Page 78 of Blood and Thorns

Valeria’s jaw sets. “Then that’s where we start. After that… we strike Xathien.”

I help her to her feet again, wincing at her soft hiss of pain. The forest rustles around us, each snap of a twig putting me on edge. We have to keep moving before more patrols come searching. My wings ache, but I push the discomfort aside. I wrap an arm around her waist, supporting her. She stiffens slightly—a lingering wariness from all the betrayals—but she allows it.

As we hobble along the faint trail deeper into the forest, the fortress behind us belches smoke. An orange glow flickers against the night sky, conjuring images of blazing corridors and crumbling stone. House Draeven is lost to me, maybe forever. The Council’s claims, my mother’s legacy, the seat of power that was my birthright—I let them slip away into the flames. All thatremains is this vow to keep Valeria alive, to destroy the dark elves’ fortress, and to define my destiny on my own terms.

We move in near-silence, the hush of night broken by the occasional hoot of an owl or the scuttle of small creatures. The path is rough, tangled with exposed roots. Valeria’s face is pinched with pain, but she doesn’t complain, and I admire her resilience anew. At times, I catch her glancing at me, as if verifying I’m still here, that I won’t vanish or proclaim another false condemnation. Each glance tugs at my chest—a reminder we have a long way to go before trust truly solidifies again.

Still, step by step, we press forward. Eventually, we find a concealed hollow in the roots of a giant oak, large enough to provide shelter from the damp. Both of us are dead on our feet. Dawn’s faint glow creeps over the horizon, turning the sky a dull gray. We can’t push further without rest. She sags against the oak’s trunk, eyes heavy. I gather fallen branches to camouflage the entrance and attempt a minor illusion to cloak us from casual observers. My magic flickers—my mind drained from the night’s battles. Yet the illusion holds, however flimsy.

Sinking beside her, I offer a small water flask. She gulps greedily, then passes it back. My own throat is parched, tasting of ashes and regret. “We’ll sleep for a few hours,” I say softly. “No more. Then we keep moving. The outpost is more than a day away.”

Valeria nods, gazing at me with a complicated blend of sorrow and guarded acceptance. “All right,” she says. “If we hear anything suspicious, we run.”

I manage a grim smile. “Agreed.” My voice drops. “Valeria… I know words mean little after what I’ve done, but I want you to know that I choose this path wholeheartedly. If the Council declares me an enemy, if my mother disowns me, if all Vrakken lands shut us out, I accept that. I choose you—us—over their broken promises.”

Her eyes brim with tears she won’t let fall. She exhales. “It’ll take time for me to believe you.” A pause. “But I want to try.”

A dull ache pulls at my chest, a mix of regret and fragile hope. I dare to lean in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t resist, though her shoulders tremble briefly. “Sleep,” I whisper. She nods, letting her eyelids sink closed, nestling her head against my side. A storm of warmth floods me—an odd sense of peace in the midst of a war zone. I vow to watch over her, no illusions left between us.

She drifts off, exhaustion overtaking her battered body. I remain awake for a while, scanning the dim forest for threats. My illusions swirl faintly, mind hazy with fatigue. The mere thought of the sabotage mission fills me with adrenaline. If we succeed, we cut the dark elves’ progress short, deny them fresh abominations, and buy ourselves weeks or months to vanish. If we fail, we forfeit our lives. But living under the Council’s rule or the dark elves’ ambition is no life at all.

A breeze rustles leaves overhead, the forest’s hush reminding me of childhood nights spent in remote outposts. Back then, my mother’s voice urged me to harness my power for House Draeven’s sake, never imagining I’d one day break free from it all. The magnitude of what I’ve done—turning my back on my birthright—still stuns me. But I can’t regret it. Not if it means Valeria escapes the fate half the world wants to impose on her.

Eventually, exhaustion claims me, too. My eyes flutter shut, head propped against the oak’s rough bark. Even in sleep, though, I can’t fully rest. My dreams are haunted by fleeting images: Helrath’s lifeless eyes, the council chamber caked in blood, Valeria’s tearstained face when she believed I’d forsaken her for real. I twitch awake more than once, scanning the forest for foes, but it remains silent.

By the time the sun stands high overhead, we stir. I curse myself for sleeping too long, but Valeria still looks pale, herwound raw. We share the last scraps of travel rations from my belt pouch. Each mouthful tastes bitter with the knowledge we have no real supplies. We’re fugitives, on the run, about to launch a mission no sane person would attempt.

