VIII

  I had lost the notebook where I had written down everything about the auction—I was sure it had turned to ash along with all my other belongings. Sitting on Ilmestys' back, I was writing down every detail I could remember from scratch while the hubbub of the Hollow flowed by in the background. I knew that if I took goods to Varrendale at regular intervals, my grandmother wouldn't suspect I was up to something.

  I could feel Ilmestys's breathing on my back like a slow wave. It had been a week since we started training in the Hollow, and she was getting used to carrying me. What really surprised me was that during that week, I hadn't felt the absence of my whip even once. Ilmestys liked to be in control, and being restrained by pain was counterproductive for her. I had come to this conclusion because I had never seen her so cooperative before. It was as if I was no longer her keeper, but her friend.

  I had spent all my days in the Hollow and the Passage. I hadn't seen Prince Vaelis since that day, either.

  I sighed, closed my notebook, and began watching the dragons drawing wide circles in the training field. Their large bodies, covered in light-absorbing scales, flowed through the air with discipline, while on the ground the young ones, whose scales had not yet hardened, took unsteady steps, dragging wings that did not quite fit their bodies behind them and playing with each other. I smiled, thinking that Ilmestys had once been like that too.

  Ilmestys stirred beneath me, and I jolted upright. “So you finally woke up, huh?”

  Ilmestys blew smoke from her nostrils and tossed me off her back in one swift motion. Well, I'd fallen from much greater heights before. I grumbled as I got up. “You're a brute, Ilmestys.”

  Ilmestys breathed again, but this time nudged me with her nose. “It's okay,” I said, stroking it. “I forgive you.”

  “You two get along quite well.” Calithra watched us from the entrance to the passageway leading to Ilmestys’s lair.

  “She’s not trying to kill me lately, at least,” I said, wiping the smear from my face with the back of my hand. “I suppose you could call that progress.”

  Calithra came over and handed me a bottle about the size of my palm. “Here,” she said. “With this, you can have a new whip made.”

  I swallowed. “Or is this—”

  “It’s definitely not Vaelis’s blood,” she said with a smile. “Just mine. Still, it will be enough for you to have a new one made.”

  I took the bottle from her and held it up to the light, examining the red liquid inside. “Is that what you think?” I didn't even try to hide the doubt in my voice.

  Calithra sighed and sat down on the edge of the slope overlooking the training ground, dangling her legs over the side. “Look,” she said. “I'm just trying to help. My blood isn't as worthless as you think. Tharen and I—we're cousins.”

  I sat down beside her. “Do you really trust me enough to give me this?” I murmured. I could use it to take on Calithra's form—or for other purposes.

  Calithra shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  We didn't speak until the bottle I clutched in my palm began to warm.

  Finally, I murmured, “Doesn't betraying him bother you at all?” I couldn't help imagining how devastating it would be for me to betray Nerissa in such a scenario.

  “Tharen isn’t that little boy I grew up with anymore,” Calithra said. Her eyes were on the baby dragons wrestling beneath us. “We stopped talking when my father defied the King’s orders and was exiled. If Vaelis hadn’t taken me on as his squire, I wouldn’t have been able to stay in this palace.”

  “I’d heard Prince Tharen was overly loyal to the King.”

  In Varrendale, the Elven Kingdom was generally spoken of with hatred and anger, and this must have been the least exaggerated rumor I’d heard about Prince Tharen. “That they were too much alike, too.”

  Calithra nodded. “Tharen believes that the only way to preserve the power of the continents is to eliminate the half-bloods. Although half-bloods possess the powers of both races they belong to, they cannot use either to its full capacity. This situation, which should theoretically be an advantage but instead results in a significant disadvantage, is pitiful in Tharen's view.”

  I felt my blood pulsing through my veins. Throughout my life, I had lived among those labeled deficient; I had formed friendships with them and witnessed how even opposing traits could come together in harmony. “I know what they think,” I said tensely. I couldn't bear to hear Calithra say any more about it.

  Again, we both remained silent for a while. Then I asked, “Why isn't Vaelis dueling Tharen? I have no complaints, but you know… then all this—” I pointed to the dragons in the training ground. “Wouldn't be necessary.”

  Calithra watched the dragons for a while longer, then stood up. “Come with me,” she said, reaching out her hand to help me up. “I'll show you something.”

  ***

  The path emerging from the Hollow left the stifling heat of the underground behind and gradually opened into coolness. The stone walls here were more orderly, more deliberate. With each step, the air grew lighter, breathing became easier, and the chaos of the Hollow gave way to the palace's tranquility.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Calithra skillfully guided me through the corridors, and we finally stopped in the shadow of an archway that opened to the palace's outer courtyard. From here, we could easily see the entire area below.

  The training ground we had come from lay open. The sky stretched wide and pale blue above as the sun climbed slowly toward the hilltop. The ground was covered with dark stones, scarred by years of impact. Along the edges stood weapon racks, worn targets, and training poles.

  Before I could properly catch my breath, I saw the two princes facing each other in the center of the field.

  Prince Tharen stood as if rooted to the ground, his broad shoulders and sturdy stance commanding attention. His dark chestnut hair glowed copper in the sunlight; his bronze skin, bathed in light, radiated an intense pressure. Where Vaelis stood, the same light faded, casting sharper shadows. The contrast left me breathless as I watched the two princes prepare for battle.

  Tharen held his heavy sword with deadly skill and determination. Vaelis's silver-inlaid sword, however, lay lightly in his hand, as if ready to change direction at any moment.

  Vaelis made the first move.

