The prince looped back in front of him. “Can you believe that even after the attack, the council is still insisting on holding that ridiculous tournament?”
Jassyn swayed, the question dragging him out of his thoughts. The burning in his legs rushed back to the forefront of his awareness. Stumbling, he caught himself before toppling over, abandoning the balancing stance by planting both feet on the ground. Vesryn didn’t correct him, seeming too absorbed as he tilted his head, waiting for Jassyn’s reply.
“Of course they are,” Jassyn scoffed, yanking in air to even out his breathing. It was no surprise that the realm still expected the recruits to bloody each other for the capital’s entertainment. “Like that’s where our priorities should be.”
“I was the only vote against the competition—it was the majority of the council’s idea, not mine,” Vesryn said almost defensively, kicking at a clump of sand. “You mentioned the magus…respected me.” The prince considered him while fiddling with a frayed thread on his armor’s dragon sigil. “Where do you think their loyalties lie?”
Jassyn’s response was automatic, a conditioned response for preservation. “To the council.” He narrowed his eyes on the prince, suddenly unsure of what Vesryn wanted from him. “What other choice is there?”
Vesryn seemingly agreed with a grunt but didn’t offer any further words. Crossing his arms, the prince drummed his fingers. His attention flicked to one of Jassyn’s drifting globes, as if recalling their training.
A pressure vibrated through the ring as Vesryn’s magic ignited. Shadows rose around the prince like fog. He sliced through a few of Jassyn’s shining orbs with a tendril of rending, extinguishing their light.
Jassyn wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. Drawing in a steadying breath, he flexed his hands, concentrating on keeping the illumination out of the prince’s reach.
Feet stirring sand, Vesryn started pacing as his shadows spiraled around them. “Do you think the magus would stand with me if the council attempted to put someone else in command?”
Jassyn’s brows shot up as he studied the prince, who’d apparently overlooked the fact that his position in the realm was second only to the king. “Why would they appoint anyone else? Who would even fill the role?” His quivering legs threatened to collapse at his conclusion, dread pitching his tone higher. “Elashor?”
Vesryn didn’t answer, the silence expanding like his cloud of magic. He formed a fist, punching out a wave of darkness, engulfing one of Jassyn’s spinning lights.
Unease prickled Jassyn’s scalp. “You don’t think it’ll come to bloodshed between us and the capital, do you?”
Vesryn’s gaze unfocused toward the mountains in Centarya’s direction. “I won’t let that happen.”
An unexpected blade of fear punctured Jassyn’s chest, stealing his breath as he imagined someone aside from the prince in command. He inhaled sharply at the possibility of the council having direct control over Centarya. Vesryn had been the only pure-blood and the only member of the higher political circles to lift a finger during the attack.
He’s different from the rest of them. The prince had taken an interest in the welfare of the elven-blooded and perhaps that was in part to the bond that had formed between him and Serenna. Rebalancing himself, Jassyn buried his toes in the sand. Scorching stars, it’s not even a decision. I’d rather stand with Vesryn if it comes to that.
Jassyn’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he swallowed. Straightening, he cleared his throat. “I can gather an idea of where the magus’ loyalties would lie. If given a choice, I can’t imagine it’s with the council.” Directing his illumination, Jassyn’s remaining spheres of light dodged the prince’s pursuing magic. “I’ve kept to the fringes of the magus community though because of…” He faltered when Vesryn’s eyes flicked to his forehead, where the Vallende’s had tattooed their sigil, displaying Jassyn’s servitude to their family before he’d had it erased. The prince averted his gaze and Jassyn didn’t feel the need to explain further. Instead he asked, “Where is this coming from?”
Vesryn studied his palm as shadows twined across his fingertips. “Something happened in the dungeons with our wraith prisoners.” A glower flashed across his face. “Elashor was there.”
Jassyn tensed at the admission. The prince normally annihilated the creatures without taking prisoners and no one had questioned them before. Everyone believed they were mindless beasts, so what was the point?
