Page 85 of Blood and Thorns

I close my eyes, the faint rustle of the camp lulling me. My leg throbs, but Vaelorian’s presence soothes me. A swirl of thoughts whirl in my head: the sabotage we pulled off, how I channeled my half-blood power without hesitation, the synergy with Vaelorian. Fear and longing twist together in a complicated dance. Yet under it all, I feel a resolute fire: I’m done being prey. I’ll wield my lineage and illusions to carve a future no one can strip away. And Vaelorian… he stands beside me, forging that future in the shadows of a broken world.

Sleep claims me at last, and my dreams fill with visions of illusions unraveling in my hands, wagons aflame under moonlight, and Vaelorian’s dark eyes shining with quiet promise. When I stir sometime before dawn, I find him still there, quietly guarding me from the encroaching nightmares. Despite the devastation around us, I feel a fragile spark of hope blossoming in my chest—a hope that we can continue to sabotage the dark elves, rally the outcasts, and maybe, just maybe, find a life beyond constant war. Our synergy is electric, our path lethal. But for once, I’m not alone in this fight.

18

VAELORIAN

Istand atop a narrow ledge overlooking the dark elf stronghold, the wind cutting bitterly across my wings. Night presses around us, a sea of black lit only by faint moonlight that splashes silver on the rugged battlements below. The fortress sprawls across the valley floor like some colossal beast, towers bristling with spires of obsidian. Even from this distance, I sense the pulse of arcane wards—flickers of deep violet illusions swirling over the gatehouse, like a spiderweb of malicious magic.

Behind me, Valeria crouches, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid, half-hidden beneath the illusions we weave to shield ourselves from prying eyes. Though the night is cold enough to make the breath steam from my lips, I can practically feel the heat of her presence. Since the sabotage missions we’ve undertaken—wiping out dark elf supply lines, uniting pockets of outcasts—our synergy has only sharpened. She stands ready to unleash her half-Vrakken power in full, no longer timid or uncertain. Pride and concern twist together in my chest at the thought:she’s come so far… but tonight’s battle may cost us both everything.

All around us, hidden in the crags and under illusions, our ragtag force of Vrakken outcasts lies in wait. A few are exiled knights who once served House Draeven or other noble lines; many are renegades who believe the Council’s corruption matches the dark elves’ cruelty. They follow me and Valeria now, not because we claim any official authority—indeed, we’re branded traitors by the Council—but because they see a chance to stand for something better. Their faces, grim and resolute, flash in my mind. Many carry scars, both physical and emotional, from the chaos that’s engulfed our world.

This is our final gambit: the assault on Xathien’s fortress. We can’t chip away at the dark elves forever, sabotage by sabotage. At some point, we must strike a decisive blow—one that topples the epicenter of their essence-harvesting experiments and cripples their ability to conjure new arcane horrors. If we succeed, we might save countless Vrakken and half-bloods from a fate of enslavement or dissection. If we fail… we’ll add our bones to the fortress walls.

I exhale slowly, forcing my wings to stillness. Every nerve in my body crackles with tension. Valeria shifts beside me, voice low against the night’s hush. “They’ve strengthened the wards since our last scouting run,” she says, eyes narrowed. “I can see them swirling around the main gate, covering the inner courtyards, maybe even the towers. This won’t be easy.”

A faint bitter laugh escapes me. “It was never going to be easy.” I glance over my shoulder at her, at the determined set of her jaw. Even with exhaustion lining her features, she radiates a fierce energy that draws me. “Are your illusions and half-blood senses ready? We’ll need every edge.”

She nods, pressing a hand to her thigh—still healing from the injuries sustained in our earlier skirmishes. The new bandages hold, but I know it aches. Yet her eyes gleam with unyielding resolve. “I’ve never been more ready. This ends tonight.”

Those four words resonate with finality. I tilt my head to our second-in-command—Daron, an ex-knight who followed Helrath’s memory to our cause. He stands a few yards away, illusions flickering around him. “Signal the others,” I murmur. “We move on my mark.”

Daron dips his chin, slipping away to the hidden vantage where he’ll wave a lantern thrice, the agreed-upon sign for the rest to begin the coordinated infiltration. Our plan is bold: multiple infiltration teams, illusions layered to breach the wards from different angles, culminating in a direct assault on the fortress’s innermost labs. My wings clench reflexively. The Council might call us mad for attempting such a feat, especially with fewer numbers than the defenders. Buttheyaren’t here; they’ve long since cast us out. This is our fight.

Valeria lays a hand on my arm. Through the illusions that dance around us, I can see the flicker of concern in her gray eyes. “No matter what happens,” she whispers, “we face it side by side.”

