Page 65 of The Shattered Rite
These stones remember fire older than your blood,Vaeronth whispered, heavy and patient.I walked here before the first gate was carved.
A narrow fissure in the wall exhaled a cold, damp breath.
“I used to think castles were all glory and war banners,” she said, hugging herself slightly. “But this place—it feels like a cage made beautiful.”
So much for fairy tales and glory.
Silas’s voice was quieter now. “I think many would share that opinion.”
They walked in silence for a while, until the weight of it grew too much.
“Why are you a guard?” she asked suddenly.
Silas hesitated. “I’m sworn to the crown.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Another pause. Then he said, more quietly, “Because loyalty buys safety.”
“For you?”
“For my family. My little sister works the grain stalls outside the inner ring. My mother can’t work anymore. Guards get food stipends, even when there’s drought. If I wear the colors of the sovereign, they’re left alone.”
Eliryn stopped walking for a moment. Just stopped. “Oh.”
Silas kept walking. His voice didn’t waver.
“I’ve seen too many who chose rebellion over survival. I don’t judge them for it. But I chose different.”
She caught up, silent now. And ashamed of the earlier teasing. He noticed that, too.
“You’re not wrong to ask.”
“I wasn’t expecting such an honest answer.”
“Most don’t.”
“Do you… hate it?”
Silas didn’t look at her, but his voice was steady.
“I hate the choice.”
The silence stretched after that.
Then, softly, he added: “But sometimes… sometimes you get assigned to someone who makes you hope the world might change.”
She tripped.
“Wait. Did you mean me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh my gods, you’re bad at lying.”
Silas looked down at her then. Actually looked. “Then maybe don’t die.”
She snorted despite herself. “I'm actively working on it.”
