VI

  When I woke up, I thought I would find myself locked in a dusty dungeon, heavy shackles on my wrists, facing a fat imp waiting to torture me. But the situation I was in was far more terrifying than that.

  My consciousness had returned—at least enough for me to comprehend what was happening around me and to feign unconsciousness. And if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that there were no chains binding me to the chair where I sat, my head painfully tilted forward.

  I could hear the sounds Calithra, Droven, and Cain were making while playing cards beside me. It was like a scene from their daily lives, as if I wasn’t even there… But what truly unsettled me was the intense presence of an elf I had never encountered before: silent, cold, powerful, and intimidating.

  The smell of Cain’s moss crept toward me. “Did you hit her too hard?”

  A few heavy steps and a woody scent. Droven. “She should have come to by now.”

  “I only used enough force to knock her out,” Calithra’s voice came from the other end of the room, and judging by the rustling sounds, she was shuffling the cards for a new hand.

  There was a rustle in the room, and my breath caught; it was as if the air around me had suddenly been sucked away. “You two, stop standing there.”

  The shock spread through my body so quickly there was no way they couldn’t notice the twitch that ran through me. Faced with that chilling, melodic voice, a door opened in my mind, and the undeniable awareness that Prince Vaelis was here descended upon me like an avalanche.

  As the cold shock settled into my mind, fear quietly took root. It felt as though my ribs were closing in, cupping and squeezing my heart. A single thought echoed in my mind: Danger. Time slowed mercilessly; the only sound I could hear was the frantic pounding of my own pulse in my ears.

  Despite the fog of fear, my mind worked tirelessly, trying to unravel the chain of events that had brought me here. What I had endured, what I had lost, and what I had tried to gain had, with cruel precision, placed me on this path. And at the end of it stood Prince Vaelis.

  The prince leaned toward me and extended his hand. He clearly intended to lift my head. I opened my eyes, and the veil of unconsciousness fell away. There was no time to freeze; this moment might have been the best—and only—chance I would ever have.

  The moment his fingers brushed beneath my chin, I moved. Fear still gripped my chest, but something sharper cut through it—instinct, desperate and unforgiving. I threw my weight backward, the chair tipping violently as wood scraped against the floor. My hand slid into my boot and closed around the dagger hidden there, the familiar shape of the hilt grounding me for the briefest fraction of a second. Steel flashed as I tore it free. The chair crashed behind me as I rolled away, my shoulder slamming hard against the wall.

  Breath burning in my lungs, I forced myself upright, blade raised between us. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs as I stared at him, every muscle coiled tight—ready to strike, ready to run, ready to do anything except sit helplessly beneath his gaze again.

  My eyes quickly scanned the room. It was hard to believe that such a filthy place was part of the palace, but I was sure I hadn’t been unconscious long enough for them to take me outside its walls. The walls were moldy, and the wallpaper peeled in places. Dirty dishes were piled up on the counter, and cards were scattered across the table standing between a few old, worn-out couches.

  Prince Vaelis lowered his raised hand, his lips parting slightly. A shiver ran through me. It was hard to tell whether he was enraged or impressed.

  “You’re fast,” he murmured. “But utterly reckless.”

  With a casual flick of his wrist, a thin layer of ice crept over the hand holding my dagger. I cursed under my breath as my fingers locked in place. Frost crawled up my wrist like a living thing, tightening around my skin. The magic was so cold it burned, a biting pain that made the muscles in my arm tremble.

  I tried to pull back, but my arm refused to obey. The ice held fast, unyielding. My breath came slower as I forced myself to stay still, though every instinct screamed at me to struggle.

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  For a moment the room fell strangely quiet. I could feel their attention settle on me—Cain’s faint, almost bored curiosity, Droven’s heavy, watchful silence. And above all of it, Vaelis’s steady gaze, calm and impossible to read.

  Slowly, my eyes moved across the room.

  They found Calithra.

  She hadn’t even bothered to rise from her chair. The deck of cards rested loosely in her hands, her posture relaxed, as though the scene unfolding before her were nothing more than mild entertainment.

  “What are you?” I asked, my voice low and strained.

  My gaze swept over her, then shifted to Droven and Cain.

  “You were spying on me…”

  Calithra shrugged. “Actually, we didn’t really hide the fact that we were tracking you.”

