CHAPTER 31 - Swallow Your Pride
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"The Nightshades want me dead," I said quietly. "And I believe Princess Griveen intends the same for Sireen. She tried to poison her."
Virella stiffened, her green eyes flaring wide. But Sireen only dipped her head, as if she'd already made peace with the idea.
"What are those crows plotting now?" Virella growled.
I hesitated, weighing my words with Sireen in our presence.
"They mean to uncover treason..." I said. "And if they can't find any, they'll plant it themselves. With their rank, they won't struggle to twist the truth. If we want to survive, we need allies. And we need to raise our station high enough to be untouchable."
Virella smirked coldly.
"Then perhaps we should return the favor."
I nodded.
"It won't be easy. Sylvos has trusted them for years. Their lies will carry more weight than our truths. We'll need more than rumors and accusations. We'll need to set a trap of our own and catch them in it."
Virella's eyes narrowed.
"Very well. We'll keep an eye out for any suspicious ploys..." Virella said, flicking a glance toward Sireen. "Though you and I are, of course, innocent of treason... we'd best avoid falling into their traps."
"Of course," I agreed smoothly, though the forest itself might have laughed.
One of us was a spy. The other, a usurper.
And neither of us were innocent.
Sireen then spoke, her voice soft, trailing the edges of a melody as if she were half-lost in a dream.
"You should leave evidence of my cousin and the other Nightshades working together," she smiled. "That way, when Griveen claims my life, you can let them all take the blame together."
Virella and I turned to stare at her.
She didn't look afraid at all.
"For that to work, you'd have to die," Virella said, brow furrowed.
Sireen tilted her head, puzzled, as though we were speaking a language she hadn't been taught.
"If I'm going to die anyway... why not make use of it?"
"No." My voice was sharp as I gripped her arm. "You won't die."
But the words felt thin.
I wasn't even able to save Talia. What made me think I could protect anyone?
"Don't throw yourself away, Sireen," I said, my voice softer. "We'll find another way."
Still, she stared at me with those wide dark eyes — like a bird watching its reflection in a window.
I let her go with a quiet sigh.
"For now, let's focus on what's ahead. The emperor's birthday celebration is coming. If the three of us work together, I believe we can all rise to Lavender."
I nodded at Sireen.
"You'll help us, won't you? You said you could sing." I smiled. "If we're to leave an impression, a singer is exactly what we need. So please, stay alive. We need your help. Alright?"
For the first time, something shifted in her eyes. Her shoulders straightened, and her lips curved into a bright, almost childlike smile.
"Oh yes. I can help with that."
Virella and I exchanged glances.
We hadn't planned to bring her along, but leaving her to such a grim fate didn't feel right. I couldn't save Talia, but that didn't mean I was prepared to let anyone else die.
"Let's head back," I said at last. "There's much to do before winter arrives."
"Of course," Sireen said, already humming as she skipped ahead toward the mountain path, her white-tipped hair swaying joyfully.
Virella and I followed a few steps behind.
"What a strange ghost," she murmured.
"Strange," I agreed. "But useful. She knows about the griffons. They're smaller than I feared, but still a threat to Driftwoode's fleet. Be sure your brother warns the navy."
"You can tell him yourself."
I blinked.
"What?"
Virella sighed, brushing aside a low-hanging branch.
"Cav came looking for you last night. I told him you were occupied. He'll likely return tonight. He says he has a letter from Drakfeet."
"Drakfjord," I corrected, a dry laugh slipping out.
"Yes, that."
I glanced up through the forest canopy. The sun hung cold and distant in the sky.
"I just hope he brings good news," I sighed.
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After fulfilling my duties for the day and soaking in the bath, I withdrew to my chambers.
Vyvy was still outside and with nothing else to do, I retrieved a book and plopped onto my bed, my ash pink sleeping gown flaring out around me.
I had already read all the tombs I brought from Drakfjord, but there was always the possibility I'd missed something between the lines.
Perhaps next time I visited the Seneschal, I'd request more volumes.
The candle beside me had burned low, wax dripping onto the table, when sleep claimed me mid-sentence. I was halfway through a chapter on river galleys, something about boarding formations, when my lashes fluttered shut and the book slid from my hands.
As with all nights, I dreamt of death.
In this one, I was locked in a cell awaiting my execution. A golden gown clung to me in tethers, its hem soaked with filth. I knelt on the stone floor, hands bound behind me, hair hanging in oily strands across my face.
Would I feel the moment my head left my shoulders? Would there be a breath I still tried to take, only to realize I no longer could?
"Rainey. Wake up."
The voice slithered in like smoke. I turned toward the shadowed corner of my cell.
A man sat there leisurely, half-swallowed by darkness.
My breath caught as I recognized his grayish skin, his pointed ears, and the strange way his eyes reflected, even in the dark.
"Ryn?" I whispered. "What are you doing in my memory?"
"I'm not in your memory," he said. "I'm in your dream."
