Chapter 33

  Days Remaining - 3

  Their plans were in motion, the pieces sliding into place with each passing day. And yet River couldn’t shake the feeling—eyes on him whenever he turned, whispers curling just out of reach.

  Tonight’s performance had drained him more than most. Hours at the Duke’s estate, smiling through Beatrix’s mask, laughing when she would have laughed, cutting with her cruelty when she would have cut. The wine’s warmth had long since faded, leaving only the hollow ache of pretending.

  This wasn’t the cold of essence depletion. It sat deeper, a mental fatigue gnawing at the edges of him. With every act, every calculated word, he felt a little more of himself slip away. A little more of Beatrix sank her claws in.

  He feared the day would come when he couldn’t turn back. The only things keeping him anchored were Calira’s presence and the thought of his friends.

  River and Calira stood once more in the bedroom they shared—the only place they dared speak their minds. Servants and guards ran through the manor like veins in a body. Each one of them could carry poison. No one could be trusted with their secret.

  Even here, their voices stayed low. River let essence coil from his palms, threading through the air to muffle their words from prying ears. And yet… it didn’t feel like enough.

  His gaze swept the corners of the room, lingering a heartbeat too long on the thin shadow beneath the door.

  “We only need the King’s essence signature,” River whispered, the words barely stirring the air, “before it’s time.”

  As Virella and William had explained, the prison’s wards weren’t locked by keys or runes alone; they were bound to the King himself. A detection weave monitored every entrance, flaring an alarm if the intruder’s essence didn’t match his. That was why only magicless guards patrolled the halls, and why prisoners with even a spark of talent were buried deep in cells that smothered their abilities.

  River was fairly certain that he could fool it. He’d done something similar before—tricking the affinity crystal at the school’s entry exam. But this was no schoolyard ruse. One mistake and the prison wouldn’t just reject him—it would tell the King exactly who had tried to get in.

  Calira’s thoughts brushed his, sharp and skeptical. “We need a meeting with the King to get an accurate read on his aura. Any brilliant ideas?”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve got ideas. Just… none I’d call good.”

  Then it struck him. “What if we claim we have knowledge about River and Calira?” That would get his attention.”

  Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide. “Are you fucking stupid? The point is for him not to know where we are. Why else would we be hiding?”

  River exhaled, thumb at his chin. “Not exactly like that. We tell him we saw River and Calira somewhere else entirely. He’ll think we’re loose—but far away. We lose the advantage of surprise… but it gives us the opening we need to finish the job.”

  Calira didn’t answer immediately, but her feathers bristled; the phoenix in her knew just how hot this fire was.

  The message was slipped to Dricus, the red-eyed guard. His fingers lingered on the parchment a moment too long before he gave a sharp nod and strode for the castle. River watched him go, a faint prickle of unease settling in his chest.

  That night stretched on forever. The curse of a Primordial made each hour drag like an eon, his thoughts looping through every possible outcome—most ending in blood. Calira snored beside him, oblivious; her breathing was the only sound in the oppressive dark.

  Morning broke with a knock at the door. A young servant stood there, pale and wide-eyed, holding a scroll sealed in gold and purple. The summons they had been waiting for.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The walk to the castle was shorter than River remembered, each step tightening the coil of heat in his chest. Anger burned when his gaze met the King’s, but he buried it deep, forcing the flames down until they were nothing but a thin ember.

  A curt curtsy. A formal bow. And the game began.

  A veil of essence shimmered over River’s eyes—too subtle for the King to notice—as he studied the man before him. Leo’s aura was as thick as he remembered, the gold and purple of the royal crest twisting in slow, regal arcs. Lightning, Light, and Fire together should do it, he thought.

  But beneath that proud glow, something darker writhed. Faint threads of corrupted essence coiled like serpents around his body, slipping between the colors of his heritage.

  River’s chest tightened. This wasn’t loyalty to the crown. This wasn’t duty. Leo had made a deal with Lucius for power.

  Calira’s voice reached him from somewhere far away, muffled as though underwater. The only sound that cut through was the heavy beat of his own heart.

  He forced the storm down and pulled the mask of Beatrix tight over his face.

