His voice is measured. “You’ve shown you have value. The council sees potential. We’ll test your obedience. Try to destroy or escape, and I’ll haul you back to the dungeons.”
I cross my arms, forcing calm. “I won’t perform any circus acts for Orthani’s amusement.”
He gives a faint smile, as though used to my barbed comebacks. “We’ll see how you handle your new tasks. For now, rest. Another test awaits soon enough.”
A guard stands at the threshold, arms folded. Vaelith inclines his head at him. The guard steps forward, pressing a small iron bracelet around my left wrist. It fits snugly, the metal etched with runic lines. I feel the wards tingle, binding me to this chamber’s perimeter. If I stray too far, it’ll likely send a nasty shock or alert the watch.
Vaelith arches a brow at me, as if to say, “Behave,” then turns on his heel and strides out. The guard steps into the hall, leaving me in this suite with the door locked behind them. I exhale, crossing to the window. The cityscape below is a jagged labyrinth of angled rooftops and narrow passageways, lit by the faint shimmer of arcane lamps. So many vantage points to exploit if I can free myself.
I let my gaze drift across the spires, steeling my resolve. I have to rescue Ai, unearth how the Red Purna set me up, and ensure that Orthani’s attempts to chain me fail. Even if that means working from the inside, faking obedience, forging alliances with devils like Vaelith or Zareth. Each time I recall Ai’s trembling figure, the vow in my heart blazes stronger.
Gently, I test the bracelet’s boundary by stepping close to the door. A faint jolt pricks my wrist, prompting me to stop before I actually push it. So the perimeter is no idle threat.
I sigh and approach the narrow bed. My limbs are sore, my back stiff, and the events of the day press on me like a lead weight. I lower myself onto the mattress, letting the faint glow from the lantern wash over me. My mind swirls with images: Ai’s cryptic words, that haunted look in her eyes, her mention that the Red Purna wanted me caught. Betrayal runs thick in my veins, fueling a dark resolve.
I’ll keep playing their game, toeing the line enough to gather resources. If Vaelith wants me to prove my loyalty, I’ll dangle just enough compliance to keep them off my back. In time, I’ll find an opening to save Ai—maybe more than that. The only catch is enduring men like Zareth, who thirsts for my submission, or Vaelith, who wears duty like an iron mask. If I have to endure them both to protect Ai, so be it. I’ve survived torment before.
As I stretch out on the bed, an unbidden warmth seizes my chest, remembering how Ai looked at me in the corridor, fragile but trusting that I would somehow protect her. That trust anchors me. No matter how dire this fortress or how cunning Orthani’s lords might be, I won’t abandon her.
My lids grow heavy. Exhaustion from the fights and the emotional upheaval weighs me down. Before I let sleep claim me, I whisper a vow into the silent room: “I’ll find you, Ai. I’ll tear open this city if I must.”
A swirl of the fortress’s wards hums in my senses, but it’s not enough to keep me from drifting into fitful rest. My dreams swirl with brief flashes: Ai’s pale hair catching the lantern glow, Vaelith’s cold gaze, Zareth’s predatory grin, and the knowledge that the Red Purna orchestrated all this. Their betrayal stings like a festering wound.
In the morning—or whenever they decide—I’ll face Orthani’s next trial. One step at a time, I remind myself. So long as I’m alive, Ai has hope. I cling to that thought until sleep finally drags me under, carrying me into a realm where Orthani’s watchful eyes can’t follow. My final conscious image is Ai’s face, little fists clenched, whispering that I was the bait. A tight coil of determination grips my heart, ensuring that even in slumber, my resolve remains. I won’t let them break me, and I won’t let the Red Purna’s schemes seal our fate. If they want war, I’ll give it to them on my terms. And if Orthani thinks they can leash me, they’re about to learn a brutal lesson about what it means to cage a purna who refuses to kneel.
6
ERYX
Ilinger on the rooftop of a half-collapsed foundry, breath caught in my throat as I survey Orthani’s tangled streets below. The night air clings to me with a chilly dampness. A single arcane lantern flickers on a rusted pole, casting elongated shadows across the battered cobblestones. From this height, it’s easy to see where the city’s grandeur fades into the sprawl of Lowtown: crooked lanes crammed with rickety hovels pressed against fortifications of black stone. Years ago, I strode these streets as a noble, proud and unchallenged. Now I pick my way through them like a ghost, hidden in darkness, unrecognizable.
My gaze tracks a pair of dark elf soldiers on patrol near the foundry. Their cloaks ripple in the breeze, and the insignia on their uniforms—a coiled serpent around an obsidian dagger—marks them as Orthani’s standard enforcers. I’ve spent enough time weaving in and out of these watch routes to know their patterns by heart. With a careful step, I glide to the edge of the rooftop, flatten against the cracked chimney, and wait for them to pass.
