Chapter 26
Orphara's wings cut through darkening skies as she carries us back toward the Ironhold, the mountain fortress growing to its full, imposing presence. No one even tries to speak.
We land in the same clearing where our journey began, the void drake gracefully settling onto the rocky ground. I'm lowered to the earth, my legs unsteady as I readjust to solid ground.
“Quickly now,” Selen murmurs, “before the night patrols begin.”
Using her scale-rope, we file through the iron gate and back into the dim, labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Ironhold. The darkness feels different now. Not just the absence of light, but the presence of something else. Secrets. Lies. The weight of everything we've just witnessed.
Ellis stumbles beside me, his scholarly composure shattered. “Did you see—” he begins in a whisper.
“Not now,” Selen cuts him off.
We wind our way back through the ancient passages, retracing our steps through the mountain's heart. The rope guides us, invisible hands clutching an invisible lifeline. I'm grateful for it; my mind is too splintered to focus on navigation.
Once we reach Selen’s office, she secures the door and exhales slowly.
“Remove the suits,” she instructs, “and place them on my desk.”
My body slides back into visibility as I pull the suit off. The sensation is strange, like stepping back into my own skin after inhabiting a ghost. One by one, we reappear in the room, shedding the void drake scales.
Selen collects each garment with meticulous care, folding them and placing them inside a black sack beneath her desk.
“Now return to your quarters,” she says. “We will meet here again tomorrow morning, at nine.” Nothing more. No further word of explanation.
Everyone appears too drained to attempt to probe her further. I exchange a final glance with Byron, who nods briefly before turning away through the doorway into Selen’s quarters. Ellis follows him after casting me a final anxious look.
The rest of us file out of Selen’s office, where we split off in different directions. Lira catches my arm before she turns toward the female barracks.
“We need to talk,” she whispers. “All of us. Soon.”
I nod, squeezing her hand briefly. “I know.”
Now isn’t the time. Out in these corridors isn’t the place.
Lira disappears down the passageway with the others, leaving me to make my way back toward Zeriel's quarters alone. My mind swirls with images from the day: the void drake's milky eyes, the imperial capital spread beneath us, the emperor drawing… power.
I've gone barely twenty feet when a towering figure rounds the corner ahead, nearly colliding with me. Zeriel blocks the passageway, looming above me with shoulders squared and jaw set in a way I recognize instantly: trouble.
The shock of nearly colliding with him makes me stumble to a halt, my outstretched hand brushing against the rough stone of the corridor wall for balance.
For a beat, neither of us moves. In that silence, I glimpse something untamed flickering in his eyes, like a storm barely chained, sharp and feral in its intensity.
He’s dressed in stripped-down fatigues, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a fresh white bandage slashing across his knuckles.
Whatever he’s just come from, it certainly wasn’t a rest cycle.
His intense gaze sweeps over me, a quick, assessing inventory that lingers on my flushed cheeks and perhaps the faint, bitter tang of dragon in my hair.
“You’re late,” he says, more accusation than observation.
For a moment, I can’t tell if he’s about to shove me against the wall or just stare until I vanish.
I take a step back, spine stiffening. “If you’ve got a problem, Champion, talk to Selen.”
“Come with me.”
I expect him to head toward his quarters—the direction I’d been going—but instead, he turns on his heel and starts back toward Selen’s office.
What…
His mood grates, but as I match his stride, after what I’ve witnessed today I can't help but study him with new eyes. Zeriel. The descendent of a winged court. What magic lies beneath his surface?
His gaze is fixed ahead as if he's mentally a thousand miles away. Though I'm barely present myself, my thoughts still trapped in that imperial garden, watching living things apparently wither at Emperor Sylthan’s touch.
We come to an abrupt stop outside Selen's office. Zeriel knocks sharply on the door.
“Enter,” Selen calls from within.
When we step inside, no trace remains of our outing. No suits, no rope, no evidence that just hours ago we stood atop the imperial palace.