“I thought the capital couldn’t care less about what you do with the wraith,” Jassyn said. He flared new droplets of light to replace the magic Vesryn had extinguished, scattering the illumination around the yard like a burst of rain.
“Exactly.” Vesryn punctuated the word by a jabbing finger. “Elashor was too interested in the interrogation for my liking. The council has never been involved before—that’s why I’m concerned now.” The prince frowned off into the distance. The pressure of his magic coalesced, the whirlwind of shadows twisting around the training ring. “I told Elashor to leave. I commanded his soldiers to leave, but they…” Vesryn blew a breath out of his nose. “They disregarded my orders when they should’ve complied, no questions asked.”
Despite the warm sun, Jassyn shivered, alarm binding his stomach into a knot. “The differences between the organized attack on campus and the mindless wraith you hunt across the realms probably sparked the council’s interest.”
But Elashor would go unchecked if he acquired more power, bypassing the prince and taking a step closer to the king. If Vesryn was removed, Centarya would be at the general’s mercy. Lungs seized by fear, Jassyn’s breath came faster, heartbeat rampant. Vesryn’s protection won’t mean anything if the council strips him of command. If Elashor had his way, Jassyn would undoubtedly be sent back to Farine, forced to participate in the twisted ways she found pleasure.
In a battle for breath, Jassyn wrestled every thought away from that likely, horrifying reality. He yanked his awareness back to the coarse sand embracing his feet. Clutching his magic like a lifeline, he channeled his focus on the charge of power rushing through him, spinning the globes of illumination faster around them.
Surfacing from the tide of panic, Jassyn returned to the prince’s concerns, voicing his assumptions before his mind caught up. “I’m sure Elashor didn’t want you alone with the prisoners and gathering answers without his knowledge.”
The prince clenched his jaw, fingers twitching. “The general’s behavior in the dungeons was a blatant disregard for my authority.” A pulse of rending engulfed a smattering of Jassyn’s lights that didn’t scurry out of reach fast enough. “And Kyansari’s soldiers didn’t acknowledge my presence. Their eyes were…” Vesryn shook his head. “I don’t know. Dull. Not bloodshot like yours were from Stardust. Just…blank.”
“Do you think they’ve been compelled?” Jassyn blurted, his tongue recklessly loosened.
Vesryn frowned, taken aback. “My sire only used that magic on those in the delegations sent to the mortal realms, but that practice shouldn’t be occurring anymore since our world is open to the humans.”
As far as we know, the king is the only one with the strength to fabricate compulsion. But the only flimsy proof Jassyn had of the king’s direct involvement was a snarl from an elven wraith that could’ve been interpreted as anything when he asked if the monarch was the one who’d compelled him.
Flaring a burst of force at a weapons rack positioned on the perimeter of the yard, Vesryn yanked two staffs toward him. He extended both palms, catching one in each. “Why would you think there’s compulsion on the soldiers?” he prompted, tossing Jassyn a sparring stick.
Somehow, Jassyn caught the staff, even though his entire body felt ready to fray like Vesryn’s boots. Following the prince’s lead, he rallied his strength and released his magic. Running his fingers along the smooth grains, Jassyn clutched the middle, the width nearly the size of his wrist.
“I think I’ve detected coercion on campus.” Unwilling to divulge his encounter with the wraith, Jassyn kept to himself that he’d sensed similar telepathic magic on the warrior’s mind.
Silence thickened between them, broken by a dracovae’s piercing screech in the distance. Vesryn tilted his head, silver hair mirroring the sunlight. “What do you mean?”
Uncertainty tangled in Jassyn’s chest, coiling into a knot of hesitation. Unsure how far he could trust the prince, Jassyn held his tongue. He hadn’t disclosed his discovery of the telepathic web on Magister Thalaesyn to anyone. Not even his peer Nelya, who he’d worked closely with for decades. For weeks, he’d secretly inspected the compulsive magic snared across his mentor’s mind. But he needed to trust someone eventually and Vesryn was starting to look like the only option.
