Chapter 3
Outside, the distant clatter of wagons and shouting servants signaled the final preparations for Lyra’s banquet.
Kaelen stared at my hand. A sudden, sharp tremor ripped through the air between us. The magical feedback hit him. I saw his shoulders stiffen as the shared magic stuttered in his veins.
He blinked. Then, he let out a low, breathy chuckle.
The shock vanished from his face. He reached up and casually smoothed a crease in his dark military tunic. He looked at me with patronizing clarity.
"Ah," Kaelen said. "I see. This is about the banquet."
I stared at him. "Are you deaf?"
"It’s a desperate play for attention, Elara." He crossed his arms, leaning back against the heavy iron door of the magic vault. "You want to ruin Lyra's big day. You want to prove you are more important. Fine. You played the scorned woman perfectly. Now, let’s end this tantrum."
He dropped his arms and stepped closer, taking on the tone of a generous king. "I will bring the Imperial Chief Healer down to oversee Aven’s funeral. You get full, unrestricted access to this magic vault. I will issue you an independent Mage Identification under the Duke's seal. And I will triple your monthly allowance."
My jaw tightened. For the Duke of the North, this was a massive concession. He laid out gold, status, and a grand send-off for a dead boy.
He offered everything except the truth.
He didn't mention the Tear of the Elves. He didn't mention Lyra stepping over Aven's corpse to heal a papercut. He completely ignored her crime. If I took his deal, I stepped right back into the cage. Lyra would still be his precious, untouchable ward. I would still be his obedient battery.
Rage flared hot and violent in my chest. I didn't want his gold. I wanted to tear his world apart.
"Keep your money," I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut stone. "Keep your vault. I want absolutely nothing from you. Just the end of this bond."
Kaelen’s smug confidence shattered. The air in the room grew heavy with his rising fury.
"You are pushing too hard, Elara," he snarled. He took a heavy step toward me, towering over my space. "Read the contract law. If you force a unilateral break, you forfeit all compensation. You walk out of here with nothing."
I held my ground. "Good."
"You think you can survive out there?" His voice rose, violently echoing off the stone walls. "Without my crest? No noble house in the Empire will take in a rogue priestess who betrayed her bond-lord. You will be a vagrant."
He leaned in. His eyes turned vicious. "Step out of my gates, and you lose the right to bury your brother in the city cemetery. His body goes straight to the pauper's pit."
My nails dug into my palms. The skin broke, slick with blood. The sheer cruelty of using Aven's unburied body as a weapon made me want to drive my fist into his throat. Three years ago, I signed my soul away because I was starving. He thought the threat of poverty would break me again.
He didn't realize I had already lost the only thing I feared losing.
"I don't care," I spat.
I grabbed the handle of my battered leather trunk. The wood groaned under my grip. "Throw me in the streets. Blacklist me. Throw Aven in the pit. Do whatever makes you feel like a god, Kaelen. It changes absolutely nothing."
I walked right past him.
He flinched. For a split second, his hand twitched toward my arm. The violent, arrogant Duke froze. His pride locked his jaw tight. His threats had hit a solid brick wall, and he had no idea how to handle a weapon that refused to fire.
He stood in rigid silence. I dragged my trunk over the threshold. The heavy wheels clattered aggressively against the stone corridor. I didn't look back.
Kaelen watched her walk away. The rhythmic thud of her trunk faded down the long, empty corridor.
A cold spike of panic hit his chest. The magic in his veins stuttered again, sharper this time. He reached down, his fingers gripping the glass vial of stabilizing elixir strapped to his belt. Elara had brewed it. She spent three days awake, bleeding her own magic into the potion to distill the Abyssal rot out of his blood.
He took a deep breath. The panic receded, replaced by cold logic.
She needed to arrange the boy's funeral. She couldn't do that without his gold.
Lyra’s voice from last night echoed in his mind. "She’s just bored, Kaelen. She reads too many of those tragic romance novels. I’ve seen healers like this before. They throw a tantrum, pack a bag, and wait for you to chase them. Ignore her for a few days. She’ll come crawling back and apologize."
Kaelen let go of the vial.
Lyra was right. Elara was throwing a theatrical fit. She was incredibly useful, but she needed to learn her place. He would let her freeze in the lower city for a few days. When she returned, begging for her priestess credentials and his gold, he would make sure she never used the bond as a threat again.
Kaelen turned his back on Elara's empty room. He had to inspect the grand hall. The Northern nobles were arriving soon, and Lyra's banquet required his full attention.
