Page 104 of The Shattered Rite
Today’s garb was darker: ash-gray stitched with threads the color of blood and cinders. A sleeveless tunic belted snug at the waist, reinforced at the seams with loops for steel. Trousers ofsupple wool, meant for movement. A short cloak clasped at the throat with a bronze flame.
She dressed without hurry, each layer grounding her. The nerves were there, but quiet. Not gone, just banked.
Her sword waited by the door, already polished. She buckled it to her hip, the weight familiar. Right.
“I’m ready,” she said aloud, more for herself than him.
Then go. The others stir. Try not to be the last again.
She rolled her eyes and stepped to the door.
The hall beyond smelled of lavender and lamp oil; soft, sharp, calming. Far off, boots echoed, steady and sure.
A figure turned the corner.
“Silas,” she said, the smile arriving before she could stop it.
He took in the braid, the blade, the steadiness. “Eliryn. You beat me to it.”
“Try to keep up.”
“That’s the assignment.” He nodded at the sword on her hip. “Let me see this.”
She did. He tightened the buckle a notch—quick, efficient, no fuss.
“Part of the escort package?” she asked.
“Part of the staying-alive package.” A brief spark. “Escort is just branding.”
“Mm. And the charm?”
“Limited inventory.” He stepped back to give her the path. “You want it now or after?”
“Surprise me.”
“I’d rather not. Surprises get people killed.” He spoke honestly.
She laughed, soft and quiet. “I think you might be the first person here who’s tried to charm me without a hidden agenda.”
“I’ll try not to ruin the streak,” he said, then gave her a once-over. “You look ready. Though I can’t tell if it’s for battle or for a royal assembly.”
“Why not both?” she said, adjusting the sword at her hip.
He raised a brow, a little admiring. “You look ready to succeed in either setting.”
Eliryn gave him a dry look, but her mouth curved faintly. “Was that another attempt at flattery?”
“Observation,” he replied smoothly. “I thought we covered this.”
They walked together, companionable now, the stairwell just ahead.
After a moment, he asked, more quietly, “Does it help? Having him... the dragon.”
“Vaeronth?” she glanced sideways. “He woke me this morning. Said the trial would begin soon.”
Silas let out a low whistle. “I’d ask what that’s like, but I don’t think I could ever understand.”
“He’s not subtle,” she said with a small smirk. “But he’s steady. And he listens.”
