The branch Skyling stood on was still trembling faintly from Vaeryn's departure.She stared at the place where he had vanished — not in awe, but in sharp calculation.Her master's scent was here. Eliakim.
And now she knew what Vaeryn had been circling for: not her, not even Ezra.It was Eliakim's demon blood.
In the cell, Eliakim had not moved from the slit window. His mind was already rearranging the combat web, drawing a line from Vaeryn's position on the outer edge straight toward the center — toward himself.
That changed everything.
If Vaeryn wanted his blood, it wasn't for assassination. Demon blood was currency to some, a weapon to others. In the wrong hands, it could bind — or unbind — forces best left buried.
"We're not walking out of here with half-truths," he said suddenly, turning to the others.
Gideon blinked. "What?"
"I need every secret you've been keeping," Eliakim said, voice low but edged. "Every skill, every weapon, every flaw. I can't build a plan with shadows in my own ranks."
The silence in the cell was heavy. Then, slowly, Gideon stepped forward.
"My tribe," Gideon began, "we can… change."
Eliakim's brow lifted.
"Lycan form," Gideon said. "Once per night, no more than ten minutes. It burns through strength like wildfire, and afterward…" He made a small, wry motion with his hand. "…I'm half-dead until sunrise."
Eliakim's mind already ran scenarios — ten minutes of unleashed ferocity could shatter choke points or hold a flank long enough to reposition.
"And my weapon," Gideon continued, eyes narrowing. "Twin axe fused with kaelvryn."
That got Caleb's head up. "Kaelvryn? That's—"
"In the castle's treasury," Gideon cut in. "Confiscated. But if we can get it…" He shrugged. "…you'll see."
Caleb sighed, then reached into the folds of his sleeve, drawing out a small pendant of green-veined wood.
"My heirloom," he said. "Verdant Whisper. Made by my people — the Forest-Watching Tribe — before the First Sundering."
He described the weapon:
The wood gleamed with a warm, golden-brown hue, carved with flowing patterns that seemed to move in the firelight. Tiny veins of green shimmered faintly along the curves, like sap flowing just beneath the surface. The grip was wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth by generations of use.
"It's more than a blade," Caleb said. "It amplifies my druid magic — but my magic's not what it once was. Now I can call vines, shape them into bindings or shields, but only a few times before the strength runs dry."
Eliakim nodded. "Limited resources. We'll work around it."
That left Malachi.
He had been sitting against the far wall, silent, until now. He leaned forward, eyes steady.
"My reason's not a weapon," he said. "It's a person."
Eliakim watched him carefully.
"Princess Liora Veyrn," Malachi said. "The Queen's exiled daughter. She's my friend."
Caleb's eyes widened. "You know her?"
"I owe her my life," Malachi replied simply. "When I heard she was in Vaeryn's custody, I didn't think. I joined you because… finding her matters more than whether I survive."
Eliakim studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. "We'll circle back to that. For now, everyone remember — Vaeryn's moving pieces for his own board. And that board's center is my blood. Which means if he's playing to win, he'll force me into a position where giving it is the only move left."
Outside, far above the prison walls, Skyling took wing. She would not be bait, and she would not break. Her master was here, and her path was to him — even if it meant crossing Vaeryn's shadows again.