Page 56 of Taken By The Dark Three
My pulse thrums with pride. “Yes. Orthani sees a ghost tonight, and rumor will spread like wildfire. This gives me an advantage. Let them reevaluate their security, fear purna’s return.” I step closer, adjusting the angle of my face so that my illusions remain in partial shadow, ensuring he can’t see my real features slip.
He hesitates, eyes reflecting a swirl of emotions. “I can’t openly condone it,” he says quietly, “but part of me… admires your boldness.” He glances around, ensuring no one lingers to hear. “You realize Zareth won’t rest. He’ll attempt to pry the truth from you next time he catches you alone.”
I shrug lightly. “He tried to collar me once and failed. If he tries again, I’ll remind him of that humiliation.” Then, my voice softens. “I saw your expression in the hall, Vaelith. It didn’t look like mere discipline. It looked like… pride.”
A flicker crosses his face. “Damn you,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m torn between wanting to protect you from thefallout and wanting to drag you back to your rooms so you stop flaunting your power.” He steps nearer, voice dropping further. “And I recall your arrangement—your freedom to slip between other men’s arms if you choose. Yet I can’t tear myself away from you either.”
Heat stirs in my chest, a swirl of conflicting affection. “Let me have this triumph,” I whisper, “and perhaps later, I might reward your loyalty.” The innuendo hums between us. I see his jaw tense, desire warring with jealousy yet again.
We stand in silence for a breath, the far-off melody of music drifting. The side corridor is deserted, potted ferns rustling in a faint draft. Finally, Vaelith huffs, stepping back. “Return to the gala if you wish, but watch your back. Zareth might pounce on your performance’s aftermath. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I nod, stepping away from him. My illusions swirl in place, sustaining my specter-like aura. “Thank you,” I say, surprising even myself with the sincerity. “Despite everything, your presence here steadies me.”
He tilts his head, eyes burning with unspoken longing, then turns and disappears down the corridor. I watch him go, heart in my throat. Then I compose myself, smoothing my gown. My illusions remain strong, though they test my stamina. I vow to keep the façade intact for the rest of the gala, letting the rumor mill swirl.
Eventually, I drift back into the main hall, weaving among the lords and ladies who still whisper about Lady Veloras resurrected. A swirl of adrenaline pulses in my blood. I linger at the edges, refusing to let Zareth trap me. The excitement of the moment hums in the air—some fear me, some want to unravel my secrets, all enthralled by the notion that a centuries-dead noble just walked into Orthani’s heart.
By the time the gala winds down, I’ve sowed enough chaos to further Eryx’s sabotage plans and my infiltration. The entirecourt has heard the rumors. Some suspect it’s a prank or a cunning transformative ploy, but no one dares openly challenge me after Zareth’s retreat. I slip out well before the final dance, stepping into the cold night of Orthani’s streets. My illusions finally fade once I’m alone in a shadowed alley. I gasp at the sudden release, my hair reverting to its dark hue, my face returning to its usual shape.
A wave of fatigue hits me, but satisfaction warms my core. This night was a victory. Zareth cowered, Vaelith’s uncertain pride burned in his eyes, and the city’s nobles reel with speculation. I can almost sense Ai’s cryptic prophecy weaving tighter: “One will betray.” Maybe multiple betrayals swirl around me, but with each bold move, I carve a path to Ai’s freedom and Orthani’s downfall.
My footsteps echo as I head back toward the estate, planning to reenter my rooms before dawn. If Vaelith intercepts me, perhaps I’ll let him glimpse the raw triumph shining in my eyes. He might not wholeheartedly condone my stunts, but he can’t stifle his admiration either—and that gives me leverage. The same with Eryx, fueling sabotage from the shadows, enthralled by my cunning. And Zareth? He stands on the brink of losing control, a threat I relish thwarting at every turn.
Tonight, the noble gala was my stage, and Orthani watched a ghost reclaim her power. Soon, the city will face a real haunting when Eryx and I sabotage their supply lines, tipping Orthani’s carefully balanced structure into chaos. For now, I walk the quiet streets, letting the moon witness my silent grin. I proved that neither time nor Orthani’s brutal edicts can extinguish the specter of purna resilience. Lady Irena Veloras’ echo remains etched in the minds of those who saw me tonight, and they’ll tremble at the possibility that more ghosts—more purna—might be lurking.
With that heady knowledge, I disappear into the labyrinth of alleys, slipping past dozing guards, returning to the estate’s side entrance. A single guard nods as I pass, likely assuming I’m one of the returning gala guests. He doesn’t recognize me as the haunting figure who unsettled half the court. Perfect. Tomorrow, Orthani awakens to new rumors, deeper fractures in their illusions of security. And I’ll be ready to exploit every crack.
20
ZARETH
Istand near the ornate window of my private suite, looking out over Orthani’s spired skyline. The moon hovers behind banks of slate-gray clouds, casting the city in a dim, foreboding sheen. My reflection stares back at me in the glass, eyes still bright with the fury I’ve nursed ever since that spectacle at the gala. Selene—mocking me with her disguise, rattling the entire court with the suggestion that centuries-old ghosts walk among us. She dares to flaunt her cunning, humiliating me in front of the highest nobles.
