Chapter 48 Chapter 48
The window rattled in its frame, hinges whining as a concussive boom split the silence. A howl of pain or maybe rage, rose from somewhere below in the Maelis mansion, sharp enough to prickle the hairs at the nape of Patrina’s neck. She pressed closer to the tiny window, but the thick ironwork let in little more than the shimmer of blue light from the inner courtyard.
Above the din, Nyxios’s voice rang out. A snarl punctuated another crash. The walls shook under the barrage of spells. Fire magic and shadow were grinding up against each other, sparking below.
It was chaos outside the room. Heavy, armored footsteps rushed past, then doubled back. The tremor of bodies striking wood, the whiplash crack of a whip, and underneath it all, someone screamed.
She braced herself, one hand on the spindly desk for support, the other clutching the indigo collar still locked tight at her throat. Her mind cobbled together the possibilities: was this Nyxios, fighting through the guards for her? Would Thalana be at his side, or had they fallen prey to Maelis’s tricks?
Another spell detonated, rattling loose a rain of plaster from the ceiling. Patrina flinched, but then the hallway lit in a strobe of blue. Somewhere, something burned.
The handle to her door jerked open hard. She stepped back, but not far enough.
Mavros tore into the room with the force of a storm. His coat was dusted with ash, one sleeve frayed where fire had licked the hem. Blood striped his jaw and stained the collar of his shirt, but his eyes were clear: cold, starved, utterly focused.
She backed into the far wall, refusing to give him the satisfaction of cowering.
He seized her by the wrist. “You will come with me,” he said, every word a promise of consequence.
She held his gaze. “No.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, replaced instantly by irritation. He pressed two fingers to the rune stone: “Obey.”
The shock convulsed her body. Pain spiked down her arms and legs, jaw clenched against the reflexive scream. The collar's magic licked under her skin, more raw this time, dragging her halfway to her knees.
But she didn’t yield. “I will never be yours,” she spat, struggling upright.
Mavros’s teeth bared, relishing the contest. “That’s not how this works, little human. Limdrion rewards the strongest House. You belong to Maelis now.”
He increased the pressure, flooding her nerves with a cold so intense it left her shivering. Spots danced before her eyes. Still, she refused. “I hate you,” she hissed, hoping the collar would hear, that the magic would recognize the rejection burning in her gut.
She raised her eyes to his and yelled. “I hate you! I reject your claim, Mavros Vex Maelis! I love Nyxios, never you!”
Something snapped.
The collar suddenly released, crashing to the floor in a tangle of blue-black metal and indigo stone.
She stared at it, breathless, for an instant suspended between shock and wild, crackling hope.
Mavros hadn’t anticipated it either; his grip slackened.
She didn’t hesitate. Patrina snatched the collar from the floor and sprinted past him.
He reached for her, but she feinted away, using the momentum to shoulder open the door. The corridor outside was chaos. Two Maelis guards writhing from whip wounds, blood streaking the walls, the scent of burnt hair joining the sharp stink of spell discharge.
Patrina’s feet barely touched the stairs as she fled. She passed the last scrap of Maelis resistance. Lysandra stood clutching her limp arm. She mouthed “go” to Patricia who barreled for the main double doors. Behind her, Mavros bellowed orders, but his magic couldn’t touch her now.
She crashed into the grand foyer, where everything ground to a halt.
A pile of broken bodies at the foyer told the rest of the story. The Keltos side with Nyxios and Thalana leading, had battered open a path all the way to her door. She caught a glimpse of Thalana’s short bob of dark hair, bloodied and clinging to her cheek. Pieces of her outfit had scorched away, and she gripped her side with one arm. Nearby, Nyxios was on one knee, one leg already slicked with blood and a gash torn across his ribs. More guards poured in behind him, desperate to block his way.
Outside, the garden teemed with visitors and city guards. At the head of the column stood Aldergon, white hair catching the light, and Eliad, his hand already resting on the hilt of his bow. Behind them, Wynth stood with hands folded, features pinched with worry, and Quasros, Nyxios’s father, had his fist wrapped around a Maelis guard’s collar and was beating him.