  “My lord,” River said, tone crisp, practiced, venomous in all the ways she would have made it, “I saw River, and that miserable bird of his, when I was volunteering at the church last night.”

  The lie tasted like ash. Beatrix’s cruelty gave it weight; it still turned his stomach.

  “They’re back, sir.”

  They were quickly ushered from the palace as the King barked orders, his mask of composure shattered. Anger and fear rippled through every word, every movement; even his aura trembled with it.

  Fading into the background, River and Calira slipped toward the caravan.

  The King disappeared with his men at his back; only they remained. Or so he thought.

  River’s mind was already elsewhere, building and layering the King’s aura in his thoughts, weaving gold and purple into the flow of his own essence.

  It wasn’t just a matter of channeling the right affinities; that would’ve been easy. The real challenge was erasing everything else. Earth, Water, Nature, every trace of his own power had to be smothered until nothing remained but the King.

  The rhythm of it pulled him under. Layer after layer, he buried himself in the work, until the ride was over before he’d noticed. The caravan stopped.

  He held it. Pressure built, a headache tightening behind his eyes. Pins and needles prickled, and black and white flecks stippled his vision.

  And then it slipped.

  The aura he’d been holding cracked loose, exploding outward in a sudden, regal wave. Gold and purple thundered through the courtyard, pressing on every soul nearby like a storm front.

  Dricus staggered, his knees buckling for a fraction of a second. His eyes darted wildly, hunting the source—then locked on River.

  Recognition lit his eyes. It might have felt like the King’s aura, but his face certainly wasn’t his.

  In the same breath, fire roared to life along his skin.

  River let the essence slip from his eyes; the shimmering haze peeled away and the world snapped into perfect focus. Movements slowed, every twitch and flare of light unfolding with clean clarity.

  Dricus lunged, fire blooming across his body like living armor. Heat licked the air, casting molten shadows across the yard. But he wasn’t the real problem. River’s mind was on the noise, the flashes; even at this early hour, one explosion too many would draw eyes to every window.

  Essence rolled from him in a silent wave, a dome of illusion dropping to swallow the yard in muted light.

  Dricus struck. River moved like water, slipping past each blow. The man’s punches felt heavy, as if mired in tar, and every lick of flame faltered as it neared River.

  Power wasn’t Dricus’s weakness. Control was.

  River reached with his will, threading into the man’s aura. He hadn’t used this technique since his school days; it was too impractical in a melee, too dangerous without absolute certainty of an opponent’s affinity.

  But here, he was certain. His mind pounced on the man’s essence—on the strings that controlled it.

  One clean cut, and Dricus’s fire guttered out.

  The man stood frozen, mouth ajar, knees trembling like a leaf in a storm. “Please… d-don’t hurt me.”

  For someone who had just tried to kill him, the words rang thin.

  River’s pulse slowed. He could end this here. But killing him… not today. And letting him go was worse.

  Calira’s voice slid into his mind, crisp and unbothered. “Tie him up. Stash him inside. Quick and clean.”

  River’s lips twitched, practical as always. At least it meant no more blood on his hands.

  Dropping the veil of illusion, he seized Dricus’s essence and folded it in on itself until the man sagged into stillness. A shimmer of glamour cloaked the limp body as River carried him toward the rose bushes along the manor’s side. Thorns snagged at his sleeves, their sweetness a sharp mockery of the moment. Rope followed—wrists, ankles—each knot fast and merciless.

  In moments Dricus was gone from sight, buried under petals and shadow, it left only the faint echo of his breathing.

  Calira squeezed his arm as they moved, a thin smile painted on her lips, fear hidden beneath. “We’ve got this.”

  Someone would find him. Perhaps a passerby had already seen the fight. Maybe the alarm would ring within the hour.

  It didn’t matter.

  They had what they’d come for.

  The pain of holding the aura steady gnawed at his essence; his hand trembled and his headache grew as he moved deeper into the dungeons.

  The plan would go forward, ready or not. Determination wasn’t a gift; it was a blade forged in fire. And right now it was the only weapon River had left—and he intended to use it until the hilt scorched his hand.