Jassyn traced the binding on the tome, studying the way the prince’s brows contorted as his eyes unfocused on the cold plate of food. “You have a theory,” he prompted, hoping to guide Vesryn out of the canyon of his thoughts.
The prince blinked out of his contemplation. “It’s more of a pattern I’ve noticed with the wraith,” he said, rolling up a slice of cured veal. “I doubt it’s related to the coercion on Thalaesyn, but it might be worth mentioning.” Vesryn dipped the meat into a saucer of ground mustard. He paused, seeming to realize that he was thieving the remnants of Jassyn’s dinner. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, shoving the veal into his mouth.
Jassyn flapped his hand, urging him to continue.
“I’ve realized that the wraith have only targeted the elven-blooded in recent decades. Those beasts haven’t attacked pure-bloods since the first few raids on the city—before we even had the elven-blooded population.” Vesryn tugged the plate closer to him, elbows mantling on the table like a hawk hovering over a hare. “That alone is probably why everyone in the capital has dismissed the threat.”
“But the wraith didn’t abduct anyone from campus like they do in Kyansari,” Jassyn brought up. “They killed us indiscriminately.” Skin pebbling, he stopped himself from feeling the memory of the warrior’s gauntlet crushing his throat. Except I was spared. “Why would they drag off citizens from the capital but not here?”
“I don’t have an answer for that, but it doesn’t sit well with me.” Vesryn moved on to a crusty edge of bread, stacking slices of meat on the flat surface. “The assault on Centarya only strengthens our theory that there are two distinct groups of wraith. The repetitive raids on the capital and the sporadic attacks in human realms have nothing in common with the intelligent wraith who came here—or those organized wraith who nearly killed me in the wilds.” As if reminded of that confrontation, the prince rubbed the scars on the center of his chest.
“The disparities might point toward different levels of thinking—or maybe motivation.” A disquieting feeling had Jassyn suddenly restless. He rose, shelving the tomes behind him in one of his bookcases. “If the wraith are after the elven-blooded specifically, it logically makes sense for them to target Centarya.”
The prince’s eyes followed him, flashing with residual anger. “That Essence wielder working with the wraith has obviously been on campus before since they opened portals for the army.” Vesryn stood, finished with scarfing down the rest of the meal. “I can only assume they’re someone disgruntled from the capital and star-bent on purging the elven-blooded.” He crossed his arms. “Even after a century, there are still those vocally opposed to mixing elf and human blood.”
Jassyn averted his guilty gaze. I’ll have to tell Vesryn about that encounter I had with the elven wraith so he’s not scouring the capital for someone to blame. But the knowledge of that warrior using Essence wouldn’t change anything beyond the prince’s theories, as the campus was already preparing for a potential return. But the coercion on that wraith might connect all of our questions.
Vesryn’s nomadic attention wandering around his sitting room towed Jassyn from drifting into a sea of thoughts. “Let’s get this over with,” Jassyn said, seizing the prince’s elbow before his cousin could fiddle with his books. “And let me do the talking. Magister Thalaesyn doesn’t know I’ve been assessing him and I’d rather be the one to tell him.” He steered the prince out of his chambers before Vesryn shook him off in the hallway.
“How familiar are you with coercion?” Jassyn asked while they descended the stairs, leading the way to the Infirmary.
The prince shrugged, picking something unsavory out of his teeth. “I know my sire is the only one strong enough to wield it. I haven’t tried to replicate that magic and wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Skimming his hand over the cool marble railing of the staircase, Jassyn mentally organized his thoughts to settle the worry weighing on his shoulders. “Do you think the king would know if we manipulated his power?”
“You described the coercion like a shield made of telepathy and I’m assuming my sire tied off the magic.” Vesryn nodded to a magus who held an entrance door open for them. “I know his power is tremendous, but I can’t imagine he can perceive every elf he’s placed under compulsion.”
At some point, Jassyn wanted to ask if the prince found anything peculiar with the king’s increasing strength in Essence—something that shouldn’t be possible. Regardless how expansive a Well to draw from was, strength was determined by the number of abilities. One thing at a time.
