CHAPTER 10

The mage tower loomed above the palace like a stone spine. Even in daylight, it carried an air of old secrets. Elowen followed Corvin through the archway and up the narrow stairs that spiraled toward Theon’s work chambers.

“Do I have to attend this?” Elowen asked.

“You do,” Corvin replied. “You do not leave my sight until we settle what happened last night.”

Elowen gave him a sideways glance. “You sound possessive.”

Corvin did not look at him. “I sound practical.”

They climbed several more steps in silence. The air grew warmer as they neared the upper floors. Elowen could smell herbs burning somewhere above. The scent mingled with candle wax and something sharper, like metal reacting to heat.

When they reached the landing, Theon stood waiting near a tall window that filled the tower with pale afternoon light. Shelves crowded the walls, packed with scrolls, vials, stone fragments, and tools Elowen did not recognize.

“The king tells me you found traces of an old spellwork,” Theon said.

“I followed a scent,” Elowen replied. “Nothing more.”

“Often it takes only one detail to pull the rest free.”

Theon moved toward the central table and gestured for Elowen to come closer. Corvin remained near the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with the quiet focus of a man who did not appreciate surprises.

“I want to understand what kind of energy touched the assassin,” Theon said. “For that, I need to study the magic that surrounds you.”

Elowen stiffened. “You are not placing any spells on me.”

“I will not,” Theon said. “I intend only to observe. Magic reacts to magic. You carry a type of power unfamiliar to this palace. If I can see how yours behaves, it may reveal how the puppet spell moved through the assassin.”

Elowen looked at Corvin. “You are comfortable with him examining me?”

Corvin’s gaze held steady. “If Theon wished to harm you, he would have done so the night you arrived.”

“Comforting,” Elowen muttered.

Theon lifted his hands slowly. “May I begin?”

Elowen hesitated, then stepped forward. “Fine.”

Theon closed his eyes and lifted both palms toward Elowen without touching him. The air shifted. A faint hum filled the space, as if something invisible stirred to life.

Elowen felt a pull along his spine, a delicate tug that ran the length of his bones. His fox instincts flared. His ears rang briefly. For a moment he fought the urge to shift.

Corvin noticed the tension instantly. “If he tries anything, I will stop him.”

Elowen did not break eye contact with Theon. “If he tries anything, I will stop him myself.”

Theon’s lips twitched faintly. “Strength is not the same as clarity.”

He opened his eyes.

Pale light shimmered around Elowen, faint at first, then brighter. It flickered like foxfire, soft gold with hints of white. Theon studied it carefully.

“This is fascinating,” he murmured. “Shifter magic normally circles the body in motion. Yours holds its form even when you stand still.”

“Is that unusual?” Corvin asked.

“Yes,” Theon said. “Most shifters carry magic that lives in their bones. It gathers when they prepare to change. Elowen’s is awake constantly. It moves as if expecting danger.”

Elowen gave a quiet snort. “I live in a palace full of men who want me dead. It makes sense.”

“True,” Theon said. “But this is more complicated than instinct.”

The mage moved around him, reading the air.

“There is a second layer here,” Theon said softly. “Something tied to your lineage.”

Elowen stiffened. “My lineage is not your concern.”

Theon’s eyes sharpened. “You have a mark hidden beneath your skin. A binding of some kind.”

Corvin stepped forward. “Explain.”

Elowen’s heartbeat quickened. Every muscle tightened. “Do not touch me.”

Theon lifted his hands in surrender. “I am not touching. I am observing. There is a pattern beneath your magic. It is old. Ancient, even. I have seen carvings of something similar in the ruins east of the border.”

Elowen felt his throat tighten. “You do not know what you are talking about.”

Theon met his gaze calmly. “Then tell me.”

Elowen said nothing.

Corvin moved closer. “What is he referring to?”

Elowen’s jaw clenched. “Nothing important.”

Theon frowned. “It is very important. Your magic behaves as if shaped by something external. It is not a cage exactly, but a binding that keeps certain aspects controlled.”

Corvin’s voice lowered. “A seal.”

Elowen shot him a sharp look.

Corvin’s expression did not change. “My uncle once fought a shifter with a seal burned into his shoulder. It controlled his changes and forced obedience when activated.”

“This is not that,” Elowen snapped.

“Then what is it?” Corvin asked.

Elowen inhaled slowly. “It is a heritage mark. Nothing more.”

“Heritage of what?” Theon pressed.

Elowen stepped back until his shoulders hit the edge of the table. “This is enough.”