Facing them, Lady Valeska Maelis was an icon of composure: robes immaculate, silver-streaked hair wound in perfect braids despite the battle. Her fingers played with a glint of fire at her side.
The standoff was in full bloom. The city guards edged their way forward, while Maelis’s elite braced themselves behind the iron gate.
Aldergon’s voice sliced through, patient but steely. “You have kidnapped a human scholar under my protection. House Maelis will answer for this.”
Eliad, every word coated in disdain, added, “She must be released. Limdrion’s laws are clear. This is an act of open aggression.”
Valeska turned her gaze on them, blinking once. “Your accusations are misplaced. The human companion currently wears my son’s collar. As per Limdrion tradition, she is legally Maelis property now.”
A current of unease traveled the ranks. Both sets of guards tensed, weapons glinting in the blue light. If anyone moved, the powder keg would explode.
Patrina stepped forward, her breath burning in her chest. She felt every eye lock onto her, tracking the bare skin at her neck, the collar in her hand.
She forced the words through raw vocal cords. “Wait!”
The world seemed to freeze. Every noble, every guard, every dark elf, even the outsiders who watched outside the gate, froze.
She raised the Maelis collar high.
Her voice rang out, echoing in the marble foyer. “I am not House Maelis’s property. I reject their claim!” She hurled the collar down, sending it skittering across the stone.
For one eternal second, nothing moved.
Nyxios, still kneeling, stared. The shock in his eyes radiated through his entire body. He braced himself against the polished banister, blood running freely down his arm, but never looked away from her. His eyes traced her body looking for injuries and landed on her wrist that held a red mark. His lips formed her name, but no sound escaped.
Before anyone else could react, Patrina ran right into Nyxios’s embrace.
He slumped, his strength nearly gone, but his arms locked around her like iron. She kissed him, ignoring the taste of blood on his lips.
Her hands glowed. Soft light warmed beneath her palm and spread across his wound. She focused, willed every memory of Aldergon’s teaching to surface, and poured all of it into the healing. Flesh knit; the worst of the pain vanished. Magic sparked along their skin, a visible shimmer dancing across Nyxios’s collarbone. The Limdrion citizens outside the gate whispered, “Healing magic!” as they watched with sharp eyes her healing Nyxios.
He gasped, the expression raw and undone. “You came back,” he managed, voice shaking.
Patrina nodded, words stuck in her throat. She stroked his cheek, wiping away the last of the blood.
A murmur went up from the crowd. Aldergon’s face fell, settling into a mask of disappointment. Eliad looked as though he’d swallowed glass.
Then, in the half-light of the garden, Patrina saw it: on Nyxios’s belt hung her own collar, the band of deep dark purple.
She reached for it, and the moment her fingers touched the band, a quiet reverence rippled through everyone present.
Still kneeling beside Nyxios, she lifted the collar and snapped it around her throat. The magic took instantly, no resistance at all. The color flared, shifting from velvet to the pure, vibrant pale hue of a Limdrion dawn. The stone glimmered like a star fallen to earth.
Eliad turned away, jaw clenched. “Disgraceful practice,” he murmured, too quiet for most to hear.
Aldergon shook his head.
The wounds on Nyxios were healed. Patrina helped him stand, then turned to where Thalana crouched, blood leaking from a deep gash at her hip.
Without waiting, Patrina knelt, hand radiating warmth over the injured flesh. Thalana hissed as the magic stitched the wound closed, then let out a shaky laugh.
“You’re okay. We thought we lost you to Mavros” Thalana said, voice hoarse. She wrapped Patrina in a hug that nearly cracked her ribs.
Patrina held on, heart thumping out the last of her panic. The garden beyond the doors was alive: Quasros looked on with satisfaction, Wynth covered her mouth in silent amazement, even Mavros who stood lurking at the edge seemed frozen, his pride broken.
Nyxios pulled Patrina to her feet, careful not to jar her.
She smiled, caught his cheek between her hands, and pressed a final kiss there. “Take me home, my love,” she whispered.
Nyxios nodded with gratitude and kissed her forehead. Together they moved through the watching crowd, away from the House of Maelis.