Chapter 4

The cobblestones of the Mage District chewed at the worn wheels of my trunk. Day Five. The Elven star burned fiercely on the back of my hand, ticking down the hours.

I stopped before a heavy oak door. I knocked twice.

Archmage Salas opened it. His gray beard was wild, his robes stained with ink and reagent burns. He looked at my battered trunk, then up at my face. He didn't ask questions. He simply stepped aside.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the dam broke. Three years of swallowed pride, the metallic smell of Aven’s blood, Kaelen’s sneering face—it all hit me at once. I dropped the leather handle. I leaned against the stone wall, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed. I let the raw, ugly grief tear through my throat.

Three years ago, Salas nearly shattered his communication crystal shouting at me. Money problems pass, Elara. Don't sign your soul away. An exclusive priestess is just a gilded prisoner. You will live at his mercy. I ignored him. I needed the Duke’s gold to keep Aven breathing.

Salas was right. The gilded cage rusted fast. Once Lyra arrived, my status plummeted. She shoved 'noble etiquette' manuals at me, mocking my 'muddy' Elven lineage. She forced me to wear restrictive corsets instead of casting robes. She systematically stripped my authority, and Kaelen let her do it. I became a glorified servant.

Salas tossed a rough linen towel onto my shoulder.

"I hope your hands haven't forgotten how to channel raw magic," he said, his voice gruff. "I need a field researcher for the border anomalies. Or are you too used to velvet cushions to sleep in a tent?"

I pulled the towel away from my face. A fierce, jagged laugh tore from my chest. I wiped my eyes, my blood running hot with defiance. "I'll sleep in the mud if it means I belong to myself again."

"Good." Salas turned his back and walked toward his laboratory. "Pack your gear. We leave at dawn. Science doesn't wait for heartbreak."

By Day Four, the capital was miles behind us.

The border was a harsh wasteland of cracked earth and volatile elemental storms. I knelt in the dirt, my knees bruised, my hands coated in thick grime. I channeled my magic into a fractured quartz node buried in the soil. It resisted, bucking against my control, then snapped into perfect alignment under the precise pressure of my Elven bloodline.

"Flawless stabilization," Captain Thorne grunted, marking his clipboard. "Thought the Duke's estate made you soft. Guess Salas taught you right."

Pride—sharp and entirely my own—flared in my chest. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, feeling a genuine smile touch my lips.

"Well, well. Look who found her true calling in the dirt."

I stiffened. I stood up and turned around.

Lyra stood at the edge of the excavation site. She wore a pristine white silk robe and carried a gold-plated magic scanner that she clearly didn't know how to use.

"Canceling the bond just to crawl back to the bottom," Lyra sneered. She stepped carefully over a puddle, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I suppose it suits your background. Trash always returns to its pile."

I grabbed a rag and aggressively wiped the mud from my hands. "Are you a ghost, Lyra? Why must you haunt everywhere I turn?"

Heavy boots crunched on the gravel behind her. Kaelen stepped into the sunlight. His dark armor gleamed.

Lyra’s sneer vanished instantly. She shrank back, her shoulders trembling, and forced bright, perfect tears into her eyes. "Kaelen, I was just saying hello. She attacked me immediately. She followed us all the way to the border just to humiliate me."

Kaelen stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. He glared at me. "Elara," he barked. "You stalk Lyra to a military zone? If you came to beg for your credentials back, you will apologize to her right now."

My blood boiled. The sheer arrogance radiating from him made my skin crawl. I didn't yell. I didn't defend myself. I turned my back on both of them.

"Back to work, everyone," I commanded my team. I picked up my calibration tools. "Ignore the irrelevant civilians."

The researchers exchanged nervous glances, but Thorne nodded, and they immediately returned to the nodes.

A young apprentice mage tugged at my sleeve. "Elara," he whispered, shooting a terrified look over my shoulder. "Who is that man? He looks furious."

I let the Elven resonance amplify my voice, carrying it clearly across the dead landscape. "My arrogant, disrespectful former bond-lord."

Kaelen’s face flushed a violent, dark red. "You insolent—" He strode forward, kicking a survey marker out of his path. "You abandon the estate. You stalk my ward. You abandon your own brother's post-mortem arrangements! If you don't pack your things and march back to the estate this second, I will cancel Aven's funeral! His body goes straight to the pit!"

The threat hit me. It didn't paralyze me with fear this time. It just made me sick to my stomach.

I dropped my tools. I marched right up to him, stopping inches from his chest. I looked him dead in the eye.

"Do it," I spat. "Cancel it. It's your favorite weapon. Pull the damn trigger, Kaelen."

Kaelen’s jaw locked. Panic and rage warred in his eyes. He snatched the communication crystal from his belt.

Lyra lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. Her face suddenly drained of all color. "Kaelen, wait. Don't. Let's just leave her—"

"No," Kaelen snapped, shoving her hand away. "She needs a brutal lesson in consequences."

He channeled his magic into the stone. "Adjutant," he commanded, his voice echoing over the silent excavation site. "Halt all preparations for Aven's funeral. Immediately."

Static hissed through the crystal. Then, the adjutant's confused, hesitant voice responded.

"My Lord? Young master Aven was cremated two days ago. You ordered the funeral canceled the day he died. Lady Lyra signed the requisition paperwork herself."