“You don’t mean?—”
“I do.”
I stare at her. “The Vrakken? You’d send me into the arms of blood-drinkers?”
“They’re not monsters,” she says, though even she sounds unsure. “Our histories were tangled once. The oldest bond magic, the kind tied to the Wildspont, traces back to them as much as it does to us. Before everything fractured.”
I stand. “You want me to beg them for help? After they’ve turned their backs on us for centuries? What will others say?”
“I want you to save our people.”
My hands curl into fists. “They won’t help us. They’ll use us. They’ll take what’s left of our magic and crush it in their teeth.”
“Perhaps,” she whispers. “Or perhaps they’ll listen to you.”
I shake my head. “There has to be another way. Anything else.”
“There isn’t.”
She leans forward, coughing into her sleeve. When she pulls it back, I see blood. And something inside me breaks.
“Then I’ll go,” I say. “But alone.”
Elysia gives a slow nod. “And in secret. The Council will try to stop you.”
I pace around. “You’re right. They’ll try, because they’re terrified. They don’t understand what’s happening, and instead of admitting that, they cling to the past like it’s a shield.”
Elysia gives a bitter smile. “They were trained to worship their own memory. The Matrons, especially, half of them would rather see our bloodlines rot than admit the Vrakken were ever anything more than monsters.”
“They still use the old slurs,” I mutter. “Even in closed session. They say we shouldn’t sully the Wildspont by ‘mixing it with shadowblood.’”
I think of the last council meeting I attended, the one where I dared to suggest we share spellcraft knowledge with the outer enclaves. A minor proposal, one I thought would at least open discussion.
Instead, they laughed.
Matrons who’ve known me since I could walk dismissed me with brittle smiles and veiled insults. “Idealism makes poor policy,” one said, her jeweled fingers waving me off like a servant. Another muttered about how my mother has the same reckless streak. I remember gripping the edge of the table so hard my fingers went numb, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t scream.
No one stood up for me. Not even Myris.
They see me as a girl wearing her mother’s sigils, nothing more. Untried, unproven, too loud for their taste. Too proud. Too dangerous.
Even when the blight was still rumors, they brushed me aside. Said I was reading too much into natural decay. Now they can’t ignore it, but they still refuse to act.
Because to act means admitting they were wrong. And admitting that means letting go of centuries of hatred and ritual and control.
They won’t. Not until it’s too late.
“They are fools,” she says. “But powerful fools. And united in fear. That makes them dangerous.”
I stop pacing. “So why me? Why would they listen to me if they won't even consider the facts?”
“They won’t,” she says simply. “Not yet. That’s why you must go before they can vote, before the whispers spread. If they know you’re reaching out to Velcryn, they’ll try to silence you, bind your magic, maybe even exile you.”
My mouth goes dry. “They’d go that far?”
“They are already halfway there. You’ve seen the way they look at you. Young. Untried. Too close to me. They don’t trust your fire. Or your bloodline.” Elysia’s voice softens. “But you are the only one who can walk this line between old power and new. They will never see what I see in you, not until you prove them wrong.”
I pack light.The journey to Velcryn is long and dangerous, especially without the shield of diplomatic protection. But I don’t need guards. I need answers. And power.