Squaring his stance, Jassyn moored his feet in the sand and ventured to ask, “Would there be any motive for the king to compel Magister Thalaesyn?”
As soon as the words rushed out of his mouth, Jassyn’s fingers tensed on the weapon. The prince went still. His question bordered on an accusation. Vesryn didn’t exactly have a close affiliation with his sire, but that didn’t mean he had any reason to share in Jassyn’s suspicions.
With no warning, the prince rushed him. Jassyn locked his knees, bracing for impact. Recalling training from a time in his youth that seemed more like a dream rather than a memory, Jassyn pivoted on the ball of his foot. Whipping the staff, he met the prince in a concussive clunk of wood. The jolt rattled his elbows, shuddered through his arms, and vibrated straight to his teeth.
“I can’t think of any reason why Thalaesyn would be compelled,” Vesryn said, retreating a step and giving Jassyn an approving nod. “How did you find out?”
“I found him incapacitated one afternoon.” Relaxing his shoulders, Jassyn wiped his sweaty palms against his leathers. “I assessed him—intending to mend him—and perceived a magic that I assumed was coercion.”
Feet shuffling, Jassyn readjusted his grip on the sparring staff, orbiting the prince as Vesryn looped around him. “That’s where I discovered the Stardust,” Jassyn admitted, unintentionally revealing Thalaesyn’s vices with his loose tongue.
Vesryn pursed his lips. “I’ve always had a blind spot with Thalaesyn, but considering recent events, that’ll need to change.” The prince whirled his staff low, like he aimed to sweep Jassyn off his feet.
Leaping back, the deep sand slowed Jassyn’s movement. “Blind spot?” he asked, his voice strained from the effort. Anticipating another hit, Jassyn clenched his teeth before he slapped Vesryn’s staff in a deflecting blow. “Not meddling in someone else’s business doesn’t sound like you at all.” He spun, using his momentum to drive the prince’s weapon away.
Jassyn was aware of the discord between the magister and the king, coinciding around the appearance of the wraith. King Galaeryn had banished Thalaesyn to Centarya after the elves had completed the academy’s construction. Perhaps Vesryn knew more of the strife between them.
“Do you have a history with the magister?” Jassyn gritted out, twisting his wrists to meet Vesryn’s staff in a crash that jolted up his arms. Jassyn didn’t bother attempting an offensive move. It was all he could do to parry every thrust his cousin sent whistling in his direction.
Vesryn denied him any reprieve. “Thalaesyn and my mother…worked closely together when the infertility crisis began,” he said, lunging again.
The prince’s staff cleaved the air—this time nearly clipping Jassyn’s head. Rearing back, Jassyn reeled to halt the slash with a sloppy counter.
“Thalaesyn hasn’t allowed Stardust to interfere with his duties to any notable degree before,” Vesryn said as their staffs met three times in a series of wooden clacks. “I should’ve anticipated his habits affecting someone else.” The prince frowned at his staff before adjusting his feet under his shoulders. He twirled the weapon, sending it blurring in front of him like a windmill. “After you’re feeling more like yourself, you’ll show me this coercion. In the meantime, I’ll figure out how to address the magister’s recreation.”
Jassyn faltered, regretting that he’d exposed the start of his addiction. He never intended to cause trouble for his mentor. But Vesryn setting his jaw had him reconsidering any protest.
“I suppose I can show you the magic on Thalaesyn’s mind—if he agrees.” Jassyn yanked in breaths before Vesryn’s next assault, his thoughts wheeling back to their previous conversation. “What did you find out from the wraith?”
“Nothing,” Vesryn said, dashing forward. Their staffs collided in a crash of wood. Once. Twice. Three times, a relentless bombardment of blows. Vesryn spun. Jassyn leaped away as the butt end of the prince’s weapon nearly punched him in the gut. “I killed them.”
Jassyn fumbled, snatching the staff before it clattered to the ground. “What?”
