Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The days had settled into a steady, tense rhythm. Dress fittings filled my mornings, the seams of royal gowns tightened and loosened around me as Bertha fussed and muttered. But whenever I had a moment to escape, I found myself retreating to the library, where Lady Therynne filled my hours with old prophecies and ancient texts. She was unlike anyone else—uninterested in court intrigue, focused only on the endless depths of knowledge. I thought I would encounter the other wives during my time at court, but the days stretched on, and none made an appearance. They were avoiding me.

It wasn’t comforting. The absence felt deliberate, calculated. Each day, I braced myself for some sort of ambush. The fact that I hadn’t met the other wives left me feeling nervous. Were they watching me? Plotting? Rhydian stayed by my side, his watchful presence a constant reminder that danger lurked around every corner of this gilded palace.

Now, as we made our way toward the library again, the familiar warmth of sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, casting patterns of gold and rose across the floor. I found a strange sort of comfort in the palace’s light, but my mind still buzzed with unease.

“Still no sign of the other wives?” Rhydian muttered as we walked, his voice low but carrying the weight of his constant suspicion.

I shook my head. “Not a single one.”

“They’re keeping you on edge,” he replied, his eyes sweeping the corridor. “And you should be.”

“I know,” I said, a faint shiver running down my spine. “But it’s unsettling. They’re too quiet. That’s worse than anything.”

Rhydian grunted in agreement. “They’re waiting. Testing you.”

Just as he spoke, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. Before I could fully process the sensation, another wife appeared.

I thought back to the portraits Bertha showed me and realized who she was. Lady Isolde appeared from around the corner, her approach silent and smooth. She moved like a shadow, her presence as cold as it was graceful.

Lady Isolde, one of the wives I had heard whispered rumors about—mysterious, dangerous, a foreign princess with a past steeped in darkness. Her eyes were shadowy, nearly black, and they bore into me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

Rhydian shifted beside me, his posture immediately stiffening. He stepped forward, just slightly, placing himself between me and the approaching wife.

“Princess Aeliana,” she greeted me, the words sliding from her lips. There was a coolness in her tone, a quiet calculation that made me nervous.

“Lady Isolde,” I replied, keeping my words steady even though her presence rattled me. She exuded a kind of quiet power, the kind that didn’t need to announce itself.

Her gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate. When she spoke again, her tone was low, almost conspiratorial. “I’ve heard rumors. You had a… close encounter with the Dragon King, didn’t you?”

I felt Rhydian tense beside me, his hand twitching toward his sword. My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to hold her gaze. “Yes. On the ship.”

“Hmm.” Her dark eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place—something far too personal for a simple question of politics. She took a step closer, her movements fluid, each step barely making a sound against the stone floor. “You survived.”

It wasn’t a question. It was more like an accusation.

I nodded. “Yes, I did.”

Isolde’s lips curved into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “That’s… unusual.” Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “He doesn’t usually leave survivors.”

A shiver ran through me at the weight of her words. The Dragon King didn’t let people live. I had known that, but hearing it from her, spoken with such certainty, made the memory of the ship’s destruction all the more chilling.

Rhydian, ever protective, stepped forward. “Why are you asking about the Dragon King?”

“Because I’m curious,” Isolde said smoothly, her tone unfazed by his challenge.

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “I don’t know why he spared me,” I admitted.

Isolde’s smile faded, her expression hardening slightly. “Are you sure?”

It felt like she was accusing me of something—of knowing more than I was letting on. But before I could respond, she stepped even closer.

“Is he alive?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in her question. There was no masking the concern in her tone now, no hiding the urgency behind her eyes. It wasn’t political interest—it was personal. Deeply personal.

“Yes,” I said, my breath catching. “He’s alive.”

The tension that had been coiling around her seemed to release all at once. Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and I saw it—just for a moment—the relief that crossed her face. It was there and gone in an instant, replaced by her carefully composed mask. But I’d seen it. Felt it.

She was relieved. More than that—she cared.

Why did she care?

Rhydian glared at her. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m the king’s wife. Knowing the state of the kingdom’s enemies is my duty.”

