Page 22 of Taken By The Dark Three
Somewhere in that fortress, Selene is likely pacing her new quarters, cursing me, the Red Purna, Orthani, or all of the above. A corner of my mouth quirks in a wry smile. I don’t blame her. If I were in her shoes, I’d loathe every conspirator. Still, she knows now that I can slip through Orthani’s defenses. Maybe that assurance will keep her from despair. If she hates me but remains alive, that’s good enough for now.
Above the rooftops, the moon sinks low, bathing Orthani in a ghostly glow. My shoulders ache from tension. I close myeyes, allowing the faint hush of distant city noises lull me. For a moment, my mind wanders to a possible future: orthani’s gates shattered, the high lords begging for mercy they never granted. I picture Vaelith on his knees, that smug face twisted in defeat. Zareth undone by his own psionic cruelty, or by Selene’s mind-lash. I can almost taste the victory.
And if the Red Purna arrives to seize control once Orthani is in ruins, I’ll deal with them too. I may be an assassin in their employ, but my loyalty rests only with my own cause: vengeance, and perhaps a slender thread of justice for the innocent. Ai deserves a chance to grow without becoming a weapon. Selene deserves the chance to stand tall, free of shackles.
A new wave of determination ripples through me. There’s no turning back. I’ll gather every resource, spin every lie, and carve a path out for Selene and Ai, if it means bringing down Orthani’s leaders in the process. My dagger glints in the lamp’s light, a reflection of my lethal resolve. The next few days will be crucial. I can’t fail. Too much rests on this precarious alliance.
The lamp sputters, flickering close to extinction. I remain in that armchair, still as a statue, gaze fixed on the fortress’s dark silhouette. My chest tightens as I picture the corridors I snuck through, Vaelith’s crest on polished doors, the flicker of anger in Selene’s eyes. If everything aligns, we’ll set this city ablaze from within. And I’ll be smiling when the flames devour the tyrants who took everything from me.
Yes, the Red Purna might have lied. But that’s a game I’m willing to play. Because in the end, I have a single guiding truth: Orthani will reap what it sowed. One day, its proud banners will lie in ashes, and I’ll walk away free, the ghosts of my family finally at peace. And if Selene stands by my side when the last stone crumbles, so much the better. If she stands in my way, we’ll settle that, too.
With that fierce promise echoing in my mind, I snuff the lamp and sit in darkness, planning. Dawn creeps closer, but the city never truly sleeps. Neither do I, not when vengeance remains incomplete. So I wait, perched on the edge of rage and cunning, ready to weave the next threads of chaos. Once Selene and I converge on a single purpose, Orthani’s days will be numbered, and I will taste the satisfaction of my long-awaited revenge.
7
SELENE
Istand in the cavernous chamber of Orthani’s central court, wrists bound loosely by a single iron chain. The council has chosen to parade me in front of every noble house that bothers to show up, as if I’m some prized beast. The vaulted ceiling towers overhead, carved with serpents and swords entwined in a tapestry of dark legend. A row of crystal sconces line the walls, each glimmering with arcane energy, painting the black marble floor in hues of purple and blue. I swear I can feel the hush of anticipation in the charged air—these lords and ladies revel in the spectacle of a purna dragged before them.
At the front of the chamber, three council members sit behind a curved dais, each wearing the elaborate regalia of Orthani’s elite. Their robes are studded with metal plates, and the silver circlets on their foreheads mark them as final arbiters of city matters. Vaelith stands to one side, clad in a dark sleeveless cuirass that shows off the muscle along his broad arms. His skin gleams obsidian in the light, and a purple sash with his family’s insignia—crossed swords—drapes from one shoulder. He projects calm authority, eyes scanning the crowd as though he’s already measured every threat in the room.