I shifted, and the sharp scrape of stone bit into my knees. It all felt so real...
"How?" I asked.
"Elves can enter dreams," he said simply, lounging like he was on a throne instead of a dirty cell. "I don't like to. It's not the most ethical practise. But I came to warn you."
Elves can enter dreams?
So, he always had the power to stop my nightmares... and yet he let me endure them anyway?
"Warn me of what?" I asked warily.
He flicked his wrist, and a cluster of grapes appeared in his palm, conjured from shadow. He plucked one off and bit into it with his sharp teeth, unconcerned.
"There's a man in your room," he said. "Sword at your throat. You might want to wake up."
A crease drew between my brows.
Only one fool would be so bold.
I shut my eyes, and the cold cell bled away. Stone faded to silk. And my body sunk into the soft mattress of my bed.
I stayed still, my eyes remaining closed.
"Must you always greet me like this?" I sighed.
I cracked one eye open.
A cloaked figure stood at my bedside, sword gleaming in the candlelight — its tip hovering mere inches from my throat.
"How do you do that?" Cavriel asked, pulling back his hood to reveal his face. He'd grown a short beard since I last saw him, dark gold like his hair.
I exhaled and sat up, brushing past him.
"Perhaps you're not as skilled as you believe, Ser."
I lit a few more candles, their flames sputtering to life and casting restless shadows across the stone walls.
"I could still kill you," he replied coolly, producing a letter from his cloak. "You're fortunate it was me, and not someone who truly meant you harm, little girl."
I rolled my eyes, reaching for the parchment.
"Stop calling me that."
"Why?" he smirked, lifting the letter just out of reach. "Am I wrong?"
I didn't bother trying to snatch it. With his height, I'd only indignify myself. So instead, I folded my arms across the thin fabric of my sleeping gown and levelled a stare at him from beneath my lashes.
"Must you truly be so difficult to converse with?"
"You're dragging my sister into your schemes," he said, finally offering the letter. "That makes you my problem."
"Your sister has a mind of her own," I muttered, snatching the letter from his hand. "And there might come a time when the only person standing between her, and an armed soldier is me."
The parchment crinkled between my fingers as I scanned its contents. A familiar unease curled in my gut like gathering clouds.
The Pyreen envoy had arrived in Drakfjord months ago. Skye and Malrik had met. But some disagreements had arisen, delaying the marriage negotiations.
My brows drew together.
The proposal hadn't been accepted yet?
This couldn't be good... I expected a few bumps, but if negotiations were dragging out this long... There might not be an alliance at all.
Malrik Solfyr would return to Pyree soon. In my first life, I remembered all too well — he led a brutal campaign along the borderlands for nearly three years. And it was upon his return that he killed his nephew, the king, and claimed the throne.
We have to secure the alliance before he leaves.
"I need to write another letter," I said, turning back to my desk. I snatched up a quill and parchment as I seated myself, writing hurriedly.
Cavriel strolled across the room and leaned beside the narrow window.
"There will never come a day when you're the only one left to protect my sister," he said, arms crossed. "She has me to take care of her."
"And what if you're gone?" I asked, not bothering to look up. "You vanish for weeks at a time, Ser. There will certainly be a time when I'm her only shield."
"Then Ella is doomed."
"Well, of course," I muttered with a dry chuckle. "We've already established I'm terrible at combat."
The scratch of the quill filled the silence. I could feel Cavriel's gaze burning into me.
"Would it kill you to stop scowling?" I sighed without pausing my writing. "That face of yours could curdle fresh milk."
"I don't scowl," he muttered darkly.
"Ha." I shook my head. "It's all you ever do."
"I... simply have a lot on my mind," he grumbled.
"Oh really?" I grinned, glancing up. "Because from what Virella tells me, there's not much going on up there."
His gloved hand slammed down on the table beside me, loud enough to rattle the inkwell. He leaned in close, green eyes gleaming like poison.
"Don't act so familiar," he warned. "We could both be executed for smuggling these letters if we're discovered."
I rolled my eyes and sealed the letter, pressing the wax flat with Raincatcher's pommel.
Cavriel stepped back and returned to his usual scowling.
"What would you do if someone tried to take my sister's life?" he asked.
I mulled it over as I stood from my chair.
"Probably kill myself."
And try again.
His hand shot out and gripped my arm, spinning me to face him.
"What good would that do?" he hissed.
"More than your scowling," I snapped, yanking my arm free and slamming the letter against his chest.
He held the parchment like it was a dagger pressed into his palm, and his frown deepened.
"I hate people like you the most," he said. "You think your clever tongue can save you, but when the moment comes, the emperor or some half-baked soldier could slit your throat without a second thought."
Though I wanted to fire back with a biting retort, I could not.
Because his words were true.
"Well, what would you have me do?" I spat back. "It's not as though anyone is willing to teach me how to fight."
Cavriel's gaze narrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.
"You think if I train you, you'll survive?" His tone dipped into mockery. "You're just a girl."
I clenched my teeth.
