Chapter 47 Chapter 47
Nyxios moved through Limdrion like gathering thunder. He’d sent word to both embassies: Patrina was trapped in House Maelis, the claim stolen, every tradition broken. If the other elves wished to intervene, they’d better be fast.
Battle leather hugged his frame, armored at neck and wrist, dark as the spaces between stars. Thalana matched him stride for stride.
She’d tied her bobbed hair in place and coiled her whip along her hip. Thalana matched his mood, her hair short black bob haircut was slicked close to her skull,
Her jaw set, gaze straight ahead. They were a pair that drew eyes from the moment they stepped onto the canal’s edge.
Neither showed any hesitation, even as the guards on the parapet barked warnings down at House Maelis. Guards lined up behind the iron gates. They weren’t for show; short swords gleamed in the half-light. Nyxios didn’t waste time. With a voice that needed no magic to project, he called:
“Open the gates! I am Nyxios Dolos Keltos. I am here for what’s mine!”
The guards exchanged glances, some nervous, some eager. A click of boot heels on stone signaled a new arrival: Lady Valeska Maelis herself. She wore a robe of layered black and crimson, her silver-streaked hair ornate, as if this clash was just one more social engagement.
“Nyxios,” she said, her tone perfectly civil. “You come armed to our House? That’s a diplomatic insult.”
He ignored the barb. “Patrina was stolen. Return her, or I’ll tear this gate off its hinges.”
Valeska’s smile never reached her eyes. Fire bloomed between her fingers, catching the filigree of her rings. “You’re welcome to try, if you wish to lose another claim.”
Shadow curled: Lysandra, joined her matriarch, blades glinting at thigh and wrist. “Two against a House?” Lysandra asked, slipping into place at Valeska’s flank. “You always did like bad odds. Sorry Nyxios, I have orders.”
Thalana uncoiled her whip, the gesture crackling with promise. “Even odds would bore us.”
The guards stepped back, well-trained enough to avoid the crossfire of nobles. Valeska nodded once.
The fight exploded. Heat and shadow rippled outward, turning the patch of garden into a furnace. Valeska’s fire magic swept in an arc; Nyxios smothered it with darkness, threads of shadow clawing at the flames and dimming them to red cinders. The resulting shock wave cracked the flagstones under foot.
Lysandra vanished, then reappeared behind Thalana—daggers slicing for the space between tendon and bone. Thalana snapped her whip, catching the shadow spy on the forearm. Blood beaded instantly.
Lysandra pivoted, unfazed, and sent three knives in quick succession. Thalana dodged two easily; the third grazed her side. The whip lashed out, this time wrapping Lysandra’s calf and yanking her off-balance.
Meanwhile, Nyxios pressed Valeska, the two forces at war: her fire hot and hungry, his shadow cold and absolute. Their magics collided, then spun back in dazzling counterpoints, light against void. Each traded insults with their attacks.
“You’d risk a House war for a single human?” Valeska sneered, palms gathering twin orbs of fire.
“It’s not about one human,” he shot back, “It’s about the law. You broke it.”
She cast a spray of embers; he answered by flattening the light, a field of ink that consumed every spark.
“It is only a technicality. She wears Mavros’ collar now.” Lady Valeska Maelis taunted.
With a yell, he surged forward, shadows binding her wrists for a heartbeat, just long enough to close the distance.
She twisted, broke the spell with a hiss, and struck his arm with fire. Leather smoked but held; Nyxios grinned, the pain only fueling his ferocity. As the fight became harder, Nyxios’ smile grew.
On the periphery, Thalana wound her whip through Lysandra’s defenses, scoring more hits. Lysandra’s magic was trickier, built for stealth. Each time Thalana pinned her, Lysandra shifted positions, trying to flank the archivist and go for the kill. But Thalana anticipated, always one step ahead, her whip controlling the tempo.
A sudden shout cut through the action:
“For the love of all that’s sacred, stop! Let the human go, Valeska. Nobody needs to die tonight!”
It was Skotos, head and shoulders out his window, hair wild, his voice raw with sincerity. “Aunt please, she’s not worth tearing down two Houses!”
Neither side listened.
Valeska, distracted for half a second, left a gap. Nyxios took it, sweeping her legs out and pinning her with a net of shadow to the flagstones. Thalana circled, whip already bloodied, closing on Lysandra.
Lysandra, ever precise, flicked twin blades at Thalana’s exposed neck. Thalana ducked and answered with a snap of whip to the spy’s knuckles, sending the blades skittering away.
Nyxios seized the moment. “Return Patrina, or next time I come through the main hall.”
Valeska spat a curse, burning through the bindings with one final, desperate pulse of fire. The aftershock lit the courtyard in white heat, blinding everyone for an instant.
When the haze cleared, the standoff held: Nyxios and Thalana opposite Valeska, singed but standing, and Lysandra, bloodied, but unbowed.
From above, Skotos’s voice dropped to near-whisper: “Let her go. End this before the city turns on all of us.”
The echo lingered.
But this was not a night for peace. Only the hissing of magic, the scent of blood, and the certainty that neither side would yield unless forced.
For House Maelis, and for House Keltos, it would have to end in victory or nothing at all.