.”

She inhales a shaky breath, leaning subtly toward me. The tension between us crackles—anger, regret, longing. For a moment, her expression softens. Then she clears her throat, stepping back. “Tomorrow, we focus on Xathien’s convoy.”

I nod. My heart feels bruised, but I accept her retreat. “Yes.”

She adjusts the strap of her pack, glancing down the corridor. “I… I should rest. You should too.”

---