For the first time, Zeriel shifts in his seat, thestillness of a predator disturbed. His mask doesn’t crack—it sharpens. But his eyes… his eyes flare with something I’ve never seen there before: hunger.
Is he wondering, as I did, how much of his life has been built on lies?
And if Selen is trying to deliberately trigger people’s magic, she’s tempting their deaths. And yet, she helped me survive.Would she help Zeriel?
But still,for what purpose?
“Why are you asking these questions?” I interrupt, glaring at her.
A pause. “Because questions are doorways,” she says softly, after a beat, almost to herself. “And some doors aren’t meant to open until you’re ready to walk through them.”
Chapter 21
The room falls into silence. I have no idea what to say, and apparently, for once, neither does Zeriel. He must think this is just another interrogation. I don’t entirely disagree, except to me it's clear this has become an interrogation of Selen’s own making.
I came here to find answers tomycountless questions, but somehow she's seized control, twisted the situation to serve her own agenda.
“Never mind,” Selen continues after a long beat. She glances down at a detailed fire drake diagram beneath her fingertips, tracing the intricate rendering of wing membranes with one slender finger.
“Perhaps we should discuss something more concrete,” she says, her tone shifting to something almost businesslike. “I'd like to offer assistance in training your ward, Champion Caelith.”
Zeriel's eyebrows rise. “Training?”
“Yes. As you're no doubt aware, champions’ wards are allowed to serve as seconds in the tournament.” She taps the diagram pointedly. “I believe Four-Three-Seven could be more useful than what you're currently intending her for, with the right instruction.”
I look between them, trying not to betray my surprise.She still wants to train me.
Zeriel goes very still, the kind of stillness that makes the air feel heavy. Whatever storm runs behind his eyes doesn’t show—only the faintest glimmer, like a knife catching light. He looks at Selen as though she’s just offered him both a weapon and a trap in the same breath.
“What flavor of training?” he asks at last, voice smooth but edged.
“Combat fundamentals. Tactical awareness. Reading dragon behavior.” Selen's voice remains neutral. “Skills that would make her a more effective second during the tournament trials. Who knows? She might end up having to compete in your place, if you get injured.”
Compete in Zeriel’s place?Just the thought sends my pulse racing. That was never part of the deal—never even crossed my mind. And I’m sure it hadn’t crossed Zeriel’s either. I was just meant to be a tool to assist him, not replace him. He’s certainly confident enough to think he won’t get injured and need to be replaced.Gods, I hope he’s right.
“How much time would this take up each day?” Zeriel asks after a beat. I can practically hear him thinking:will we still have enough time to practice her clandestine dragon whispering?Though I have no idea how he thinks we’d continue to pull that off, after what just happened with Marrek.
“Standard training hours,” Selen replies. “She’ll still be yours in the evenings.”
Zeriel lets out a subtle breath, eyes still with thought. It’s hard to see what loss there would be for him. He’ll need to continue his own advanced training during the day anyway to stay on track for the tournament. During those hours, I’d be dead weight.
“And what doyougain from this arrangement?” he asks.
A ghost of a smile touches Selen's lips. “Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing our champion succeed this year.”
For a long moment Zeriel simply watches her. The silencestretches, taut as a drawn bow, until at last his shoulders ease a fraction. “Very well,” he says. “I agree. I’ll drop into sessions when I’m able—to monitor her progress.”
“Maybe,” Selen replies coolly. “We'll see about that. For now, I want her to come alone. She'll train with a group of other women.”
Zeriel’s jaw tightens, but he inclines his head with the grace of a man conceding a move only to win later. “Fine. But if she breaks, the fault is yours. And don’t mistake my silence for trust.”
Selen inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment. “Of course, Champion.”
Their continued use of the third person grates on me—like I’m livestock being traded rather than someone sitting in the damn room. Still, Selen’s mention of other women tugs at me. Maybe she means the four from our original group. The thought sparks more hope than I’d like to admit.
“But how will Voss even allow this?” I blurt, unable to help myself. “He made it clear he doesn’t approve of your methods.”
Selen's expression shifts to one of mild surprise. “Oh, you haven't heard? Handler Voss died in a terrible accident yesterday.” Her voice carries no emotion whatsoever, as if she's merely commenting on a change in the weather. “At least for now, we shouldn't have direct interference.”
