Page 137 of The Shattered Rite
“Eliryn…” She began.
“Only three,” she continued. “And the chosen from Whitvale—he’s not just ambitious. He’s cruel. There’s something in him that wants this too much, and not for the right reasons.”
Nim nodded slowly. “He’s the wiry one, isn’t he?”
“If he reminds you of a snake, that's him.”
Nim chewed his lip. “He gives me bad gooseflesh. Walked through the kitchens once and looked at us like we were meat. Like he’d already counted the cuts and wanted to watch us bleed.”
A sharp clang rang out as Marta dropped a ladle into the sink with more force than necessary.
“Eliryn,” Marta’s voice dropped as she glanced once toward the open door. “You be careful. The castle’s not just dangerous for those in the trials. There’ve been… deaths.”
Eliryn looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
Marta wiped her hands on her apron. “Word is, a minor official in the northern court wing was found dead two nights ago. And not from natural causes. Poison or blade- depends on who’s whispering. Just someone who’d… seen too much.”
Nim leaned in, his voice barely audible. “That’s not the only one. A scribe went missing last week. And a stablehand turned up drowned in the irrigation trench, but she couldn’t swim and would never willingly go near the channel.”
Eliryn’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Marta admitted. “But it’s a pattern. And the castle hums differently when something’s rotting inside it. I’ve been here long enough to know.”
Eliryn sat back, pie forgotten on her plate.
Her mind twisted. She saw Malric’s face. Heard his quiet, even voice when he told her he didn’t know what she was yet.
He was an assassin.
Could it be him?
She wanted to say no.
But she wasn’t sure what scared her more: the idea that he was the killer… or that he wasn’t.
“I need to get back to Vaeronth.”
She stood too fast, nearly knocking over the bench. Marta let her go, but Nim’s quiet “Be safe” followed her out.
She didn’t slow until the warmth of the kitchens gave way to cool stone.
Then, at last, she exhaled.
Malric haunted the shadows.
Silas lit the doorways.
She didn’t know which one she’d find herself walking toward.
Not yet.
But she suspected it would hurt either way.
The sun hung low when Eliryn stepped out past the last row of gnarled apple trees, their branches bending with the season’s weight. A soft wind stirred the leaves and carried with it the faint tang of river air, cool and tinged with memory.
Vaeronth lay on the wide outcrop just beyond, his great body sprawled like a monument left by time itself. His wings were half-unfurled, catching the last of the sun in glimmering sheets; black turned to gold at the edges, every scale a sharp, glistening shard. His head was low, eyes half-lidded, but she knew he was never truly sleeping.
You are quiet,came his voice, brushing gently across her mind like fingers smoothing a page.