  He was sharp, swift. Except for his impatience, he was flawless. When he swung his sword, the chill around him flowed with him. Magic rose, tearing from the ground. Stone cracked; ice advanced toward Tharen at great speed in spikes as sharp as the blade itself. The moisture in the air froze. Time seemed to slow.

  Tharen raised his heavy sword. The moment his blade touched Vaelis's magic, the ice cracked as if screaming. Fire did not rise in flames; it seemed to flow through Tharen's veins. His magic spread like an oppressive wave. The ground turned red, the stones darkened, and the remaining ice shattered within seconds.

  Vaelis didn't retreat; he sidestepped and sliced the warm air beside Tharen with the tip of his sword. Had Tharen not retreated in time, that blow could have killed him.

  When it was Tharen's turn to attack, I clenched my fists to suppress the trembling in my hands. This was not routine training; it was a wild display of strength bearing the marks of a real duel.

  When Tharen raised his sword, flames engulfed it. Vaelis raised his free arm and met Tharen's blow with a shield of ice. He parried it—but the shield shattered.

  Tharen attacked again, giving Vaelis no time to recover. His sword was burning, his footsteps were burning—Tharen was burning. This time he raised his sword with both hands, as if intending to deliver a deadly blow.

  A wave of magic spread from Vaelis's hand against the ground. Vaelis might have been splitting the field, but Tharen ruled it. The ice shattered once more before it could reach him. Tharen moved again, and in the blink of an eye, Vaelis's sword went clattering a few steps away.

  Tharen had won.

  I exhaled shakily. I had never witnessed such power in my life. “Damn it,” I whispered. “What was that?”

  Calithra had her arms crossed and watched Tharen reach out to Vaelis with at least as much tension and awe as I felt. “Proof we have no margin for error,” she murmured. “Or are you afraid?”

  I was terrified. “I’m glad I wasn’t in Vaelis’s place,” I said calmly. It was strange; I had experienced how powerful Vaelis was, and that power, which had seeped into my bones, seemed ordinary next to Tharen’s. “In any case, we have our dragons.”

  “Don’t speak of them so casually.” Vaelis’s voice came from behind us, low and warning.

  “You did well there,” Calithra said. “You nearly defeated him.”

  I turned to the prince. I hadn't heard him approach. My eyes wandered over his neck, glistening with sweat, his silver hair clinging to his forehead, and his strong hands gripping the towel he used to wipe himself. I didn't know what to think of Vaelis, but after what I had seen, I could feel something shifting inside me.

  As he tossed the towel over his shoulder, Vaelis said, “We need to talk. Right now.”

  ***

  When we arrived at the Passage, Droven and Cain were already there.

  “Tharen is suspicious,” Vaelis said without preamble.

  Calithra had just sat down on the couch when the prince's words made her jump up again. “What are you talking about?”

  I frowned. For some reason, what Vaelis said hit everyone else like a slap.

  “He doesn't suspect the dragons yet,” Vaelis said, sinking back into the sofa. “But he doesn't trust me. Not even a little.”

  “Did he say something to you during training?” Calithra asked, turning toward him.

  I turned my back on them, swallowing hard, and began looking for something to eat on the counter. I doubted I had any say in this conversation.

  “It’s not your courage that betrays you, but your hesitation.” Vaelis said this after a long pause, the words leaving his lips with a burning strangeness.

  “One doubt about dragons, and we’re done for,” Droven muttered. “Perhaps we already are.”

  “Come on,” I sighed, turning around with a slice of bread in one hand, a knife in the other, blackberry jam at the corner of my mouth. “What can Prince Tharen do against a herd of dragons? Except run away, of course.”

  Vaelis's eyes scanned me, and despite the horror on the others' faces, my attempt at humor brought a faint smile to his lips. “You know the Ashvael Clan never shared the special enchantment they created to hunt dragons with anyone,” he said.

  I nodded. Because of the clan's strict rule, I had been forced to go all the way there to have Ilmestys' chains forged, and I couldn't say they were particularly welcoming. “I've had better journeys. It was sad to hear they killed Morvex.”

  Calithra's shoulders slumped at the mention of Morvex. Or was that shame on her face?

  “The Elven King has been trying to get his hands on that enchantment for centuries,” Droven said. “Few people know this, but he is quite afraid of dragons.”

  “But the leader of the Ashvael Clan vehemently refuses to reveal the enchantment’s recipe,” Cain added.

  Vaelis kept his eyes fixed on me as he continued. “On the day Morvex died, the enchantments were rendered useless by the full moon. This means they no longer need an enchantment to hunt a dragon. Tharen can’t obtain the enchantment—but he can obtain a weapon design.”

  Calithra's clenched fists trembled. “As if the power he wields isn't enough…”

  Silence.

  I sighed again, turned back to the counter, and reached for another slice of bread.I couldn't understand the fear the others felt. I trusted Ilmestys with all my heart. Prince Tharen was powerful, perhaps the most powerful elf alive, yet he couldn't match trained dragons. Not even with weapons.

  “So what are we going to do?” Calithra whispered. The sofa creaked; she must have moved closer to Vaelis. “You always have a plan.”

  “We have no choice but to send a scout who can get close to the Crown Prince himself,” Vaelis said.

  I continued spreading jam on the bread.

  “This is extremely risky…” Calithra’s voice was breathless.

  “There is a young maid who regularly tends to Tharen’s phoenix, Pyra,” Vaelis said, his voice regaining that sharp tone that cut through the air. “Someone who can take on her form and enter Tharen’s room. Someone with advanced shape-shifting abilities. Someone recklessly brave—and accustomed to infiltrating the heart of the royal court.”

  When I turned around, all eyes were on me.