Page 63 of The Shattered Rite
He would lie.
Not in words.
But in what he didn’t say.
And that silence would be the first betrayal.
Chapter 11: The Second Trial
“Illusion is the most faithful servant of power—because it does not need to be true, only believed.”—The Writ of Nine Flames, forbidden volume
Eliryn stretched slowly, her muscles warm from the heat of the enchanted bath, her mind hazy with too many hours spent curled in the folds of her borrowed sanctuary. The air in the chamber had no breeze, no sun to rise or fall, and time had become a slippery thing—soft and unmarked.
But Vaeronth stirred.
It is close now,his voice echoed in her mind, low and solemn.The next trial waits.
She stood, brushing damp hair from her face. “You can feel it?”
Something stirs beneath the stone. A gate with blood in its memory.
"Fantastic. Bleeding stone. Nothing ominous about that."
She swallowed, pulse ticking at her throat, and glanced around the chamber—its strange, gentle luxuries still alien. The plush carpet that never gathered dust. The beautiful tub always filled with warm water. The corner shelf now stacked with books to accompany the one Malric had given her.
She moved to the armoire.
The doors creaked open at her touch.
Inside hung a new garment.
She hesitated. The fabric shimmered dark as obsidian in the low light—tight-fitting leathers layered with shadowy cloth. Sleek. Precise. Quiet. On the left shoulder, stitched in thread that flickered like firelight, was the same symbol that had adorned her first borrowed armor—her family crest.
A single dragon's eye, slit-pupiled and unblinking, embroidered in fine lines. A slender starburst hovered over the eye, as if the light itself would crack the creature's gaze. Encircling the emblem was a delicate crescent moon, its points curling protectively around the eye’s edges. Along the lower curve, a scatter of small scales hinted at the beast that had borne the mark, a subtle reminder of power and fire long vanished from the world.
It looked made for someone far braver than she felt.
Her fingers brushed the embroidery. “It knows my family crerst.”
It honors you,Vaeronth replied.And it prepares you.
She dressed slowly, wrapping herself in the dark leathers with careful movements. Beneath the leathers, the inner lining was soft and warm—as though tailored only for her.
She looked like a warrior now. But inside? She still felt like a healer wearing a dead woman's skin.
A loud knock sounded, single and deliberate.
She opened the door.
The same guard stood waiting—straight-backed and silent, dark eyes flickering down to her new attire before rising to meet her gaze. A glint of something like approval passed through his features.
“Well,” she said, leaning in the doorway. “You again.”
His gaze flicked over her, lingering a fraction too long on the faint glow of her bond marks, but his face remained neutral. “My assignment hasn't changed.”
“Mine either.” She studied him a beat. “If we’re going to keep doing this, I need something to call you that isn’t ‘hey, shadow.’”
A pause—then the smallest concession. “Silas.”
