Like fire we burn

Chapter twenty six

There were still dancers and music in the early hours of morn, and it looked like it would continue long after the sun had crested. Tyrin didn't care for the nectar or the violins – he was more interested in where Shadow had gone and why.

He waited until Kallos and Cato had made their way into the woods before heading to his cabin. Valentina had vanished, and he had a strong suspicion he knew the cause for her disappearance.

Not once in all his years of knowing Kallos had the male been so ruffled as when meeting the Shadow. She'd been resplendent in the flowing gown and glittering mask, but it was her scent that caught their attention – like desert and ozone and forest. Like power. He'd known her mortal days were numbered – she'd loose tendrils of magic without realising it; her scent stronger, more violent. Soon, it would be almost impossible to hide the magic in her veins. He would know. Everything about her warned of something other. It wouldn't be long before others came sniffing.

Tyrin was painfully aware of the open gates and lack of sentries as he passed by the illuminated Keep. If ever there was a night to be attacked, it would be tonight. Wind Walkers were drunk on nectar and the gates to the Keep wide open. Nevertheless, Tyrin walked on without a word to the small wooden cabin he'd called his these past years.

A sliver of golden light shone from the crack beneath his door. His nostrils flared with Valentina's scent, but Shadow's near overpowered it. Sure enough, as he nudged open the door, he found her curled up on the bed. As if it were hers. It didn't bother him as much as it should have. Her scarlet wings were tucked around her, not a feather of black or gold to be seen.

How? How could someone do that to a child? Anger rippled through him. She must have been so young –

Tyrin quietly kicked off his boots and padded to the desk to finish off the stack of looming reports. The mere thought of paperwork was enough to have a headache pulsing at his temple. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. No, being an Elite was definitely not all it was cracked up to be. He didn't notice the letter until he narrowly avoided knocking over the inkwell. It bore a seal he knew better than his family crest.
Tyrin swore, scanning, scanning –
– there was no reply. What have you done, Shadow?  
Shadow of the East.
We have hereby accepted you into the ranks of the Elites. This honour is bestowed on few, and we trust that you will not treat this lightly. Your first orders have been given and we await only your enclosed information in order to recognise you officially and fully as an Elite.

A list of personal information needed followed the brief introduction. Tyrin felt sick. He couldn't even guess at her reply. Would she shun the chains of Elitehood, or find a way to use the position and title to her advantage?

It would mean she'd chosen to fight for Ilystari, but not necessarily the Royals. The title wielded power, but how many of the Elites would bristle at having her join their ranks? He hadn't an idea where she stood, or what her motives were, and it terrified him. Would she fight for his Realm, or would she shun their petty laws and rulers? As a friend, she'd be invaluable, but as an enemy...

Tyrin fought a shudder. He'd rarely seen a rage akin to hers in someone so young – black and festering and wild. The destruction she could wreak if she did not check herself was almost limitless.

He glanced at Shadow. Her breathing remained deep and even. She'd turned her face into the blankets, but the half he could see was smooth – soft. Impenetrable. In sleep, she looked her age; let the mask slip. She did not look like a killer, just a girl trying to survive.

The Royals had left no room to reject their offer, but if anyone would have the gall to try, it would be Shadow. She hated being at the mercy of another, but she also had plans herself. Becoming an Elite would bring her closer to the Royals. The information at her fingertips then could ruin them all.

Tyrin hadn't even considered rejecting his letter when the offer came. But he prayed to the gods he didn't believe in that she saw how dull his life was now. It was order after order – sometimes the waiting period between stretched months. It was exhausting having to move at their whim, even worse to kill when he was not privy to the crime — if any — that had been committed. He'd been glad the Royals  offered him a purpose after his loss, glad to have somewhere to direct his rage and grief. But now –

Now everything had changed, and Tyrin didn't know what he wanted.

Once an Elite, always an Elite. He could have no room for regret. Oh, but it crawled up on him in the lonely hours before dawn, that desire to leave and never return. To leave them to fight their own damn war.

If Shadow joined, she would be the thirteenth Elite. The first in almost seven centuries. He didn't want to contemplate why.