Entering the magus’ courtyard, both rising moons hung as dim crescents amid the scattering of stars. A warbling of birds roosting in the willows ushered them along the cobbled walkway. The tranquil melody of their evening songs warred with Jassyn’s nervousness for the coming conversation with his mentor.
Vesryn suddenly skidded to a halt, his boots scuffing over the pathway’s stones. His face went slack, horror widening his eyes. “What if I’m compelled?” The prince touched his head, as if feeling for the strands of magic. “Stars, do you think there’s coercion on my mind and I don’t know it?”
“There’s not.” Jassyn strode ahead, anticipating what his mentor’s reaction would be with both him and Vesryn showing up unannounced. “At least there wasn’t a little over a week ago.”
The prince’s fingers started twitching as he worked himself up. “How can you be—”
“I’ve already checked.” Jassyn waved for Vesryn to follow.
His attention hooked on a patrol of Kyansari’s soldiers, white plated armor clinking. In his sweep of the warriors, Jassyn registered the blank look in their faces that Vesryn had mentioned. They didn’t even acknowledge or salute the prince.
Holding his breath, Jassyn couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling stirring in his gut while they passed. He’d have to relay this to Nelya—at the prince’s request, they’d begun organizing a ring of trusted magus to track anything unusual.
“What do you mean you’ve ‘already checked?’” Vesryn asked, ignoring the squadron and lengthening his stride to return to Jassyn’s side.
“I assessed you after that excitement in your bathing chambers.” Rounding the empty Rending Field, a soft breeze whispered through the Infirmary’s line of lavender hedges. “If you don’t remember, it’s probably because you were busy going stupid staring at Serenna.”
“I was impaled. Multiple times,” Vesryn bristled, shooting him a scowl. “And don’t you find that a little invasive?” Igniting his power, the prince blasted the Infirmary doors with a pulse of force rather than bothering to push on the handle.
“Like you’re someone who has any right to speak about personal space,” Jassyn hissed, lowering his voice so as to not to disturb the few menders closing the healing wing for the evening.
Winding through the Infirmary’s alcoves, Jassyn skated in front of the prince when they arrived at the magister’s office. He intended to knock on Thalaesyn’s door to give his mentor some type of warning, but Vesryn shouldered past him, charging through.
The room revealed its chaotic state—scattered research amid a jungle of clutter. Jassyn’s attention darted toward his cousin. Vesryn isn’t going to know what to rummage through first with all the debris in here.
Surprisingly, the prince remained focused on Thalaesyn, sitting behind his desk. Vesryn plowed around precarious stacks of books on the verge of teetering over, waded over the crumpled scrolls bunched into waves of paper on the floor, and avoided an overflowing wastebasket ringed by a puddle of ink stained into the tile.
The magister rose and saluted the prince with a hand over his heart. Out of his typical robes, his loose tunic hung over a pair of soft breeches. Jassyn assumed their arrival had disrupted his evening routine. His attention drifted to the sofa, unable to comprehend why Thalaesyn preferred to spend his nights on the tattered couch rather than in the Spire’s comfortable apartments.
Thalaesyn’s gray eyes sharpened on them. “Prince Vesryn.”
Jassyn noted his mentor’s bloodshot gaze as he closed the door, hesitantly joining his cousin. He began clearing off the tomes and papers drowning the chairs across from the magister’s desk.
“We have some questions,” Vesryn said. Flicking a hand, a wave of Essence shimmered, unfolding into a portal in the only empty space.
“We can have our discussion here,” Jassyn protested, stacking the volumes on the floor. Wincing at his mentor, he wanted to avoid giving the impression that this was an interrogation. He suspected going to Vesryn’s office might put Thalaesyn on the defensive before they had a chance to gather any information.
“I’m not risking any of the menders walking in.” Vesryn slanted his head to the rift, commanding the magister to go through.
Igniting his magic, Jassyn tossed a hand toward the exit, hastily shielding the door. “Now we have privacy.”
Thalaesyn’s eyes volleyed between them before he drew himself up, tucking a strand of golden hair behind a pointed ear. Vesryn blew out a breath before scruffing Thalaesyn by the back of his shirt, steering him through the portal.
Jassyn blinked as they disappeared. Did he seriously abduct the magister?
CHAPTER 16
JASSYN