When she stands, she wobbles, leaning on me for support. A flinch crosses her face. “We need a real healer,” she says softly.

I nod, guilt gnawing my insides. “The outpost might have basic supplies, though not much else. Let’s hope we can get you stable.” My hand steadies her waist. Her proximity still sends a jolt through me—reminding me how we clung to each other in that catacomb in an explosive moment of heartbreak and need. Her cheeks color, as if recalling it, too. We share no words about it, but the tension simmers beneath our interactions, promising more complexities to come.

Step by step, we exit the hollow, illusions swirling around us as I attempt to mask our presence. My magical reserves are battered, but I can manage a light cloak. We pick a winding route east, avoiding roads or villages. The day stretches, hours of quiet trudging through forest glades, crossing a shallow stream, and scaling gentle slopes. The sun’s heat grows oppressive, especially with our wounds. Yet we press on, a single unspoken motive binding us.

Valeria limps, determined to keep pace, though sweat beads on her forehead. I offer her my arm whenever the trail grows rough. Each time, she hesitates before taking it, as though testing my sincerity. My chest aches with each flicker of mistrust, but I accept it. I nearly cost her life. Earning back her trust might never be fully possible, but I’ll try.

Late afternoon, we crest a hill overlooking a valley. In the distance, the faint spires of some ruined watchtower pierce the skyline. My heart leaps with recognition—the outpost. Helrath and I used to coordinate covert missions from that tower. If anyloyal soldiers remain, that’s where they’ll be. And if not, at least we can scrounge supplies, maybe a horse or two.

We descend the hill with caution, scanning for ambushes. The air grows thick and still, no sign of pursuit. Perhaps the dark elves remain busy sacking House Draeven. The thought sends a pang of guilt, but I push it aside. This is survival.

Upon reaching the tower, I notice the front gates stand partly ajar, vines creeping over ancient stone. No movement. My chest tightens—what if it’s deserted? I help Valeria inside the crumbling courtyard. Broken crates litter the ground, a sign of old skirmishes. My pulse jumps when I catch the outline of a figure leaning against the tower wall, sword across his lap.

My illusions ripple. I raise my hand, calling out quietly. “Who goes there?”

The figure starts, scrambling to his feet. He’s a young Vrakken soldier, wearing battered House Draeven leathers. Recognition dawns on his face. “Lord Vaelorian,” he breathes, voice echoing in the courtyard’s hush. “We thought… the fortress fell.”

I step forward, guiding Valeria. “It did,” I say bluntly. “The Council is compromised, traitors everywhere. We need your help—if you’re loyal to me, not the Council.” My gaze flicks to the tower door, wondering if more of them hide inside.

He glances at Valeria, eyes widening. She stands with me, half leaning on my arm, hair matted with sweat, face set. In the old days, a soldier might question a human’s presence, but he just nods once, awe crossing his features. “We owe you for saving those captives from the caravans. Helrath spoke highly of you both.” His voice softens. “But… Helrath is…?”

My throat constricts. “Gone. Murdered by Mahir.” I see shock and grief in the soldier’s eyes, matching my own heartbreak. “Are there others here?”

He jerks his chin at the tower. “A handful of us, mostly Helrath’s men. We fled the fortress when it turned chaotic, hoping to regroup. We thought we might stage a rescue mission for anyone left. We’re low on supplies, though.”

Relief wars with sorrow. “We’ll figure it out,” I say, voice grim. “We have a bigger mission now. Let’s go inside.”

He nods, leading us through the battered doors into the tower’s main chamber. The interior smells of old straw and stale air. A small band of Vrakken—five men and one woman—huddles around a feeble campfire. Their eyes widen at our entrance, some standing abruptly, hands on weapons. Then they recognize me, stiffening in salutes or half-bows. I see grief etched in their faces—these must be Helrath’s personal retinue, loyal to him more than the Council. Valeria stands tense, uncertain how they’ll react to a half-blood. No hostility arises; they just look relieved to see any sign of leadership.

I clear my throat, wings flexing in the cramped space. “We survived the fortress. Helrath did not. Mahir betrayed us, opening the gates for the dark elves. The Council is likely scattered or compromised. House Draeven as we knew it has fallen.” My words draw anguished gasps. I see the men exchange looks, shock rolling in waves.

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