My chest constricts with a painful warmth. The memory of our desperate union in the catacombs, the tension and heartbreak after, all swirl into a single knot of feeling. “Side by side,” I affirm, sliding my fingers over hers. The moment lingers, charged with unspoken emotion. Then we hear a faint whistle—Daron’s signal. The time for tenderness is gone.It’s war now.

I rise to my full height, wings spreading in the cold air. My illusions swirl, tinged with the ancient magic I once used under the Council’s eye.No more.I harness it for our cause alone. A flush of adrenaline surges. I sense Valeria’s half-blood aura flaring, her body brimming with that keen awareness that tears illusions apart with ease. We exchange a final glance, then leap from the ledge.

The assault begins.

We glide down the rocky slope, illusions cloaking us, silent as falling shadows. Below, the fortress ramparts bristle with archers and warlocks. I spot them scanning the horizon, ignorant of our presence overhead. Behind me, a handful of winged Vrakken knights follow in staggered formation, illusions rippling around them. On the far side, ground teams approach from the forest, ready to slip past the wards once Valeria disrupts them from the inside.

Valeria keeps pace with me despite her leg wound, half-jumping, half-gliding with the illusions. She can’t truly fly—her wings are partial, the hallmark of her half-blood. But she’s learned to harness that power for leaps of improbable height, letting me help her if needed. My own wings strain at the sudden dive, but I welcome the burn.We are done hiding.

We land on a narrower parapet, illusions melding with the darkness. Two dark elf sentries stand guard here, eyes scanning outward. I grimace, raising my spelled sword. Valeria touches my shoulder lightly, lips curling in a predatory grin. “Let me,” she mouths. Before I can protest, she steps forward.

One guard notices a flicker in the gloom, opening his mouth. Valeria blurs, half-blood speed propelling her. Her dagger drives into his throat before he can shout. The second guard whirls, illusions flaring, but she rakes her claws across his chest—real claws, I realize with a jolt, an extension of her half-blood transformation. He collapses, choking on his own breath. My heart jolts. She stands there, chest heaving, eyes bright with a savage light, dripping blood from her clawed fingertips.She’s truly embracing her heritage now.

She meets my gaze, flicking her fingers once. The claws retract, leaving behind normal nails. Her breath trembles with adrenaline. “Gatehouse,” she says quietly, lips parted. “We override the wards from there.”

I nod, swallowing my shock and a surge of both pride and worry.She’s more lethal than ever.We slip along the parapet, illusions swirling to mask the dead guards. Below, I catch glimpses of shadowy figures scaling the fortress walls. Our outcasts are initiating their infiltration from multiple points. Shouts drift from the far side—the defenders might be alerted. Time is short.

We descend a cramped stairwell, heading toward the central gatehouse. My illusions dull our footsteps. Still, we pass by doors that occasionally burst open, revealing dark elf foot soldiers or lesser warlocks. We engage them fast and brutal. In the flickering torchlight, I see Valeria’s blade sing with lethal grace, her fangs bared in a grim expression of defiance. Each kill weighs on me, but I recall the horrors the dark elves have visited on half-bloods and Vrakken alike. We’re past mercy.

Deeper inside, the corridors widen into a grand hallway. Dark banners hang from the vaulted ceiling, each emblazoned with Xathien’s sigil—a stylized fang dripping with azure flame. The illusions saturate this space, distorting vantage points. I nearly stumble as the floor ripples beneath my feet. Valeria hisses, eyes flaring. Her half-blood senses rip through the illusions, revealing the true path. She guides me forward, unraveling each fake step. My wings rustle in thanks. I can’t see as clearly through illusions as she can, but I can complement her unraveling with my spells.

At last, we emerge on a balcony overlooking the gatehouse mechanism: massive iron gears, chains that raise or lower the portcullis. Warlocks cluster below, chanting to maintain a ward that covers the fortress courtyard. If we break that ward, our ground forces can flood in. My pulse quickens.

Valeria crouches by the balcony railing, scanning the warlocks. “I can see the main conduit,” she whispers, pointing toa swirling vortex of illusions near a heavy brazier. “If we sever it, the ward collapses.”

I nod, mouth dry. “Then we strike.” But as I prepare to leap, a figure steps into view below—their stance radiating authority. My breath catches. She’s tall, clad in black plate etched with runes, helm under one arm, long hair braided with silver. I recognize her from rumors: General Soralynn, one of Xathien’s most feared enforcers. A scowl creases her dark brow. She barks orders at the warlocks, likely fortifying the wards.

I sense Valeria tense beside me. “She’s powerful,” Valeria murmurs. “We can’t just drop onto her with illusions. She might sense us.”

I glare down at the general, wings quivering. “Then we cause a bigger distraction.” I think of our outcasts.They should be in position.We can’t wait any longer. The fortress defenders become more alert every second we linger. “We go now,” I say softly.

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