But her words rang hollow. She wasn’t asking out of duty. She was asking for herself. The way her eyes lingered on mine, the way her voice had trembled ever so slightly when she asked if he was alive—it wasn’t the reaction of someone concerned with politics.

Before I could ask more, before I could push her further, she straightened, her posture regaining its quiet elegance. “Be careful, Princess,” she said. “The Dragon King does not leave loose ends.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine. She turned to leave, her black hair swaying behind her. With that, she vanished into the shadows, her presence lasting like a cold breath against my skin.

Rhydian let out a low breath, his hand still resting on his sword hilt. “That was more than just curiosity.”

I nodded slowly, my mind racing with unanswered questions. “She knows more than she’s letting on.”

“Much more,” Rhydian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the hallway where she’d disappeared. “And whatever it is, it’s dangerous.”

I turned, the faint chill of Isolde’s warning still clinging to me. “We need to be careful.”

Rhydian nodded. “No one can be trusted here. Not her. Not the other wives. Stay sharp.”

As we made our way to the library, Isolde’s words echoed in my mind. Her warning, her concern for the Dragon King… the connection was there, just beneath the surface. But whatever secret she was hiding, it was buried deep. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to uncover it. Not yet.

The heavy doors of the library loomed ahead, golden light spilling through the crack like a warning. I reached for the handle, but stopped as voices filtered through the silence. One sharp and biting, the other calm and deliberate, every word weighted like it had been measured before being spoken. My chest tightened as I motioned for Rhydian to stop.

“We should go in,” Rhydian murmured, low and tense.

“Not yet,” I whispered, pressing closer to the gap in the doors. “Listen.”

Inside, Lady Lyra’s voice was a dagger, her words cutting with calculated precision. “Why are you spending so much time with her?” she demanded, her tone laced with icy disdain. “The Icespire princess? You think she’s your friend? She’s using you.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy and unbroken. I could almost picture Therynne standing there, her face impassive, her mind working faster than Lyra could comprehend. When she spoke, her voice was soft but unwavering, each syllable a deliberate strike.

“She asked questions,” Therynne replied evenly. “I answered them. That’s how learning works.”

Lyra let out a sharp, scornful laugh. “Learning? Don’t fool yourself. She’s not here for knowledge or history. She’s here to manipulate, to steal what she can—position herself. And you’re letting her do it.”

“Steal?” Therynne echoed, her voice tilting into mild curiosity. “From whom? You? How fascinating that you think knowledge is something that can be stolen. But then, you’ve always viewed the world in absolutes, haven’t you? Take. Keep. Control.”

Lyra’s boots clicked sharply against the stone as she began to pace, the sound taut with frustration. “You’re so caught up in your abstractions, your… eccentricities, that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. She’s using you to worm her way in, and when she’s taken everything, it’s you who’ll look like the fool.”

“I’m not concerned with appearances,” Therynne replied, calm as ever. “I care about resonance.”

Lyra stopped pacing, her voice tightening like a noose. “Your resonance, Therynne, won’t save you from what’s coming. The other wives have already agreed—no one is to welcome her. No one. She won’t last here, and if you stand with her, neither will you.”

Therynne didn’t flinch. “Your threats are as predictable as your strategies, Lyra,” she said, her tone tilting into something almost clinical. “You think isolation equals power. That if you force disconnection, you’ll remain in control. But power isn’t what you think it is. It isn’t domination or fear. It’s frequency. Pattern. Alignment. Resonance.”

Her voice sharpened slightly, like a plucked string vibrating in the air. “My gift— Cognivariance —isn’t about brute force. It’s about understanding the structure beneath what you see. Everything vibrates, Lyra. Intent. Emotion. Thought. When you understand the rhythm, you don’t need to push. You only need to adjust.”

The room felt charged, a low, invisible hum pressing against the air like a sound too deep to hear but impossible not to feel. I shivered, glancing at Rhydian, whose knuckles had gone white where he clenched his fists.

Lyra sneered, her tone sharpening. “And you think that makes you untouchable? You’re not as strong as you think you are, Therynne. The other wives follow my orders, and so will you. You’re not immune to the rules of this palace.”