  Cain gave me a smug grin. “Yes, and yet you walked straight into our trap.”

  “You used my whip as bait,” I spat. The memory rose vividly in my mind—the obedient tilt of the auctioneer’s head, the way his hands had hesitated for the briefest moment before lifting the cover. At the time I had thought it was nothing more than theatrics meant to excite the bidders. Now the realization crawled under my skin like insects. It had never been chance. Every step, every moment in that hall had been arranged.

  My grip tightened uselessly against the melting ice around my wrist as the truth settled in.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I have an offer for you.” Vaelis leaned slightly closer, the movement so calm it felt deliberate, almost careful. As he did, the ice encasing my hand began to soften and drip, thin streams of water sliding down my fingers. The numbness in my arm slowly gave way to a dull, aching burn.

  “Are you messing with me?” I hissed.

  The anger rising in my chest was different from the hatred I had expected to feel. Hatred was cold and sharp. This was something wilder—hotter. It roared through my veins like a wildfire that had finally found dry ground.

  “I’d rather die than listen to any offer coming from you, Prince.”

  Vaelis tilted his head slightly, the motion slow and deliberate, like an owl observing a creature far beneath it. “I understand your hatred, Varrendalian.” A faint shadow crossed his otherwise flawless expression, subtle enough that I almost wondered if I had imagined it. “But I know you cannot refuse this offer.”

  The arrogance in the prince’s voice turned the flames rising within me into a raging inferno. Heat surged through my chest, sharp and uncontrollable. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my dagger until the leather bit into my palm.

  I lunged.

  But the moment my foot struck the ground, the floor lurched violently beneath me. The walls shuddered as though some enormous force had struck the building from the outside. A shrill, piercing screech tore through the air, so loud it seemed to slice straight through bone.

  The sound froze me where I stood. Every muscle in my body went rigid as recognition slammed into me.

  “Ilmestys?” I whispered.

  The urge to attack that had been building inside me flared up and died just as quickly, and Vaelis’s icy shackles suddenly clamped around my wrists. I let out a scream of pain; this power was no joke, and the agony I felt was unlike anything I had ever experienced. “Wait!” I hissed breathlessly. “That voice…”

  Vaelis stepped back. “Behave yourself. Don’t make me put a leash on you.”

  My knees were shaking, but I stood anyway and walked straight up to Vaelis. Even if the prince's power seeped into my bones, I would not remain kneeling before him.

  “Does the offer you mentioned have anything to do with that dragon?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  A smile appeared on Vaelis’s lips, like that of a gambler who had drawn the right cards. “You seem ready to listen.”

  ***

  The tales told about the Elven King were usually frightening stories our elders resorted to on stormy nights to keep children from misbehaving. According to legend, he saw and knew everything. Yet even the Elven King might have been oblivious to the vast underground caves where we now walked.

  Calithra and the others called that room “the Passage,” because the door to the underground was a brick wall that opened and closed as if by the Passage’s own will.

  I was tense. As we climbed the stairs, winding like a snake and leading to sharp slopes, my heartbeat echoed inside my skull. The steps beneath me offered no reassurance; each one seemed ready to deliver me to the darkness at the slightest misstep.

  I wiped my runny nose on my cloak and paused to look down. The stalactites, like thousands of swords poised to pierce those who fell, jutted up from the mist-covered floor. My stomach lurched.

  “You’d better not fall behind,” Calithra called out. “We’re here.”

  Only then did I cast aside the caution that had dulled my senses and begin to notice what was happening all around us: dragon screeches, the leathery wind created by enormous wings, and the metallic crack of descending whips drawing closer—very close. I took a few long strides past Calithra and stared, open-mouthed, at the dozens of dragons gliding through the gap between the jagged rocks hanging from the ceiling.

  The vast underground caves connected in arches, opening into this enormous training ground. The group of elven riders was scattered in all directions. Their whips struck the ground, kicking up dust, and their whistles were answered by dragon roars. Traces of fire were everywhere, and soot and heat hung in the air. A little farther away lay a nesting area filled with colorful eggs.

  My breath caught in my throat. I was utterly mesmerized.

  Calithra spread her arms wide. “Welcome to the Hollow!”