A shadow moved across the gap beneath the door.
Then the footsteps continued down the hall, fading into distance.
I counted to thirty before I moved.
Slipping out of the vault, I eased the door closed behind me and turned the lock with fingers that barely trembled. The hallway stretched empty in both directions, moonlight spilling through tall windows to paint everything in silver and shadow.
Three more items to find. A map, decent daggers, and a cloak.
But as I moved deeper into the castle’s heart, a sliver of golden light caught my attention, spilling from beneath a door that stood slightly ajar.
Voices. Low, urgent, male.
I pressed myself against the wall and crept closer, pulse hammering in my throat.
“—growing bolder.” Varyth’s voice, tight with something that might have been worry. “The attack today proves it. Ashterion isn’t content to wait in Nyxaria any longer.”
“He’s testing us,” Darian replied, and I could hear the exhaustion bleeding through his usual swagger. “Seeing how far he can push before we push back.”
“No.” Fenric’s was quieter, more controlled. “This wasn’t a test. It was reconnaissance. That thing wasn’t trying to kill her, it was trying to take her.”
Her. My blood turned to ice.
“He cannot learn of what we have,” Varyth said, and there was steel in those words. Final. Absolute. “Not until we understand it ourselves.”
I pressed closer to the crack in the door, straining to hear more.
“The humans are settling in Edrithas well enough,” Darian was saying. “The children seem?—”
“The children are not the concern.” Varyth snapped. “It’s the mother. She’s... volatile. Unpredictable. And if Ashterion gets his hands on her before we can properly assess what she’s capable of...”
My stomach dropped. They were talking about me. About my capabilities.
About whatever the hell was wrong with me that made monsters want to steal me in broad daylight.
“We move the military outposts closer to the western border,” Varyth continued. “Double the patrols between here and Nyxaria. And someone needs to keep a closer eye on our guests.”
“I’ll handle it,” Fenric said quietly.
“See that you do.”
Footsteps. They were moving.
I scrambled backward, pressing myself into the shadows of an alcove as the door swung wider. Three figures emerged. Varyth leading, shoulders tense with authority; Darian favouring his wounded arm; Fenric bringing up the rear, those red wings tucked tight against his back.
They moved down the corridor away from me, their voices fading to murmurs.
I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore. Then I waited another thirty seconds.
I slipped through the door they’d left behind.
The room was clearly Varyth’s study—all dark wood and expensive leather, papers scattered across a massive desk, maps pinned to the walls.
I moved quickly, quietly, scanning the desk for anything useful.
Letters. Several of them, written in a flowing fae script I couldn’t understand. But one caught my attention, a map spread beneath a crystal paperweight, marked with what had to be military positions. Red pins scattered along borders, concentrated heavily to the west.
Nyxaria. Where the Lord of Murder Wolves lived.
