Kaen stepped forward, forcing steel into his voice. “And what would this power demand in return?”
The shadow’s answer came like a whisper of silk and storm. “Only what you are already losing, your faith in their light.”
He hesitated. The chamber dimmed further. The shadow reached out a hand, not quite solid, not quite smoke, and laid it against the air between them. A flicker of light appeared in Kaen’s palm, unbidden. Black fire, cold and mesmerizing. It burned without pain. Kaen couldn’t lookaway.
“This,” Lyssara murmured, “is the first truth of power. It does not destroy what you are. It reveals what you’ve always been.”
Kaen’s fingers curled around the flame. “And if I take it?”
“Then you will never kneel again.” The shadow retreated, fading back toward the columns. “The Sovereign, Morcarion, watches. He rewards those who are not afraid to take what they deserve.”
“Morcarion?” Kaen questioned softly. The name tasted like sharp iron and ash.
Lyssara’s voice drifted in the air. “He has seen you, Prince of Fire. When the Veil weakens, the world will need a king unbound by fear. Choose your side before your brother does.” Then the figure was gone, leaving only silence and the faint scent of scorched air.
Kaen stood unmoving for a long time. The moonlight had shifted across the floor, falling now across the empty throne. His hand trembled once before he hid it behind his back. The black flame still burned inside his palm. Small. Contained. He smiled faintly. Just enough.
Outside, in the lower sky, a whisper carried on the wind, inaudible but for those born of darkness. “He has taken the first spark.”Beneath the Rift, Morcarion and the dark magic he possessed stirred in response.
Chapter
Six
The party in the fields stretched wide beneath the violet hush of twilight. A warm wind moved through the tall grass, bending it in slow, sinuous waves. Lanterns hung from iron poles, rune-lit flames swaying within glass orbs that painted the dark in shades of amber and rose. Farther in, the bonfire roared, an untamed heart of gold light, casting sparks high into the indigo sky.
Woodsmoke carried the faint sweetness of pine resin and spiced wine. Beneath it rose the low hum of voices, laughter, the rhythmic pulse of a drum half-hidden in the grass. Someone had spread furs and woven blankets across the field. Cadets lounged with mugs in hand, shadows crossing their faces, their conversations thick with secrets and the lazy arrogance of the slightly drunk.
Thaelyn stopped at the edge of it all, boots sinking into soft earth. The firelight played over the curve of her leather bracers, glinting along the edge of her collar. For a heartbeat, she simply watched how the fire painted bodies in bronze and shadow, how the night folded over the academy’s edge into wild sky. It felt like stepping across a threshold she hadn’t meant to find.
A creek murmured nearby, threading silver beneath the moon. Beyond it, dark-winged shapes circled, dragons at patrol, restless and unbound. The deep rumble of one rolled faintly across the distance, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath her feet. Vornokh, perhaps. Watching, always watching.
The air smelled of smoke and rippled with anticipation. Thaelyn felt a hand slide into hers, warm and certain.
“You’re holding your breath again,” Darian murmured beside her. His voice low enough to be felt feel rather than heard.
Thaelyn’s lips curved. “Am I?”
He nodded and pulled her toward his side. “I’ve learned the signs. Shoulders high, pulse quick.” His smile was the kind that disarmed and provoked in the same breath.
“I’m surrounded by second and third-years,” she said softly. “I think a little tension is warranted.”
“Then consider me your diplomatic escort into enemy territory.” His fingers tightened briefly around hers. “Come on, Marren. It’s a rare thing to be young, alive and breathing between battles. Enjoy it.”
He drew her into the glow of the fire. The light caught him first, his dark curls gone wilder in the wind, his tunic open at the throat, sleeves rolled up to strong forearms. Darian Vale had a way of inhabiting space like it was made for him, equal parts charm and danger. Thaelyn wasn’t certain if it was deliberate or simply who he was.
Near the drink tables, her roommates had already arrived. Iri shimmered in sea-blue, hair braided through with copper thread, eyes bright from whatever she was sipping. Vaeryn stood in moss-green, calm and assessing, even here at a party. Feyra, in storm-grey, leaned with an effortless kind of grace, her hair loose and haloed by the firelight.
“Ladies,” Darian said, bowing low enough to make it ridiculous. “Your roommate is under excellent supervision tonight.”
Iri smirked. “We’ll hold you to that, big brother. Try not to ruin her reputation in the first week of meeting her.”
“Nonesense sis and where’s the fun in that?”
The girls rolled their eyes, already swept away by the rhythm and laughter of the crowd.
Thaelyn found herself being pulled closer to the fire. The music deepened, the drumbeats were low and full. Flames from the bonfire rose like a living thing, reflecting in a hundredeyes. Cadets danced, bodies moving as though the night itself demanded surrender.
“Dance with me,” Darian said.
