I stare at her, unable to hide my shock. Voss… is dead? The mountain fae who ordered and personally conducted my attempted execution, who seemed untouchable in his cruelty, gone… just like that? And the way Selen says it—so casually, with such complete detachment—almost sends a chill through me.
“What kind of accident?” Zeriel asks. For once, surprise breaks through his usual mask, sharpening his tone.
“The unfortunate kind,” Selen replies, offering nothing more as she begins gathering papers on her desk. “Now, if we're finished here, I have other matters to attend to.”
She rises, the meeting clearly over. Her teal eyes land on melike a pin through an insect. “I’ll expect you back after lunch, Four-Three-Seven. Don’t be late.”
Chapter 22
As we step from Selen's office into the corridor, unasked questions hang heavy in the air. Our footsteps echo in the silence, stone swallowing sound until even my breathing feels too loud.
“So… what happened back there?” Zeriel asks, tone pitched low. “In the scanning room. You avoided detection.”
I glance sideways. His deep brown eyes pin me, dark enough to feel like a weight, and I catch the crack in his composure: the faintest bafflement. Almost beautiful, in its rarity. For once, I know something he doesn’t. After days of him being the all-knowing, brooding puppet master, a sliver of power slides my way.
“Maybe their detectors aren’t as powerful as they think,” I reply with a half-shrug. “Or my abilities are still volatile, haven’t yet developed strongly enough to be consistently detected.”
I don’t mention the black liquid Selen forced down my throat. I don’t trust him with that yet. If there’s one thing I’ve learned here, it’s that the more you show, the more you bleed.
Zeriel studies me too long, quiet, calculating.
“I do suspect Selen may not be all she appears, though,” I add, seeing no harm in speaking in vagaries.
His gaze sharpens. “What makes you say that?”
“She justseems… odd, don’t you think? Different from other handlers.”
Zeriel gives a low humph, then fixes his eyes straight ahead, gaze somewhat unfocused.
We walk in silence, heavy as chains. I turn Selen’s riddles over in my mind, while he—no doubt—replays every word, looking for threads to tug, for hidden meaning.
“Still,” he says eventually, “we made it through this morning intact. And remarkably, you’re still breathing… And talking.”
“Don’t expect the same luck next time,” I murmur back. “If they use a stronger scan or push deeper… I might not walk out.”
His eyes darken, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Yes. How we move forward from here is something I’ve been considering.”
Of course he has. He hasn’t abandoned the idea of controlling dragons. He’s just recalibrating. And he fully expects me to keep risking myself for him.
But that’s a problem for later. First, I’ve got to survive the next few hours.
“So,” I ask after a beat. “Where are we headed before Selen claims me again?”
“First, my quarters,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “I need to sharpen weapons for training. You’ll sit and try not to do anything idiotic. Then lunch, then Selen gets her claws in you.”
I scoff. “Medo something idiotic? Whose idea was it to?—”
My words falter as the corridor spills open into a wide antechamber, buzzing with unexpected activity. A group of servants rush about with trays of food and drink, while others stand at attention in crisp white clothing. A gathering of finely dressed fae hold court, surrounded by what appear to be their entourages.
“What is?—”
“The other provincial champions,” Zeriel cuts me off, slowing his pace. “They’ve arrived. We’ll take another route.”
His handfinds my forearm, but before he can guide me in another direction, a tall figure detaches from the central group and turns toward us.
I immediately note his demeanor. The easy confidence of a highborn fae, born to power, the too-smooth grace of his movements. He moves like a man who’s never doubted his place in the world—controlled, effortless. His formal attire bears the black flame emblem of the Crosnian province, and though he wears no visible weapons, I don’t need to see steel to know he’s dangerous.
Crosnia.The only district still known by its pre-imperial name. They say it was once the seat of the Ember Court, the proudest of the fae dominions, and the most scorched during the Hollow Wars. The first emperor supposedly kept the name as a warning, a relic left to remind people what unchecked fae power could lead to.