The memory of her boldness clings to my thoughts. She strode into the grand hall in that spectral form, mesmerizing everyone with rumor after rumor. My House’s reputation, my own command of psionic mastery—she spat on them with a single smirk. I feel my fingers tighten at my side, a tremor of resentment and something darker. The embarrassment still chafes. Yet beneath my anger, an unwanted current of fascination brews. She’s the only creature in Orthani to ever defy me, to slip past my mental shackles. That’s why I loathe her. And it’s why I crave her downfall even more.
Enough. I refuse to let her triumph remain unchallenged. Snatching my cloak from a nearby chair, I slip out of my suite, ignoring the questioning glance of a servant in the corridor. The night’s hush cradles Orthani, most nobles dozing after the gala’s theatrics. But I won’t rest. My mind hums with a plan: corner Selene, yank her into my psionic grip, and finally tear down her defenses until she pleads at my feet. The notion of her on her knees, mind undone, lances me with twisted pleasure. She humiliated me—I will repay in kind, with interest.
I descend a spiral staircase leading to a lesser courtyard. Torchlight illuminates the mosaic floor, and my footsteps echo beneath the stone arches. Guards stand at the far edges, drowsy and inattentive. That suits me. I push through a discreet gate into Orthani’s labyrinthine streets, stepping carefully to avoid the city wards. I prefer my own mental wards, honed from childhood torture that shaped me into a psionic predator. Let them sense a flicker of my presence if they like. By the time they realize what’s happening, I’ll have Selene on her knees.
I recall her new quarters in Vaelith’s estate—no simple dungeon for her anymore, oh no. She’s playing a dangerous game, wrapped in the Commander’s tolerance, perhaps even his bed. The jealousy that sparks in me isn’t the same brand as Eryx or Vaelith feels. I don’t yearn to keep her for sentimental reasons. No, I yearn to see her mind subjugated, her will bent. Her talent infuriates me, but it also tempts me. If I possessed her mental strength, shaped it to my own ends, I could become unstoppable. She’d be my greatest weapon, a living psionic blade.
The city’s gloom thickens. I slip along back alleys until Vaelith’s estate walls loom overhead, wards shimmering faintly at the upper edges. My psionic sense pulses, searching for gaps. Carefully, I slide my consciousness into the wards’ threads, altering them just enough to let me pass. It takes precise control—my House trained me from youth to handle such feats. Soon, I feel the wards yield under my subtle mental intrusion. A smirk curves my lips. The attempt leaves a faint tingle behind my eyes, but the cost is worth the infiltration.
A servant’s entrance stands half-guarded by a single soldier who yawns near a brazier. I exhale, summoning the quiet swirl of psionic energy that can push a weak mind toward sleep. With one directed glance, the soldier’s eyelids droop. He slumps, lulled by a gentle mental hush. Perfect. I slip through the door, the corridor beyond dimly lit by a single lantern. My heart thrums with anticipation. Each step that brings me closer to Selene intensifies the swirl of anger and desire in my veins.
I navigate the estate’s corridors, mindful of watch rotations. The hush feels too calm, as though the gloom itself quivers in fear. She is here, likely resting after her spectacle at the gala. Good. I want her unguarded, lulled into complacency. Let her think she got the better of me in front of Orthani’s elite. She won’t see my strike coming until it’s too late.
At last, I reach a hallway with a heavy door at its end, guarded by a single figure. That must be her new suite. I clench my fists, scanning the surroundings. Another soldier posted outside, like Vaelith sees her as a treasure or a hostage. No matter. I can handle one guard. I press a hand to the wall, channeling a subtle psychic pulse. The soldier stiffens, confusion flickering in his eyes. I tilt my head, weaving mental whispers. Sleep. Forget. Step away. He obeys, wandering off down the corridor in a daze. My mouth curls in satisfaction.
I approach the door, hearing no movement inside. Perfect. I test the latch—locked. With a twitch of psionic effort, I manipulate the mechanism, feeling the metal yield under my will. The door clicks open. My pulse pounds as I slip in, carefully shutting it behind me. The suite is lit by a single dying lamp, casting shadows along plush furniture and a large bed draped indark fabric. My eyes adjust. There, in the bed’s center, is Selene, slumbering or at least feigning sleep. She lies on her side, curves outlined under a thin blanket. My breath hitches with twisted excitement.
Stepping closer, I let my gaze roam her features. Even at rest, her presence emanates defiance. A part of me almost admires how fearless she is. But I’ve come to break that fearlessness. I lift my palm, conjuring a psionic snare, delicate threads shimmering in the air around me. One carefully woven pulse should trap her mind, paralyze her physically while I invade her mental plane. Then I can toy with every secret, show her who truly controls the mind arts in Orthani.
I inch near the bed, raising my hand in silent focus. My power gathers, the snare forming in a swirl of violet sparks. But as I prepare to cast it, she stirs, rolling onto her back, eyes snapping open. She meets my gaze with a flash of awareness, and I see a wry, half-awake smile. “Zareth,” she murmurs, voice laced with mocking welcome. “Took you long enough.”
A jolt of rage hits me. She expected me? Damn her audacity. My snare ignites, swirling outward in intangible arcs, enveloping her. “Don’t move,” I command, voice pitched low with sadistic relish. She stiffens, the blanket falling away, revealing her lightly dressed form. My heart thuds at the sight of smooth skin and a faint flush across her chest. “You’re trapped,” I add, letting the snare clamp around her mind. “No wry escape this time.”
She attempts to shift an arm but finds it pinned by invisible force. A flicker of alarm crosses her face, though she masks it with a smirk. “Finally decide to finish what you started with that collar attempt?” she taunts, breath coming quick.
