I step in behind Zeriel, cautiously. Selen stands alone in her office. Judging from the tidy state of it, today’s class hasn’t begun. Which isn’t surprising. It’s not even seven yet.
Her gaze is subtly quizzical as it locks onto mine. She hadn’t expected us back so soon.
But she must remember what she told me.
“Alternatively, when you have more time, you could try bringing him to me. I could see what I can do.”
I still have no idea what she can do. What she’ll want to do. What Zeriel willlether do.
All I sense is that the next half-hour is going to be interesting.
“We need your help,” I say suddenly, stepping forward before Zeriel can speak. I place her worn dress on a chair. I’m aware thevials are still inside the dress, but the thought of leaving such clandestine goods hanging around unattended in Zeriel’s chamber is uncomfortable.
Selen doesn’t even look at the gown. Her gaze shifts from me to Zeriel, measuring, calculating. Her eyebrow lifts, just a fraction. “I see.” She steps back, gesturing us further inside. “Lock the door behind you.”
Zeriel hesitates. “What exactly are we talking about?”
I push the door closed, locking it as Selen instructs.
“The tournament's been moved up,” I say. “We have under three days. Don’t we need every advantage we can get?”
Zeriel doesn’t answer. Just studies us both, brow subtly furrowed, as if trying to decide whether this is strategy or some kind of betrayal.
Selen's lips curve in a smile. “I believe you do. Though whether you'll accept what I offer is another matter…”
She moves to her desk, opening a drawer that seems to extend deeper than it should. From it, she removes a small wooden box, weathered and unmarked. “Veyra is right to bring you to me. There are... possibilities, for those willing to explore them.”
If Zeriel’s surprised to hear Selen on real-name terms with me, he doesn’t show it. He appears too preoccupied with the substance of her words. He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s skip the cryptic routine for once, Selen. If you’re talking about something illegal?—”
“I'm suggesting nothing,” Selen interrupts smoothly. “I'm offering a path. One the empire would prefer remained hidden, but one that has always existed nonetheless.”
My heart pounds strangely as she places the box on her desk. There's something about the way she moves—deliberate, reverent almost—that makes the air feel suddenly heavy.
“What's in the box?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.
“History,” she replies. Her eyes find Zeriel's, challenging. “And perhaps your future, if you're brave enough to claim it.”
Zeriel steps closer, wariness warring with something else in his expression. “You speak in riddles, Handler.”
“And you live one, Champion.” She opens the box, revealing what appears to be a small vial of golden liquid nestled in velvet, alongside two silver needles and a length of red cord.
Chapter 34
“You’re a witch?” Zeriel asks, voice low as he eyes the strange objects on the desk: items that appear to serve no purpose but magic.
Selen gives a high-pitched laugh. She arches an eyebrow. “Is that the word we’re using now? For a fae who’s merely reached their full potential?”
He doesn’t smile. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll report you?”
She tilts her head, almost amused. “And what would that gain you, exactly? If you do, your assistant loses whatever usefulness she might have to you. You must have guessed by now that I’m the one who saved her down at the screening.”
The conversation spins in my head.Witch. Full potential.Before I can fully process it, Selen continues.
“And more importantly…”—her gaze fixes on him, steady—“you’d be cutting off the only person willing to help you both survive what’s coming.”
A beat passes. Then, something shifts.
Her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes… they darken—not in color, but in presence. As if a veil lifts and something older, colder stares out from beneath. A sensation prickles over my skin, sharp and instinctive, like standing too close to the edge of a cliff. My breath catches before I can stop it.
