Chandler asks to read one more law before I head out to check the ward. I nod. Chandler steps forward, his young face pale, holding the yellowed scroll that smells faintly of salt and old dust. He clears his throat nervously, his hands trembling just a fraction as he unrolls the brittle edges over the stone floor. The council members lean in from the benches, their eyes darting frantically between the boy and me.
I keep my expression neutral, though my stomach twists with a sharp, unpleasant knot that has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with traps. Levin shifts to behind me as Chandler begins to speak, his light green hair tied back with a simple leather cord.
“The law of the blood bonder,” Chandler reads, his voice cracking slightly on the archaic phrasing before he steadies it. “Section nine dictates that no reigning sovereign shall ever harm, trade, or subjugate any member of the huntsman elf tribe. This absolute protection extends unconditionally to any individual who has been formally banished or severed from their northern community.”
A heavy, suffocating silence drops over the chamber like a wet blanket, instantly cutting off the distant sound of dripping water from the vaults. I feel my breath catch in my chest as the full implication of the ancient text slams into my mind with the force of a physical blow. I snap my gaze toward Levin, searching his calm, unreadable face for any sign of panic or deceit. He doesn't look away from me, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a slow, deliberate smile that has no humor in it whatsoever.
The assembly stirs as it realizes the elf in its midst is protected by its own foundational laws. Some of the elders near the back look relieved, having broken no elven oaths, while others look ready to bolt for the heavy iron doors. I look slowly at all of them, the velvet of my gown hissing against the stone as I step to face them.
“Is that so?” I ask, my voice barely carrying above a whisper, though every single person in the room hears it clearly. Levin lets out a soft, dry chuckle that breaks the suffocating tension, the sound light and entirely out of place in the grim hall. “It appears,” Levin says smoothly, his green eyes glinting with a strange, defiant amusement, “that your laws made an exception for outcasts long before you ever took the crown.”
Malakor finally loses his composure and stumbles backward against a pillar. “An elf,” the senior elder sputters, pointing a shaking finger directly at Levin's chest. “The court demands his immediate banishment from our domain before he brings the northern curse down upon us all!”
I turn my head toward Malakor, my lips parting in a cold, humorless smile that makes the elder snap his mouth shut instantly. “You will demand nothing in the sight of our own laws,” I tell him, the absolute authority in my tone leaving no room for argument or debate. I turn back to Levin, the warmth of his floral scent cutting right through the damp chill of the subterranean vault. “We are going to the northern border right now,” I say, ignoring the frantic protests starting to rise from the benches behind us. Levin gives me a slow, approving nod, his hand brushing lightly against my sleeve as we turn our backs on the council. Hunter falls in step behind us immediately, his heavy boots echoing like drumbeats as we march out toward the freezing dark of the tunnels. Behind us, guards take the council members away for questioning with the truth blood. Most are found guilty and put to death. Word spreads, and the kingdom prepares to vote for a new council; some candidates use the truth blood to win votes. Forty-five seats must be filled to complete the fifty-member council.
The wind howling through the northern border tunnel smells of old ice and ozone, sharp enough to freeze the moisture right inside my lungs. I pull my dark velvet cloak tighter around my shoulders, picking my way carefully over jagged chunks of fallen granite and gray frost. The wards here usually hum with a steady, low vibration that you can feel right in your teeth, but today there is only a dead, heavy silence. Several royal guards stand frozen near the perimeter barrier, their breath pluming white in the freezing air as they stare at the flickering energy lines.
Levin kneels down beside the outermost boundary stone, pressing his bare palm directly against the dead, grey earth where the magical shield has collapsed. A patch of frost immediately creeps up his pale wrist, but he doesn't flinch, keeping his fingers steady against the stone. I crouch down next to him, brushing a stray lock of raven hair away from my face while I study the ruined ley lines beneath the ice.
“The anchor point is completely dead,” I murmur, running my fingers over the powdery white residue left behind by whatever force drained the magic. “It's not just a drop in power, Levin. Something intentionally leeched every ounce of current out of these stones.”
“Not something,” Levin replies quietly, his gaze fixed on a series of deep, unnatural gouges carved into the ancient rock face. “Someone with a very specific knowledge of elven conduits and vampire blood chemistry.”
“Can you fix it?” I ask, looking over at him with a directness that leaves no room for hesitation or doubt. Levin stands up slowly, brushing the frost from his knees with a casual flick of his long fingers while a faint, lopsided smile touches his lips. “I cannot,” he says, pausing just long enough to watch the frustration flare up in my chest before continuing. “But you can.”