Page 67 of Blood and Thorns

I wrap my arms around myself, nodding slowly. “You really believe that?”

His silence hangs for a moment, then he exhales. “I have to. This war is coming, whether we like it or not. At least with you fighting beside us, we have a chance to face the dark elves on equal footing.”

Warmth flickers behind my ribs, warring with the cloying terror. I search his face, seeking sincerity. Despite our tangled past, I sense no deception now—only a desperate resolve that mirrors my own. The night wind rustles overhead, and for an instant, it feels like the entire world pauses, letting us share this moment of raw honesty.

Eventually, I nod, stepping back. “All right. We press on. We bring these captives back, show the Council the truth. I’ll stand before them, half-blood or not, and demand they see reason.”

His eyes darken with emotion. “You won’t stand alone.”

A flush crawls up my neck. His unwavering presence could be my anchor in a world determined to tear me apart. I hate how much I want to lean on him, how my anger at his past manipulations can’t eclipse the yearning for his protection, his approval.We’re bound by necessity, but maybe more.The thought is as terrifying as it is comforting.

“Thank you,” I whisper, voice thick. “For not letting me face this alone.”

A faint, sad smile graces his lips. “Always.”

We linger in the hush, hearts pounding in the darkness. Then voices from camp filter through the trees—cries of wounded, the crackle of fire. We break apart, each returning to the grim responsibilities that await us. Yet an undercurrent of unity threads between us now, steadier than before. We’re no longer master and thrall, nor manipulator and pawn.We’re partners in survival, each clinging to the other in a world that wants us dead.

We spend the rest of the night tending to the rescued prisoners, patching wounds, and sharing scant rations. The next morning dawns cloudy, with a chill that seeps into our bones. Vaelorian’s group merges with ours, forming a single escort. Everyone is on edge, glancing over shoulders, expecting dark elf pursuers any moment.

But no immediate attack comes. Perhaps the dark elves are regrouping, or they consider us too small a party to warrant heavy pursuit.Or they’re leading that army toward House Draeven itself.The possibility sends cold dread through me.

We break camp, traveling with the freed Vrakken at a careful pace. Vaelorian and Helrath ride point, leading us through hidden trails. As I ride behind them on a borrowed horse, I sense each soldier’s tension like static in the air. The day drags on, each footstep a step closer to House Draeven. To the Council’s judgment.

At midday, a scout reports no sign of enemy patrols. Relief mingles with suspicion.They might be waiting for us at the fortress, or encircling us from another route.I catch Vaelorian’s gaze, and he mirrors my unease with a grim nod.

Finally, after hours of winding through forested valleys, House Draeven’s looming walls appear in the distance. My heart lurches at the sight, uncertain if I should feel safe or threatened. This fortress is both sanctuary and potential prison. Yet, it’s theonly place we can gather allies and plan to fight back against the dark elf army craving my blood.

As we approach, the gates open, revealing Brinda and a contingent of guards waiting. Among them, I spot a few scowling council members. My pulse flutters.They’re here for me.They see the battered prisoners, the worn expressions of our returning warriors. Vaelorian rides in, head high, projecting confidence despite fatigue and injuries.

I dismount carefully, legs wobbling. Helrath and the soldiers help the rescued Vrakken into the courtyard, ignoring the shocked murmurs from watchers. Brinda steps forward, eyes sweeping over the captives with grim recognition. Then her gaze snaps to me, an unspoken question in her eyes:Is this your proof?

Vaelorian speaks before she can. “We have them, Mother,” he says, voice echoing in the stone courtyard. “Dark elf experiments confirmed—these Vrakken were to be used for essence harvesting. The half-blood’s intel was correct.”

The crowd stirs, some responding with pity for the rescued, others casting uncertain glances at me. My stomach knots, recalling that half these onlookers might want me dead. I steel myself, lifting my chin.No more hiding.I see one council member’s face twist with disgust, another with anxious calculation. My heart races.

Brinda’s expression softens marginally as she takes in the captives’ condition. Then she fixes Vaelorian with a demanding look. “We’ll need to hear their testimony before the Council. The threat is real—Xathien’s plan to weaponize essence must be exposed.”

He nods, voice clipped. “We must move fast. The dark elves gather an army to capture Valeria. If we don’t unite Vrakken Houses soon, we risk open war.”

A murmur of alarm ripples. Brinda’s lips press thin. “Then we’ll convene an emergency session. And the half-blood—” She glances at me. “She’ll stand witness.”

My breath hitches.Stand witness or stand trial?The unspoken tension weighs heavily. I note the way certain council members exchange looks, measuring how best to exploit or condemn me. Vaelorian’s posture turns rigid beside me, wings shifting. I sense his protective rage simmering.

Helrath breaks the silence. “The captives need medical attention. Let’s move them inside.”

Brinda nods, gesturing for the guards to escort the freed Vrakken away. The courtyard buzzes with activity, but a pocket of hush lingers around me, Vaelorian, and the Council members eyeing us warily.

One councilor steps forward, robes dragging on the stone. “This is a precarious time for House Draeven,” he intones. “We must weigh the cost of protecting a half-blood who draws the dark elves’ wrath.”

Anger flares in me, but Vaelorian speaks before I do. “We protect her because she’s the key to defeating Xathien. These captives prove the dark elves’ plot. You see the bigger threat?”

The councilor’s gaze flicks my way, then to Vaelorian, uncertainty etched in his features. “We shall debate it in the Council chamber.”

I stand stiffly, fists clenched.They treat me like a commodity.Yet I know I must face them if we’re to rally an army in time. Fear twists in my gut, but beneath it, a flame of defiance burns.I won’t cower. I’m sick of cowering.

Vaelorian turns to me, voice low. “Rest for now, gather your strength. The Council meeting convenes at nightfall. We present our case then.”

I exhale shakily. “All right.”

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