Selen glances up from her desk, one eyebrow arching as she takes in Zeriel's rigid posture and my probably still-dazed expression.
“Champion Caelith,” she says, setting down her quill. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a second visit today? I've barely had time to miss you.”
Zeriel skips pleasantries. “The welcome ceremony for the provincial champions has been set for tonight. Imperial palace. Eleven sharp. As you’re aware, wards are expected to attend alongside their champions.”
For a moment, I don’t understand what he’s saying. The words land, but they don’t register—until they do.
My breath catches. “Wait, what?”
At the palace?
I stare at him like he’s grown a second head.
Zeriel doesn’t even glance my way. He continues to address Selen, “We have barely three hours to prepare, and she needs appropriate attire.”
Oh, of course he wouldn't bother to tell me directly. Of course I'd find out only when he needs something from someone else.
And Zeriel is going to come face to face with Blaise again so soon? That’s a recipe for flames and screaming.
Selen leans back in her chair, arms folded across her chest, a bemused expression playing across her features. “And why exactly do you think I would just have a gown in my closet suitable for an imperial ball?”
Zeriel exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s reining something in. “Because you're resourceful. And connected.”
“Flattered as I am by your assessment of my wardrobe,” Selen says, rising from her chair, “I'm a handler, not a royal seamstress.”
“There must be something,” Zeriel insists. “We can't show up with her in recruit's garb.”
Selen huffs, then walks to the discreet door leading to her quarters. “Wait here,” she says, disappearing through it.
Left alone with Zeriel, I turn on him. “Were you planning to tell me about this at all? Or just drag me there without warning?”
He exhales. “I'm telling you now.”
“Because you need something from Selen,” I snap. “Not because you thought I deserved to know.”
His eyes meet mine, cold enough that I could almost believe he hailed from a winter court. “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it. You’re not—”
Selen reappears, carrying a bundle of deep blue fabric, and Zeriel decides to save whatever he was about to say. Smart guy. I don’t know when it happened, but I’m not just a girl from the Lower Wards anymore.
Selen pauses, staring at us. “Everything alright?”
I step back, pulse pounding. “Fine,” I mutter.
Zeriel doesn’t answer. He just turns his head slightly, as if I’m not still vibrating inches from him.
Selen raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She lays the bundle across her desk, revealing a gown of surprising elegance: midnight blue with silver accents along the bodice and sleeves.
“It's not imperial quality,” she says, “but it will pass inspection in dim lighting. I keep it for the odd special occasion.”
I stare at the garment. It's more beautiful than anything I've ever owned, though that's not saying much. The fabric catches the light as Selen unfolds the gown, holding it up against me. I’m around the same height as Selen, about five feet and seven inches, so it should fit.
“Thanks,” I murmur, holding it against my body.
Zeriel leans against the doorframe, observing me with an unreadable expression.
“Let’s try it on,” Selen suggests, then gestures to my tangled hair. “We'll see what we can do about that too. Though miracles are extra.”
She opens the door to her personal chambers again, and I start toward the door with the gown in hand. But I pause at the threshold and glance back at Zeriel. He’s still watching me, arms folded.
“I hope you're not planning to parade me around,” I say coolly.
The corner of his mouth flickers. “Only as a cautionary tale.”
I shut the door firmly.
Selen is already a few steps ahead, standing outside a door along the dim corridor. She pushes it open, revealing a small, functional washroom.
“You should wash quickly,” Selen says, stepping inside and turning a knob. Water gushes into a copper tub. “We don't have much time before your champion grows even more insufferable.”
“Not my champion,” I mutter. But the thought of washing away the day's grime is too tempting to resist. Selen adds a floral essence into the steaming water, and I step behind a folding screen to shed my clothes.
The warm water embraces me as I slip into the tub, muscles I didn't even realize were tense beginning to unwind.