“Rules,” Therynne repeated softly, her voice carrying an eerie calm. “Structures. Every rule is a pattern, every pattern a vibration. And every vibration can be shifted. You see rules as immovable; I see them as malleable. You see power as something rigid; I see it as something that hums. You, Lyra, are loud. Loud and clashing. And the louder you are, the closer you come to fracturing.”

For the first time, Lyra’s steps faltered. Silence followed, heavy and oppressive, the air between them brimming with tension. Lyra’s voice, when it came again, was harsher, brittle. “Play your games, Therynne. But when she’s gone—and she will be gone—I’ll remind you where you stand.”

Therynne didn’t reply immediately, and for a moment, I thought the conversation had ended. But then, in a voice quieter than before yet sharp as a razor, she said, “Where I stand, Lyra, is on the fault line. And I can feel it shifting beneath your feet.”

The hum in the air intensified, the vibration brushing against my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck rise. Even through the doors, I could feel it—Therynne wasn’t just talking; she was moving the very fabric of the space around her, subtly but undeniably. Lyra must have felt it too because her boots clicked once, then twice, retreating toward the door.

I pulled Rhydian back, flattening myself against the wall as the library doors creaked open. Lyra swept past us, her jaw tight, her face a mask of cold fury. She didn’t look back.

Inside the library, the air was still thrumming, faint and potent. Therynne stood in the center of the room, her posture serene, her expression unreadable. But the tension in the air lingered, a ghost of her power. For all her quiet calm, she had shaken something loose—and Lyra had known it.

When she was finally gone, I exhaled, stepping into the library where Therynne stood, her magic slowly fading, the air settling once more.

“Therynne,” I said quietly. “That was… incredible.”

Therynne adjusted her glasses with a swift, practiced motion. “She’s not that complicated. Most people aren’t. They think their emotions drive them, but it’s really just frequencies. Ripples in the air.”

I studied her, intrigued. “Therynne, what exactly are you studying here? I’ve seen the books, the scrolls… but I don’t know what your focus is.”

For a moment, she seemed almost reluctant to share. But then something switched in her, as if the question unlocked a flood of excitement she couldn’t contain. She straightened slightly, her fingers resuming their rhythmic tapping on the edge of a nearby book.

“I’m cataloging powers,” she said, her words picking up speed as she spoke. “Specifically, I’m studying how magical abilities are inherited through bloodlines—how powers evolve, dilute, or intensify over generations. Essentially, it’s the genetics of magic.”

“Genetics of magic?” I repeated, trying to wrap my head around it.

“Yes.” Therynne’s eyes lit up with the intensity of her focus. “Magic is passed down through families, like eye color or height, but the rules aren’t as straightforward as physical traits. Some powers stay dominant in certain bloodlines, while others weaken, change, or disappear entirely. My research focuses on understanding the patterns—how magic evolves, why some families retain their abilities and others don’t.”

I leaned in, fascinated. “So you’re tracking the inheritance of magical abilities?”

“Exactly.” Therynne nodded, her words coming faster now, the passion for her work clear. “I’m mapping out noble bloodlines and cataloging the abilities they pass down. There’s so much we don’t know about how magic is inherited, and even less about why certain powers remain strong while others fade. Some families are known for a single dominant power, passed down generation after generation, while others see magic shift or disappear.”

Her eyes gleamed as she added, “Right now, I’m particularly interested in the Dragon King.”

My heart skipped a beat. “The Dragon King? Why?”

Therynne’s fingers tapped a little faster, her thoughts clearly racing. “Because he’s an anomaly. Very little is known about his bloodline or the true nature of his magic. Originally, there were rumors that his power was communicating with animals—people believed his family had some connection to beasts. But that doesn’t explain what we’ve seen from him.”

I blinked. “So no one knows what his power really is?”

“Not exactly,” Therynne replied, a crease forming between her brows. “His abilities have never been fully documented. There are very few reliable records of him using his magic, and even those are vague. Whatever his true power is, it’s hidden—maybe deliberately. That’s why I’m studying him. There’s something unique about his bloodline, and I believe it could hold the key to understanding more about how magic works.”

