Page 143 of The Shattered Rite
Vaeronth’s presence flared hot in her skull.It should terrify him.
She could feel Vaeronth's power swell inside of her, feel the heat her eyes glowed with, felt her dragonmarks and runes come to life on her skin in answer to Thalen's musings.
And for a moment, the entire room was silent. The guards. The other chosen. Even the king turned slightly, watching her now not as a curiosity, but as something far rarer than they had realized.
A threat.
At last, the king’s voice rang out once more.
“The fourth trial approaches. Perhaps it will be the last. Perhaps not.” He smiled. "Hope, after all, is the most dangerous thing you can give a dying world."
His voice cooled to iron.
“You are dismissed. Prepare. Rest. If you can.”
He vanished into shadow.
And Eliryn stayed kneeling, breathing slow and tight, her heart a war drum inside her ribs.
She realized it only then, that Thalen wasn't taking an interest in her because she was a female or because she was a dragonrider.
He was focused on her because he knew about the prophecy.
Chapter 22: Ash Between Footsteps
“Loss does not take your breath. It waits for you to inhale—and then it steals it.”—Unknown
The doors to the Hall of Judgment groaned shut, sealing the firelit chamber and the king’s voice in memory alone. The echo of his words still rang in Eliryn’s chest like the residual hum of struck metal.
She walked in silence behind the guards, head high, pulse ticking loud in her throat. Her hands remained steady at her sides—but only barely. There’d been no chance to speak to Garic, no glance shared across the golden floor. Only the king’s voice, the too-smooth commentary, and the weight of invisible knives.
As soon as they passed beyond the throne wing’s marble columns and into the quieter passageways that led back toward the lesser halls, Eliryn glanced sideways.
Silas was beside her again.
He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t have to. His presence was an anchor. Familiar. Solid.
She stepped closer to him and said, low and fast, “That wasn’t just a formality, was it?”
Silas’s jaw worked for a second before he answered. “No. It didn’t feel like one either.”
They turned down a narrower hall where sunlight failed to reach. The torches here burned weaker, casting jagged shadows against soot-stained stone. Her eyes strained—but the hallway blurred at the edges. The dimness pressed against her vision like fog made physical.
She blinked hard. Again. No improvement.
“Eliryn?” Silas noticed her falter. His hand hovered near her arm, uncertain.
“I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “I’ve lost it. My sight. I—I think it’s gone.”
They stopped walking. Her breathing spiked, shallow and fast.
Silas turned toward her, steadying her gently by the arms. “It’s okay. Hey—it’s all right. I’m right here.”
She shook her head, panic clawing its way up her throat. “I can’t see, Silas. I can’t—”
Something is wrong.
Vaeronth’s voice surged through her mind like thunder cracking stone.