Selen busies herself gathering towels and a hairbrush from a cabinet. “You know,” she says casually, her back still turned as I scrub quickly, “if you truly hate Zeriel, there's a way to really unsettle him.”
I pause mid-scrub. “What's that?”
“Awaken his magic,” she says, far too casually for the weight of her words. “There’s nothing a champion hates more than losing control.”
Water still drips from my raised arm as I frown. Is she serious, or is this her idea of humor? It’s hard to tell without seeing her face.
“Time's wasting,” Selen reminds me, interrupting my thoughts. “The imperial court waits for no one.”
I finish bathing quickly, mulling over her words as I dry myself. “And how would I even do that, hypothetically?” I can’t help wondering.
I step out of the basin wrapped in a towel. Selen’s eyes are on me, half-amused. She shrugs. “It’s different for everyone. But a good place to start is questions. They lead to introspection, which leads to understanding, and sometimes… understanding unlocks doors that don’t close again.”
She helps me into the midnight blue gown, which fits almost as if made for me. The fabric flows like water against my skin, the silver accents glinting in the light.
“Alternatively,” she adds softly, catching my gaze. “When you have more time, you could try bringing him to me. I could see what I can do.”
She looks at me cryptically, and I frown. What could she do?
And, even if I—or she—did somehow awaken his magic, wouldn’t that be suicidal? I mean, for me as well as him, if he couldn’t control it. As much as I hate it, my fate is still tied to his.
“Sit,” Selen instructs, continuing her work. I ponder her words as she gestures to a small stool before a mirror. From a drawer, she produces a wooden box. Inside lies a sparse assortment of mineral cosmetics: powder and paste in soft earth tones, and a small pot of something ruby-colored.
Memories surface unbidden—of hiding in the corner of a dressmaker's shop, watching nobles prepare for a function. I'd been fascinated by the ritual some would perform while waiting to be attended, the way they transformed themselves with strokes of brushes and careful application of color.
Selen’s fingers work deftly through my hair, twisting and pinning it into an elegant updo that exposes the clean lines of my neck and shoulders. She says little, occasionally murmuring instructions like “Tilt your head,” but otherwise maintaining a focused silence.
When she applies the cosmetics, her touch is light but deliberate. A dusting of powder across my cheekbones, something to the outline of my eyes, to darken and curl my eyelashes. She uses the ruby-colored paste sparingly on my lips.
I sit still under her ministrations, watching fragments of the transformation in the small mirror. It's not until she steps back with a satisfied nod that I see the full effect.
The woman staring back at me seems a stranger.
Gone is the dirt-smudged recruit, the girl with hollow cheeks and wary eyes.
In her place sits someone who could pass for nobility.
Elegant, composed, almost regal. The gown's deep blue makes my skin appear luminous, and the updo elongates my neck, lending me a grace I've never possessed.
My pale lilac eyes now seem to catch the light.
I lift a hand to my face, half-expecting the illusion to shatter. But the reflection mimics my movement with the same stunned expression.
Selen's mouth curves slightly. “Amazing what a little effort can accomplish, isn't it?”
I stare at my reflection, transfixed. I look.
.. almost beautiful. Not in the fragile, porcelain way of imperial courtiers, but with a quiet intensity that surprises me.
It's still my face beneath the subtle cosmetics, but somehow transformed, as if Selen has simply revealed what was hidden rather than created something new.
“Time to go,” she says, gathering her supplies.
“You’re full of surprises,” I murmur.
Her smirk is brief but sly. “You’ve no idea.”
I rise from the stool, the gown flowing around me like water. It clings and trails just right, whispering against the floor as I follow Selen back toward her office.
But just before we reach the door, she pauses. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she draws out two tiny bottles of familiar black liquid. With quick, furtive movements, she tucks them into a hidden slit in the gown’s lining.
“In case they’re needed,” she says quietly. “A small sip does the trick.”
My fingers find the vials beneath the fabric. “What—”
But Selen is already opening the door, stepping back into the outer chamber where Zeriel waits.