Terms of Power
TALIA
I’m sending someone your way: the Salaren heir. Signs of latent affinity and fluent in Starscript—exactly what you need. When you receive this, she will be on the next clipper. Move quickly. Someone with her gift and her name, properly aligned, will open doors.
Lore’s garden lay nestled behind its own wall in the far corner of the Starfall compound. Starscript twirled around the gate. Talia touched the cool stone arch and took a deep breath before stepping in. This was a choice she wouldn’t be able to take back.
Fruit trees formed alcoves around stone benches. The low wall cut off the sound and view of the rest of the world.
Lore was standing by a fountain at the center of the space. He’d shed his formal coat and the pendant. With his dark hair loose around his shoulders, he looked almost vulnerable. When he saw her, a smile broke over his beautiful face.
“You came,” he said, and there was surprise in his voice.
He led her to a narrow bench under a pear tree. A few fruits were still scattered on the ground. She sat carefully, folding her hands on her lap. The stillness, the warble of the fountain, the wall—they might have been alone in the world.
“You seem troubled,” he said, his gold-flecked eyes studying her face as if she were a text. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip, then exhaled.
“I went back to the Consortium.” She glanced at the fountain, the rotten pears at their feet. “They don’t even have maps. Not complete ones. They lock away the knowledge they do have. There are so many rules, I can’t even ask questions.”
Lore let the words settle, let the silence stretch until she fidgeted with her skirt. “You’re doing something interesting.”
“What?” It wasn’t what she was expecting to hear.
He was staring straight at her with those dark, gold-flecked eyes. She tried to hold his gaze, but she glanced away first.
“You’re very good at telling me how the Consortium handles knowledge,” he said. “But not how it feels to be trapped by it.”
She did feel trapped. “Are you reading me?”
“I’m listening to you. There’s a difference.” He paused. “Though I had a suspicion when we met. Today confirms it.”
Heat climbed her neck. “Confirms what?”
“That you have an affinity for reading emotions,” he said. He was half smiling, and that one dimple flashed. “And that you lean on it when you feel exposed. You’re sitting exactly far enough away to avoid brushing my hand, but I imagine you’ll test my intentions soon enough.”
The shock of his words hit so hard she felt weightless. She had never, never, heard her ability named out loud, let alone had someone trace her actions back to it.
He reached into his coat and drew out a milky crystal. It flashed in the last of the sunlight. “Would you let me show you something?”
She leaned in closer. The crystal seemed to pulse with warmth, and she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “I’ve never seen anything like that. What does it do?”
“It helps clarify what’s already there. It will amplify your natural gift.” He smiled. “It would be easier to show you.”
He held his hand out, the crystal resting in his upturned palm. “This only works if you let me in. Would you allow that?”
She hesitated, looking down at his open hand. It sounded dangerously intimate.
“What exactly do I need to do?”
“Feel what I’m feeling. Let me feel what you’re feeling.” His eyes held hers. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Her curiosity won. Slowly, she slipped her fingers over the crystal in his open palm.
His skin was soft and warm, calloused only where a pen might rest. The crystal grew warm between their joined hands, and his emotional state came into focus as shapes and colors. Something about the stone gave visual structure to what she sensed.
“What am I feeling?” he asked softly.
“Confidence,” she said immediately, surprised by how clear the impression was. “And curiosity. You want to see what I can do.”
“Good. What else?” His finger traced circles on the back of her hand.
She concentrated, letting herself sink deeper. His emotions had a structure to them. Layered, and surprisingly deep.
“Loneliness. Despite all your followers, you feel alone.”
His grip tightened slightly, and she felt a ripple of surprise before her perception snapped back to the surface.
“What about you?” he asked. “What are you feeling?”
She turned inward.
“Nervous energy, mostly. I’m afraid I’m making the same mistake again. Being naive.”
He was very still except for the finger still tracing gentle patterns on her hand. The crystal pulsed between them, and she felt a burst of static as he considered what to say next.
“Tell me what would reassure you about my intentions.”
Her breath caught. “I’m not exactly sure. Maybe if you valued me, even when I don’t say what you want to hear?”
“Reasonable. Would you like to know what I value about you?”
Her heart hammered. “Sure?”
“We don’t know each other well yet, but I’ll tell you what I see,” he said.
“I see courage enough to challenge me. I see compassion for your bodyguard even when he opposed you. Integrity. You left everything comfortable behind in Vaelis.” His eyes never left hers.
“These things reflect who you are. Not what you can do for me.”
No one had ever complimented her so precisely before. She wanted to believe him so badly it was frightening.
“How can I know if that’s real?” she whispered.
“You can’t.”
Through the crystal, only calm sincerity. No sign of deception. But there was something else—a hint of unease. He tugged her hand gently, pulling her attention back when her gaze drifted.
“What is it?” she asked, barely breathing the words.
He looked like he didn’t want to say what came next, pressing his lips together. “There is something else you should know. About your bodyguard.”
Her stomach dropped. “What about him?”
He hesitated again and let out a small sigh. “Our meeting in the library. It was just the three of us. By evening, the Pentarchy had patrols near my gates. Someone in that room informed them we had met.”
She squeezed the crystal. “No.” The word came out sharp. “Riven wouldn’t do that—”
He cut her off. “Someone who was in that room told the Pentarchy what we discussed. I don’t believe that it was you.” Lore’s sympathy flowed through the crystal.
“You’re mistaken.” But her voice wavered.
“Can I ask, has he warned you to stay away from me?”
