Page 62 of Blood and Thorns

A wry smile tugs at my mouth. “I doubt I’ll sleep. But I’ll try.” I pause, longing to say more, to close the gap between us. But she’s not ready, and we’re out of time. “Good night, Valeria.”

She dips her head in acknowledgment. “Good night.”

We part ways, her footsteps fading into the gloom. I remain in place for a moment, staring at the corridor wall, battered by the conflicting surge of protectiveness and frustration.Tomorrow, we ride for that pass.If we succeed, maybe that buys us time to mend the rifts here at home. If we fail, the Council’s wrath—and Brinda’s threat—will come crashing down. And Valeria, with her half-blood secret, stands at the center of it all.

I turn, heading to finalize the last tasks before dawn. My pulse throbs with an unfamiliar urgency, a sense that everything is poised on a razor’s edge. Deep inside, a whisper emerges:I’m prepared to challenge my entire House for her.And that knowledge is both terrifying and strangely liberating.

13

VALERIA

Iawaken to the gray stillness before dawn, heart pounding as though I’ve just surfaced from a nightmare. The wind rattles the shutters outside my chamber window, and for a moment, I lie in bed, attempting to slow my racing pulse. I realize after a few uneven breaths that there’s no point in fighting the tension thrumming through my veins—this fear has become my constant companion. Fear of being used, fear of being hunted, fear of what my own blood might mean.

I push myself upright, tangling the sheets around my legs. Sleep is impossible now. The events of the past day weigh on me: the council meeting, the threat of Xathien’s caravans, and, most of all, the confrontation with Vaelorian. We reached a precarious truce, each acknowledging we can’t simply walk away, but the rift between us remains.

Raking a hand through my hair, I swing my feet over the bed’s edge and pad across the cold stone floor. I light a lantern on the small table by the window, letting it cast a soft glow across the chamber. Outside, the sky is still inky black, with the faintest hint of blue creeping on the horizon. We’re scheduled todepart soon to intercept Xathien’s convoy—and in that mission, everything is at stake.

A rap at my door startles me. I stiffen, heart lunging into my throat.Who would come so early?

Slipping on a loose tunic over my shift, I cross the room and open the door a crack. A messenger in House Draeven livery stands there, panting as though he’s run a great distance.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he manages, voice shaking with urgency, “but Lord Helrath requests your presence in the war room. Immediately.”

I blink, dread curdling my stomach. “Is something wrong?”

The messenger bobs his head. “I—he only said it was urgent. Please follow me.”

My throat is dry as sand. I nod, grabbing my boots and cloak. Whatever crisis has erupted can’t be good news. Dressing quickly, I slip out into the corridor, following the messenger’s brisk steps through the winding halls. The fortress is eerily quiet—only a few guards posted along the way—but I sense an undercurrent of tension, like a silent storm about to break.

We arrive at the war room, its heavy doors ajar. I step inside, breath hitching at the sight of Helrath, Vaelorian, and a handful of House Draeven officers already gathered around the central table. Lanterns blaze, throwing stark shadows on their faces. Nobody glances up as I enter, too absorbed in the conversation. My messenger bows out, leaving me at the threshold.

Vaelorian lifts his head first, black eyes meeting mine. Something in his expression—tight, grim—twists my insides. I want to look away but force myself to walk forward. This mission is bigger than our personal turmoil.

“Helrath?” My voice is unsteady. “What’s happened?”

He straightens from his hunched posture over the map, crossing his arms. “We’ve received word from a scout near the dark elf border. They report a massing of troops—dark elflords gathering an army. Specifically searching for a ‘half-breed abomination.’” His eyes flick my way, apology in them.

My stomach drops like a stone.So they know about me.I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. “An entire army… just for me?” The notion is absurd, yet not surprising after everything I’ve learned about the dark elves’ obsession with harnessing hybrid blood.

Vaelorian’s voice cuts in, deep and controlled. “It’s not only about you. They want half-bloods for their essence experiments. You’re the prime target, but if they suspect there might be others, they’ll gather all the forces necessary to capture any potential hybrids. Still, from the scout’s intel, your name is specifically mentioned among their leaders.”

My throat constricts. Fear and anger surge in tandem, making my temples pound.They want me for dissection.I recall the locked door at that banquet, the muffled groans of a tortured Vrakken captive. That fate could be mine if they succeed.

One of the officers—an older Vrakken woman with silver-streaked hair—points to a scroll spread out on the table. “The scout’s message claims that Lord Xathien has allies among the Miou warrior caste, giving him access to well-trained soldiers. Possibly thousands. If they discover you’re with House Draeven, they might try to sabotage our fortress or intercept us en route.”

I step closer, shoulders tight. “So what do we do?”

Helrath exhales, setting a fist on the table. “We can’t ignore them. But right now, our focus is still on intercepting Xathien’s caravan. We hope to capture proof of his essence-harvesting. That might force other Vrakken Houses to rally with us before the dark elves escalate further.”

“But that won’t stop them from marching,” I say quietly. “They could gather enough troops to crush us.”

Vaelorian tilts his head, regarding me with unguarded concern. “We have to be fast. Secure the evidence, then returnhere to fortify our defenses. If the dark elves mobilize an entire army, we’ll need alliances from other Vrakken Houses, or we risk being overrun.”

The ramifications make my skin crawl.I’m the spark that could ignite a war.Bile rises in my throat. “So we stick to the plan,” I murmur. “Intercept the convoy, gather proof, rally allies. All in a matter of days, maybe hours.”

Vaelorian nods, lips pressed in a thin line. “We can’t afford delays. This changes nothing about our immediate mission—just adds pressure to succeed.” He looks around at the assembled officers. “Everyone knows their roles?”

A murmur of assent passes through them. My pulse hammers, remembering that I’m the key to confirming the convoy’s cargo. If I fail, House Draeven loses any leverage it might have to unite Vrakken against the dark elves’ threat. And if the dark elves are already mobilizing an army to capture me, time is dangerously short.

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