The idea of the Dragon King—already a terrifying figure—possessing a power no one could define sent a tremble down my spine. “And you think his bloodline holds the answer?”

Therynne nodded, her fingers tapping out a rhythm that matched the speed of her thoughts. “Yes. He’s a perfect case study for the unpredictability of magical inheritance. His power could be something entirely new, or it could be an ancient ability that’s been dormant in his family for generations. There hasn’t been someone that controlled a dragon in centuries. Either way, understanding his magic could help me uncover larger patterns in the inheritance of powers.”

My mind raced as I tried to process everything she was saying. “So you’re saying magic doesn’t always stay the same from generation to generation?”

“Exactly.” Therynne’s voice quickened with excitement. “Some families retain a dominant power for centuries, while others see their abilities weaken or change entirely. And in some cases, new powers can emerge from seemingly nowhere, depending on the combination of bloodlines. It’s why tracking the Dragon King’s power is so critical—he’s not just an outlier, he’s a mystery. His power could reveal how new abilities develop or why some bloodlines produce stronger magic than others.”

I frowned, thinking. “Has anyone ever… inherited a power that wasn’t supposed to be theirs?”

Therynne’s fingers stilled for a moment before she resumed her tapping, her expression thoughtful. “There are rare cases of people who can mirror the abilities of others. It’s called mirrormancy —a difficult, elusive form of magic where the user can temporarily mimic someone else’s power. But it’s incredibly hard to control. The person has to be in the same room, and the magic only lasts as long as the source is nearby. It’s more like reflecting the power than truly owning it.”

“Mirrormancy,” I murmured, rolling the word around in my mind. “So someone could copy magic but only for a short time?”

Therynne nodded. “Yes, and it’s temporary. Mirroring another person’s power requires intense focus and the ability to closely observe how the magic is being used. It’s rare, and there are only a few documented cases of successful mirroring.”

“What about… stealing powers?” I asked hesitantly, thinking of the danger such an ability would pose. “Has anyone ever taken someone’s magic permanently?”

Therynne’s gaze darkened, her fingers pausing mid-tap. “There are legends of power stealers—individuals who could permanently drain another person’s magic. But that bloodline was supposedly wiped out centuries ago. The power was too dangerous, too unstable. The few who wielded it became uncontrollable.”

I quivered at the thought. The ability to take someone’s magic forever… it was terrifying. “Why was it unstable?”

“Because it came at a cost,” Therynne said softly. “The power stealers could absorb the magic of others, but it fractured their own minds. The more power they took, the less control they had over themselves. Most went mad, consumed by the sheer magnitude of the magic they absorbed. It’s believed that those who carried the power-stealing bloodline were hunted down and killed to prevent the chaos their abilities could unleash.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “But they’re gone now?”

Therynne nodded, her expression serious. “As far as we know. The last known power stealers were eradicated during the Great Purges centuries ago. Their bloodline hasn’t been seen since. But magic has a way of resurfacing in unexpected places. It’s possible that a trace of that ability still exists, buried deep in some forgotten lineage.”

Her words sent a chill through me. If such a dangerous magic still existed somewhere in the world, it could change everything. “And the Dragon King?” I asked quietly. “Do you think his power could be connected to that?”

Therynne shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “There’s no evidence to suggest he’s a power stealer. But his abilities are still a mystery. Until we know more about his bloodline, we can’t say for certain what he’s truly capable of.”

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the unknown settle over me. The Dragon King was already dangerous enough without the added mystery of hidden abilities. Whatever his true power was, it remained veiled, leaving us vulnerable to its potential.

“I’ll keep studying,” Therynne said. “There’s so much more to uncover about how magic moves through bloodlines. But one thing is clear—power doesn’t just disappear. It changes, it evolves. And the way it’s fluctuating now… it could determine the future of both kingdoms.”

Her words echoed in the quiet of the library, leaving me with a sense of foreboding. The powers she was cataloging, the mysteries of magical inheritance, the enigma of the Dragon King’s bloodline—it all felt like pieces of a much larger puzzle.

And somehow, I was a part of it.