Their hushed conversation drifts upward. They’re complaining about some shift extension, cursing the “damnedpurna problem.” My gut twists. Purna problem, indeed. Another reminder of Orthani’s new captive, a woman who apparently roused enough alarm that the entire guard force is on edge. From the scraps of rumors I’ve gleaned, she was caught in Lowtown with a child, fighting like a cornered wolf. The story sets my blood simmering because I recognize the name whispered in dark corners: Selene. The one I was meant to assist. The same woman the Red Purna manipulated to test Orthani’s strength.
I close my eyes a moment, recalling the instructions I received from a Red Purna contact—a coded dispatch delivered by a hooded messenger. “Selene is in Orthani,” it said, “our sister is cunning, but she needs your help to escape.” A bitter laugh nearly escapes me. Help is a flimsy word when I suspect she was pushed into this mess on purpose. The Red Purna might pay me in gold and grudging respect, but I’m well aware they’d watch the city burn if it served their aims.
My focus snaps back to the patrol below when the soldiers move on. They vanish around a corner, still muttering about purna. I inch away from the chimney, stepping over crumbled roof tiles to reach an adjoining building. A single leap takes me across the narrow gap. I land on the next rooftop in a crouch, exhaling slowly. Each step I take is measured, silent. My cloak is dyed midnight blue, blending with the gloom. My hair, once a mark of noble whiteness, is chopped to my shoulders. Time and dirt have dulled it so thoroughly that it no longer shines like it once did when I strolled Orthani’s upper courts.
The memory of those gilded halls is as sharp as a blade. My father, resplendent in embroidered robes, sipping spiced wine. My mother, teaching me the politics of the city—where to bow, whom to flatter. Then the day our house was declared treacherous. Soldiers burst into our estate, swords drawn, cutting down my parents where they stood. Their blood stainedthe marble floors, and I, forced to watch from behind a tapestry, realized the cunning tyranny of Orthani’s ruling class. Ever since that night, hatred has fueled me.
That vengeance carried me into the arms of the Red Purna, who claimed they wanted to dismantle Orthani’s power. So far, I’ve served them well, using my assassin’s skills to disrupt the city’s infrastructure, sabotage supply lines. But I sense they, too, are weaving manipulations for their own ends. They told me Selene was an asset, a strong purna who might tip the balance. So I came, slinking back into the city I once called home, trying to track her. The rumor that she’s been captured sets my heart thrumming with complicated fury.
Tonight, I plan to confirm the rumors. If Selene is indeed locked somewhere in Orthani’s fortress, I need to see whether she’s still breathing, worth rescuing. And if she’s a bargaining chip, I might exploit that. My hatred for Orthani’s nobles runs deep, and I want to see them kneel. If Selene can help me accomplish that, all the better.
I creep to a vantage point near a spire that overlooks a courtyard guarded by heavy gates. That gate leads to the fortress’s mid-levels, where officers dwell. Lanterns burn with a pale violet flame along the battlements, and watchful eyes scan the perimeter. My instincts prickle. The security has tightened significantly. More wards sizzle in the air, distorting magic and making it harder to cloak myself in silent approach. This means they fear infiltration. Possibly because they hold a valuable prisoner. Possibly her.
Beneath the archways, I notice a single figure patrolling: a tall female officer with silver braids coiled around her head. She paces with a restlessness that suggests shift changes are overdue. I wait until she turns her back, then slip down the spire’s exterior using a rope ladder I hid last week. My feet touchthe cobbles silently. My heartbeat kicks. One misstep, and I’ll have an entire squad on my trail.
The officer continues pacing. I flatten against a sculpted column shaped like a twisted serpent, pressing my cloak against the stone. My breath comes shallow as I edge around the corner, approaching the fortress’s side door. A single guard stands there, leaning on his halberd. He’s half-asleep, by the look of his drooping posture. The wards might detect overt magic usage, but subtlety is my friend.
I reach into a small pouch at my belt, extracting a pinch of crushed seeds that the Red Purna’s herbalist gave me. They cause drowsiness if inhaled. Slowly, I creep up, toss the fine powder so it drifts into the guard’s face. He startles, sniffs, then slumps as the powder overtakes him. I catch him before he collapses, dragging him behind the column. With careful precision, I slip his ring of keys from his belt and ease open the side door.
Inside, the corridor is dim, lit by a single sconce. My footfalls are muffled by thick carpets. I keep to the walls, every sense attuned to the wards that hum in my peripheral awareness. I follow the path my memory conjures. Once upon a time, I had access to these corridors, walked them in fine clothes. It’s changed somewhat, new expansions or modifications, but the bones of Orthani’s fortress remain. When I pass a broad archway, I duck behind a statue of a grim-faced dark elf general. Two guards stroll by, chatting about the purna’s demonstration in the training arena earlier. My heart leaps.
“Did you see it?” one says. “She beat three soldiers like it was nothing. Commander Vaelith seemed pleased.”
The other chuckles. “You think they’ll keep her around for good? Purna magic or not, she’s dangerous.”