Across from him, Zareth stands with calculated elegance. He’s robed in black velvet etched with golden psionic runes that snake over his chest and spine. His crimson hair contrasts starkly with his midnight attire, and when he looks my way, I sense his pulse spike, tasting that twisted fascination he directs at me. Other dark elf nobles mill around them, whispering behind fans and raised collars, eager for a spectacle.
At a court herald’s gesture, I’m pushed forward. My ankles chain lightly; they haven’t locked me too tightly, not after my last demonstration in the training arena. But these constraints are enough to remind everyone that I’m captive. The hush deepens. A sea of slanted eyes observes me with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and cruel delight.
The herald clears his throat. His voice booms through the chamber thanks to some small amplifier. “We reconvene to address the fate of Selene, the captured purna. She stands accused of infiltration and defiance against Orthani’s laws. The honorable council demands a resolution.”
A stern-faced councilor, a woman with braided silver hair and eyes like polished steel, folds her hands. She radiates the kind of authority that suggests centuries of power. “Step forward, purna.”
I do, forcing my chin high. There’s a soft ripple of reaction from the gathered nobles. Some appear surprised that I don’t cower. Let them see that I refuse to shrink under their scrutiny. My gaze flicks across the dais, daring them to break me if they can.
“We gather to settle your position in Orthani,” the councilor says. “You’ve shown combat prowess. Commander Vaelith has stated you could serve in the city’s military ventures, under strict watch.” Her gaze shifts to Vaelith, as though inviting him to confirm.
He meets my eyes, face impassive. “She could be of use. Her skill is undeniable. We’ve tested her. She can fight.”
A nervous murmur passes among the nobles, perhaps recalling how I humiliated a few soldiers in the training arena. Good. Let that rumor spread.
Zareth steps forward, voice a silken purr. “If I may speak?” He glances at the councilor, who inclines her head. Then he levels me with a predatory smile. “I’ve tested her psionic resilience. Rarely have I encountered a mind so… formidable. It warrants further study. Imagine the potential if we refine her power. She belongs under House Velcorin’s supervision, not in some grunt army.”
My stomach rolls uneasily at the memory of Zareth’s mental prodding, how he tried to peel back my defenses. I force my expression to stay neutral, refusing to let him sense how that incursion still sets my teeth on edge.
Vaelith’s jaw tightens. “Your psionic tinkering is not Orthani’s priority, Zareth. We need warriors, not your twisted experiments.”
Zareth’s lips curve. “Experiments? Don’t project your violent fantasies onto me, Commander. House Velcorin invests in Orthani’s future by refining minds, not smashing skulls.”
A flicker of electricity zips through the air. The crowd leans in, eager for the clash between these two powers. The councilor raps her knuckles on the dais. “Enough. Both arguments have merit, but the final choice belongs to the council.”
An elderly council member, his scalp etched with arcane tattoos, clears his throat. “Commander Vaelith proposes we place her under the city’s military oversight, ensuring she remains an asset rather than a threat. Lord Zareth proposes further psionic research that might unlock deeper potential. We cannot risk letting her roam free, but neither do we wish to stifle a talent Orthani could harness.”
My lips twist with silent contempt. They speak as though I’m a resource, a rare element to be extracted. I yearn to lash out, but I keep my posture composed. The hush in the chamber feels suffocating, all eyes pinning me like a rare specimen.
Zareth bows slightly to the dais. “If we let Vaelith’s brutes handle her, they’ll stifle her gifts with rudimentary discipline. A shameful waste. My house has centuries of psionic artistry—she’d be an exquisite subject. We can keep her docile with mental binds.”
Vaelith’s hands curl at his sides, a flicker of anger passing over his stoic facade. “Mental binds,” he echoes. “As though she’s no more than a puppet. Is that your solution, to break her mind until she begs for release?”
Zareth lifts a shoulder. “She’d be more cooperative.” A soft chuckle escapes him, laced with cruelty.
The councilor’s gaze sweeps between them. She presses her lips into a tight line, then lifts a finger. “And you, purna? Have you anything to say regarding your future in Orthani?”