Theon lowered his hands. The shimmering light around Elowen faded gently before vanishing completely.

“I am not trying to expose secrets,” Theon said quietly. “But I need to understand what interacts with your power if I am to understand the spell that controlled the assassin.”

Elowen felt the edges of fear press against his ribs. He hated that feeling. He had not felt it in years.

“Whoever cast that spell did not share my lineage,” Elowen said. “That is all you need to know.”

Theon nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Corvin watched Elowen carefully. “Your people hide more than names.”

Elowen crossed his arms. “Your people hide their daggers. We all keep something.”

Corvin held his gaze for a long moment. His expression remained hard, but there was something else beneath it. Some questions he had not yet spoken.

Theon stepped away from them and moved toward a shelf. “There is something else I must show you,” he said.

He retrieved a small wooden box and carried it to the central table. He opened it and revealed a glass sphere no larger than a walnut. Inside the sphere swirled a faint golden fog.

Elowen frowned. “What is that?”

“A memory trace,” Theon said. “Some mages use it to capture leftover impressions after a spell collapses.”

Corvin stepped closer. “Leftover from what?”

“The assassin,” Theon replied. “He died with a spark of the controlling spell still active. I captured the remaining echo.”

Elowen leaned in, curious despite himself. “What does it show?”

“I do not know yet,” Theon admitted. “But the trace reacted strongly to the magic around you.”

Elowen’s pulse quickened. “Meaning?”

“Meaning it recognized something.” Theon lifted the sphere. “If I place this near your magic again, it may reveal a fragment of what controlled the assassin.”

Elowen straightened. “No.”

Corvin turned sharply. “Why not?”

“It could expose more than you want to see,” Elowen said.

Corvin stepped forward until they stood only a breath apart. “I am willing to see it.”

Elowen held his gaze. “Even if it shows something you cannot unsee?”

“Yes.”

A quiet fell over the tower.

Theon looked between them, understanding the tension but choosing not to comment.

“Elowen,” Corvin said softly, “if your past ties into last night’s attack, I need to know.”

“It does not.”

“Then prove it.”

Elowen’s breath caught. He had walked into this palace to deceive. Now he stood on the edge of being forced to reveal more than he intended.

The sphere pulsed faintly in Theon’s hands.

Elowen looked at the glass, then at Corvin. “Fine, do it.”

Theon lifted the sphere. “Hold still.”

Elowen clenched his fists and allowed his magic to stir. A gentle shimmer of foxfire rose beneath his skin. The sphere responded instantly.

Golden fog swirled violently inside the glass. A pulse of light flared outward as if struck by a shockwave.

A sound echoed through the tower, thin and sharp, almost like a cry.

Then, the fog inside the sphere condensed into a tiny image.

It was a hand unlike any human's, made up of clawed fingers with pale skin marked with a jagged symbol.

Theon inhaled sharply. “This is not shifter magic.”

Corvin leaned closer. “What is that?”

“A curse mark,” Theon said. “A symbol used by an old sect that vanished centuries ago. I have read only fragments about them. They specialized in molding souls.”

Elowen felt ice crawl down his spine. He knew that mark. He had seen it carved into an abandoned shrine deep in the eastern wildlands.

Corvin noticed the reaction. “You recognize it.”

Elowen stepped back. “I have seen it before. Nothing more.”

Theon held the sphere like something fragile. “This is dangerous magic. Whoever cast this holds power far beyond what we expected.”

Corvin’s jaw tightened. “Someone wants to kill me. Someone inside these walls, and they are using magic that should not exist.”

Elowen took a slow breath. “Then you have a bigger problem than a fox in your palace.”

Corvin turned to him. His expression hardened into resolve. “Which is why you will stay close.”

Elowen met his gaze. “Closer than I already am?”

“Yes.”

A spark moved between them, not of anger or fear but of something far more complicated.

Theon exhaled slowly. “I will continue studying the trace. But I advise caution. Whoever wields this magic is not working alone.”

Corvin nodded. “We will prepare.”

Elowen swallowed the words he wanted to say. His people’s fire was calling him again. The threat within these walls was growing stronger. And the king’s trust was a blade pressed between his ribs.

He turned toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Corvin asked.

“To breathe,” Elowen said.

Corvin did not stop him.

The tower door closed behind Elowen with a soft thud.

He stood at the top of the steps, his heart pounding, pulse sharp.

The mage had seen too much, the king had seen more, and the past he had buried was crawling out of the dark.

He descended the tower stairs slowly, each step echoing with the weight of choices he had never expected to make.