There he goes again...
I hated that stupid scowl and that dumb beard of his. It reminded me too much of the messy beard Sylvos had at the end of my first life.
I looked over at Raincatcher on my desk, tempted to drive the dagger into Cavriel's smug face. But my eye caught on the blade's reflection. Ryn stood behind me with his arms crossed. He raised a dark brow and nodded toward Cavriel.
I already knew what he wanted to say...
Swallow your pride.
I drew in a long, slow breath.
"I'm not strong," I said, meeting Cavriel's gaze again. "But I'm fast and agile. You saw my dance. That wasn't just pageantry. It's training. Years of it. If I learn to fight, even a little, maybe I'll be quick enough to make a difference."
Cavriel's brows furrowed, but he didn't cut me off.
So I pressed on.
"I already told you that there may come a day when I'm the only one to protect your sister. And when that day comes, you'll regret not showing me something."
Something shifted in his green eyes. He reached up, raking a gloved hand through his unruly blond curls.
"I suppose it wouldn't kill me to teach you a thing or two..."
His gaze drifted to the dagger on my desk.
"We'll start with that," he said, nodding toward Raincatcher.
I picked up the blade and Cavriel already looked like he regretted agreeing.
"Hold it like this," he said. He adjusted my grip, his gloved fingers brushing against mine. "This is not for dancing. If you don't hold it firm, it'll be slapped out of your hand."
I bit down on my tongue to prevent any regrettable retorts.
"Now, if someone lunges at you, you don't try to stop the attack head-on.
You sidestep. Like this." He moved in a fluid arc.
For such a broad man, he was alarmingly light on his feet.
"Then use their momentum against them. Go for their ribs, their throat, or the inside of their thigh if you're quick enough. "
He demonstrated the pattern again, then motioned for me to mimic it.
I tried, but he stopped me after two steps.
"No. Too slow."
"Let me just get the hang of it first," I reasoned.
We moved through the motions again and again. Dodge. Deflect. Slash. Each correction he made was gruff and condescending. But still, I bore with it.
At last, Cavriel stepped closer to guide me through a final movement. His broad frame pressed near as he adjusted the angle of my wrist. He was so close, I felt his breath on my nape.
"You're as stiff as a mast," he muttered.
"And you're far too near," I replied too quickly.
Except for Sylvos, I'd never been this close to another man before. Not unless you counted the hugs that I'd given my father.
Before Cavriel could fire back, footsteps echoed outside the chamber door.
We froze.
Then he moved.
In one fluid motion, Cavriel spun me around and pressed me against his chest, his large hand flat against my spine. He backed us into the shadows beside the door, his cloak enveloping me.
Not a sound. Not even his breath stirred the air.
I stared up at him, wide-eyed and still. I could feel every contour of him — solid and warm beneath his wool and leather. The strength in his chest and arms was unmistakable. And his heartbeat was steady. Nothing like mine.
After a moment, the footsteps passed.
And the quiet returned.
Only then did Cavriel release me.
"We should train outside next time," he said, his voice low.
I swallowed hard.
"Will there be a next time?"
"There will."
His green eyes slid to me and flicked slightly downward before he straightened and turned away sharply. I glanced down and blushed.
Ah.
My pink nightgown and slipped a little too low off one shoulder.
Cavriel crossed the room, retrieving my sealed letter from the desk and slipping it into the inner fold of his cloak.
"I'll let you know when and where we meet next time," he said without looking at me.
He didn't wait for a reply. The door opened and closed without a single creak. No footsteps, no whisper of movement. He vanished as if he'd never been here at all.
I stood frozen, Raincatcher still clutched in my hand.
"How in all damnation is he that quiet?" I muttered.
With a groan, I collapsed onto my bed.
"He's skilled," Ryn said from across the room. "For a mortal, of course."
"He's insufferable," I mumbled into the pillows. "Mortal or otherwise."
"He's your only shot," Ryn reminded me.
I rolled onto my side, angling Raincatcher so I got a good view of the elf strolling around my chamber.
"If you can appear in my dreams, why not just train me there? Weren't you some brilliant elven warrior once?"
His expression soured.
"I've already told you. It's not ethical. I loathe it."
I scoffed into the mattress.
"What's not ethical is me having to relive those memories."
"They're not just memories," he said, his eyes turning a shade of green. "They're lessons. You shouldn't forget what was done to you. You should learn from those deaths."
I sighed, flopping onto my back.
"Yeah, yeah..."
As unbearable as they were, if I didn't remember those deaths, my resolve might've cracked long ago.
A stray thought suddenly appeared at the edge of my mind.
"Hey, Ryn?"
"Yes?"
"If you can appear in my dreams... can you alter them too?"
He didn't answer at first.
"Yes," he said at last. "It was a cruel practice among some elves. Tormenting mortals not only in waking but in sleep too... I would never do such a thing."
A chill settled deep in my belly.
"That's a relief," I whispered.
Yet that uneasy feeling didn't leave.
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