You can’t trust Lore. Riven hadn’t exactly been subtle on the rooftop last night.
“He’s protected me. He gave me a gun. Took me out to study ruins. He wouldn’t do those things if he didn’t care.”
“Of course he would.” Lore’s voice was pitched low, somewhere between a murmur and a growl. “That’s how surveillance works. Earn the subject’s trust, stay close. I suspect that you haven’t spent many days without his company.”
That was true too. Riven was at her door every morning. He waited outside the Consortium, even when she worked late.
“His loyalty is to his employer.” Lore pressed her hand between both of his, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve grown close.”
Close. Riven knew about the journal. She’d told him about Cordon. She really had no secrets left. He followed her everywhere.
It fits. Gods, it fits.
She struggled not to spiral. Lore could be lying. Or Riven could be lying. She couldn’t think through all the implications now.
“Dawn would have told me.” Her voice came out shrill. She knew she sounded desperate.
“Dawn’s loyalties are divided.” Lore wasn’t letting go.
Talia’s stomach felt tight. The cloying smell of rotten fruit was everywhere, making her dizzy. Back in the corral Dawn had told Talia not to rely on anyone. Including Lore. Including Riven. Had Dawn tried to warn her?
“How do I know who to believe?”
He squeezed her hand again, and earnest sympathy sparkled up her arm. He hurt for her at the same time his suggestions hurt her.
“Only ever trust yourself, Talent. But consider I’m not the one pretending to be neutral. I am very biased. Come with us.” He was speaking intensely. “Finish the work. My people will protect you from the Pentarchy.”
“Tell me what we’ll face if I go.” She refused to simply agree.
“Direct questions. I like that.” He smiled, and his teeth were perfectly white.
“It will be dangerous, of course. The deep continent holds magics you’d associate with faerie stories: haunted forests, enchanted hot springs.
The fluxborn roam freely beyond the boundary stones.
Pentarchy patrols won’t hesitate to eliminate threats. Some of us may not return.”
“I’m not much of a fighter. You still want me to come?”
“I want you to choose to come.” He released her hand. “What would help you make that choice?”
She flexed her fingers. They felt strangely empty. “What is the expedition’s purpose?”
“The official purpose is to unlock the secrets of flux channeling for the rebellion’s benefit. To ensure that knowledge doesn’t fall into your family’s hands. Or the Consortium’s. Or anyone else who would use it to maintain the current order.”
“And the unofficial purpose?”
He looked genuinely pleased that she’d asked. “Valrotala holds answers I’ve been seeking for years about the nature of power.”
It wasn’t a complete answer, but it didn’t sound like a lie.
“I’d be trusting you with my life.”
“You would have to, yes.”
She studied his face in the fading light, weighing everything he was offering against everything she knew. The challenge, the intellectual partnership, the promise of meaningful work—it was everything she’d hoped to find in Valta.
At the same time, Lore had his own agenda. He was trying to manipulate her emotions. She could feel it sinking in.
He was isolating her. Cutting her off from Riven, from Dawn. He would make himself her only ally if she let him, but she didn’t know how to fight back.
Everything he said had the ring of truth, but the crystal couldn’t reveal lies. It only showed feelings. Lore was sincere in his convictions, but that was all she could know.
“What if there was another way?” The words slipped out before she’d fully formed the thought.
His teeth vanished. “What do you mean?”
“What if I don’t formally join you at Starfall, but I don’t go with the Consortium either.
I could publish under my own name.” She talked faster as she filled in the idea.
“You would get access to my findings; you can use them however you like. I get to keep authorship under my name, and I can continue with my research after.”
It was the exact right answer. An elegant way out of being controlled by either side.
“No.” The word cracked in the air like a whip.
The crystal shattered in Lore’s fist. Blood welled between his fingers.
He was standing over her, looming, and she could feel his sudden rage like physical heat, pulsing from his body.
She scrambled to stand up, but he caught her wrist. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to keep her from leaving.
“I will not beg for scraps from the Salaren family.” He spoke through his teeth. “I have worked too hard, for too long, to compromise on this.”
Her pulse hammered. She tried to pull her wrist free, but his grip tightened.
Then he stopped—released her quickly, like she’d burned him.
Stepped back. Bright blood trailed in thin lines down his wrist. He opened his fist and let the crushed crystal fall.
The shards hit the stone with small, perfect chimes.
When he lifted his head again, his expression was smooth, composed.
Only his ragged breathing betrayed his emotion.
“I apologize,” he said softly. “You need to understand what’s at stake. This isn’t something that can be done halfway. The Pentarchy will destroy you before they let you operate independently. You don’t have that choice.”
Her pulse roared in her ears, and she tasted blood. She must have bitten her tongue.
“I need time to think,” she managed. The words scraped out thin and high. She needed to get away from here.
“Of course.” His smile was small and perfectly polite. “Consider what independence truly means. How alone you’d be on that path.”
She stumbled back a step. Then another. He was already turning away from her, stooping to collect the shards, the tiny glassy tinks following her like bells. The sound chased her through the garden gate and across the compound.
She didn’t remember the walk back, just fragments: the streetlamps flickering on, a passing cart, someone laughing.
Every sound hit her nerves wrong. Her hands were shaking so badly when she reached the Flux & Fiddle, she had to use both hands to move the door latch.
She wanted to scrub the amber scent from her skin, to anchor herself in anything that wasn’t him.
She stumbled up the stairs. The only light in the hall came from under her own door, and she scrambled for it.