Page 185 of The Shattered Rite
Malric didn’t answer immediately. His grip on her hand stayed firm, guiding her down the sloping corridor, but his pace slowed.
“There were whispers,” he said finally. “Guards moving in ways they shouldn’t. Conversations that cut off too quickly. A few names passed between trusted ears. But nothing concrete.”
“And no one acted?” Her voice edged toward disbelief.
“Rumors alone aren’t enough to accuse the crown’s own,” he said. “Not without proof. And no one thought they would be bold or mad enough to strike during the Rite itself.”
Eliryn swallowed. She could still feel the heat of the sacred Flame against her chest, phantom-like as it lingered. “They timed it to the choosing,” she said. “Didn’t they.”
“Yes,” Malric said quietly. “They knew this would be the moment of greatest focus. The court exposed. The heirs gathered. The people watching.”
“So it’s not just rebellion,” she murmured. “It’s spectacle.”
“They want the realm to see the collapse,” he said. “To believe no power, not even the Flame, can keep them safe.”
Eliryn stopped moving.
Malric turned back, the corridor narrow enough that his shadow brushed against hers. Her breathing was shallow. She still couldn’t see, could barely sense where the ground met her feet. Vaeronth’s vision was scattered, like trying to track stars through a broken mirror.
“So why help me?” she asked. “If the throne is crumbling, if the crown is a target, why not let me fall with it?”
He said, softly, almost as if to himself, “I didn’t want you to be part of the spectacle.”
She blinked. “What?”
He stopped walking. Not abruptly. Just enough to send a ripple of unease through her spine.
“You were always meant to be chosen,” he said. “That much of the prophecy was clear.”
Eliryn’s mouth went dry.
Malric’s tone had changed, still smooth, still calm, but no longer protective. Not quite. There was something behind it now. Something heavier.
“I watched you in the trials,” he continued. “More than I should have. I admired you. The way you carried yourself even when you were losing your sight. The way you emerged from the first trial, confident in your bond and your dragon… it was like something out of an old song. Then when I saw you out past the orchards, your hair flowing freely… I thought you looked like a myth.”
She shifted a step back.
“Malric,” she said slowly. “Why are you talking like this?”
“I don’t want this to be cruel,” he said, almost tender. “Not like it was ordered to be. A death on the dais? Public? I didn’t want that for you.”
Something cold slid along Eliryn’s spine.
“Eliryn.”
His voice changed. Softer now. Careful.
“I watched you on that dais.”
Her pulse spiked.
“I saw you step forward in that silk—your skin marked like scripture, your dragonmarks glowing and for a moment…”
She dared to whisper: “For a moment?”
“I didn’t want to do it.”
She faltered. “Do what?”
