As we slip into the narrow alleyway behind our dwelling, she suddenly pauses, her head tilting as if listening to something I can't hear. Her eyes drift closed, and for a moment, her face relaxes into an expression I rarely see: something like communion.
“Mama?” I whisper.
Her eyes snap open, and she grips my arm with unexpected strength. “Change of plans,” she says. “We're not going east. We need to go north instead.”
“But you said the northern gates would be?—”
“I know what I said,” she interrupts, her voice gentle despite her obvious fear. “But the path has... shifted.”
It's not the first time she's spoken this way: in riddles and feelings that somehow guide our steps through the city's labyrinthine streets. I've never understood how she always seems to know which patrol routes to avoid, which alleys offer safe passage.
We make our way through the waking city, staying to shadows and side streets. Mother moves with uncanny precision, sometimes changing direction moments before a patrol rounds a corner, other times pausing in doorways just as eyes turn our way.
We're almost to the northern gates when it happens. Mother freezes mid-step, her face draining of color. Her head turns sharply toward an unmarked building across the square—a place I've never noticed before.
“They're here,” she whispers, her voice hollow with dread.
Before I can ask who “they” are, she kneels before me, gripping my shoulders. “Listen carefully, Veyra. You need to run. Take the third alley past the fountain, follow it to the end, then climb the wall with the red markings. On the other side, you'll find a dressmaker’s shop. Tell the owner I sent you.”
“No… wait,” I protest, panic rising in my throat. “W-Why can't you come with me?”
I notice the tears in her lilac eyes, and for the first time, I see my mother completely shattered, her hope gone. “Because they can sense me, little bird,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “They've been hunting me for years, and I’ve run as far and as long as I could.”Her fingers brush my cheek, delicate and fragile, like she might break if she touches me too hard. “But they can't sense you. Not yet. Not if I can stop it...”
A sharp click jolts me from sleep. My eyes snap open, heart hammering against my ribs. A rough stone ceiling stares down at me, lit by shafts of pale sunlight. It takes me all of three seconds to remember where I am.
“We have a problem.”
My head snaps toward the direction of the baritone voice, and I find Zeriel looming over me, already dressed in combat garb, but hair still damp from showering, a towel flung over one muscular shoulder. His arms are crossed as his gaze bores into me.Quite the sight to wake up to.
I grimace, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Wh-What time is it?” I croak.
“Almost nine.”
I prop myself upright, staring back up at him. “Shouldn’t you be in training? What problem?”
“I believe I may have realized why Marrek’s visit to the pens coincided with ours last night,” he responds, ignoring my first question.
My breath catches in my throat. I rise from my makeshift bed, gripping the edge of the table. “What? Why?”
“Because of what we did: invoke your magic, deliberately and more deeply.”
His words hang in the air, blunt and jarringly direct.So even he’s calling it my magic now.Half of me has still been trying to deny it’s magic, not prepared to face the potential consequences. Hearing it spoken aloud sends a cold weight sinking into my chest.
“Last night, I was focused on testing if there was anything more to your stunt with the ashblood, and making sure we weren’t seen,” he continues. “But I now suspect the Ironhold has implemented deeper means of detecting magical traces.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “Something I didn't consider before.”
I stare at him, fear and confusion clawing at me. “What do you mean 'deeper means’? And why are you only realizing this now?”
Zeriel's mouth tightens fractionally. “Because a guard was just at my door, asking to see you specifically.”
My heart lurches into my throat. “What? A guard? Here?” The implications hit me like a physical blow. If they've detected my magic, if they know I used it last night...
“He's waiting outside right now,” Zeriel says, his voice infuriatingly calm, as if he's merely commenting on the weather rather than what could be my imminent execution.
I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over the blankets tangled around my legs. “And why wasn't that the first thing you told me?!”
“To give you less time for what you’re doing now: panicking,” he replies, rubbing his dark-stubbled jaw.
