Chapter 24: Doubts and Shadows

Chapter 24: Doubts and Shadows The morning light filtered through the stained glass windows of Elysia’s private study, casting jewel-toned patterns across the polished stone floor. Lyra and Sorrel stood before their mother, their postures rigid after a night without rest. Kiran remained a step behind them, her face carefully neutral as she awaited her queen’s response. Elysia set down the report with deliberate slowness, her fingers lingering on the parchment. "Nothing," she said, the word hanging in the air like an accusation. "You found absolutely nothing." "The aqueduct was secure," Lyra confirmed, maintaining her composure despite the disappointment evident in her mother’s tone. "No signs of tampering, no evidence of intrusion. The water tested pure." Elysia’s gaze sharpened. "And this urgent intelligence that prompted such a hasty midnight expedition—did your agent offer any explanation for their error?" Sorrel’s eyes flicked briefly to Lyra, a silent question passing between them. "It wasn’t an error, necessarily," Lyra said carefully. "Perhaps it was a warning of something yet to come, or perhaps our presence deterred whatever was planned." "Or perhaps," Elysia said, rising from her chair to pace the length of the window, "your agent is not as reliable as you believe." She turned abruptly, fixing Lyra with a penetrating stare. "Who is this mysterious informant, daughter? You’ve never been secretive about your network before." Lyra felt the weight of Kiran’s attention and chose her words with care. "My source is... unconventional. But they’ve provided valuable insights in the past." "Insights or distractions?" Elysia challenged. "Resources are precious, Lyra. We cannot afford to chase phantoms while real threats gather at our borders." Sorrel stepped forward, surprising both her mother and sister. "If I may, Mother, I believe the expedition was warranted regardless of the outcome. Better vigilance than regret." Elysia’s expression softened marginally at her younger daughter’s intervention. "A fair point, Sorrel. Yet I cannot help but wonder if certain... influences... are clouding Lyra’s judgment." Her gaze returned to her eldest daughter. "Is this about Eren?" The direct question caught Lyra off-guard. She hesitated just long enough for Elysia to read the truth in her silence. "I see," Elysia said softly. "These ’visions’ again." "Mother—" Lyra began, but Elysia raised a hand to silence her. "Kiran, you may leave us. Increase patrols near the western aqueduct as a precaution, but discreetly. We need not advertise our concerns." The spymaster bowed gracefully and departed, closing the heavy oak door behind her with barely a sound. Once they were alone, Elysia’s formal demeanor fractured slightly. "Lyra, your loyalty to your sibling does you credit, but these episodes are becoming disruptive." "Eren believes her abilities are growing stronger," Lyra argued. "What if she truly sensed something we couldn’t detect?" "What if she didn’t?" Elysia countered. "What if these are simply dreams, fantasies—or worse, deliberate manipulations?" Sorrel shifted uncomfortably. "You can’t seriously believe Eren would mislead us intentionally." "Can’t I?" Elysia’s voice had gone dangerously quiet. "Eren has always been... different. Even as an elfling, there was something in her that I couldn’t quite reach." Her fingers traced the ancient wood of her desk, following patterns only she could see. "And these visions conveniently began after Elena’s forces withdrew." The implication hung heavy in the air between them. Lyra felt cold fury building in her chest. "You think Eren is a traitor? Your own child?" "I think," Elysia said carefully, "that there are many forms of influence. Some subtle enough that even the influenced doesn’t recognize the strings that pull them." She sighed, suddenly looking every one of her centuries. "I don’t doubt Eren’s heart, only the source of these visions." Sorrel cleared her throat. "Whatever their source, we should continue monitoring the aqueduct. If nothing else, it highlights a vulnerability we’d overlooked." Elysia nodded, grateful for the practical suggestion. "See to it, Sorrel. Establish a rotating patrol schedule, but keep it quiet. I don’t want to cause panic." Recognizing the dismissal, both daughters turned to leave, but Elysia called after Lyra. "A moment more, if you would." Once Sorrel had departed, Elysia gestured for Lyra to sit. "I worry for Eren," she said, her voice gentler now. "And for you, carrying these burdens alone." "She’s not a burden," Lyra said firmly. "No, but her gifts—if they are truly gifts—require guidance, structure." Elysia poured two small glasses of morning wine, passing one to her daughter. "I’ve seen powers like this before, in the old wars. They consume their vessels from within if not properly channeled." Lyra accepted the wine but didn’t drink. "What would you have me do?" "Tell me everything," Elysia said simply. "No more secrets between us, Lyra. We cannot protect what we don’t understand." ’But understanding doesn’t always lead to protection,’ Lyra thought silently. Aloud, she said, "I’ll speak with Eren today. Perhaps together we can make more sense of what she’s experiencing." Elysia studied her daughter’s face for a long moment before nodding. "Do that. And Lyra—be careful. Even those we love most can harbor dangerous mysteries." ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ The walk to Eren’s chambers felt longer than usual, each step weighted with the responsibility of questions Lyra wasn’t certain how to ask. She found him seated by his window, a book open in his lap, though his gaze was fixed on the distant mountains rather than the pages before him. "I thought you might be sleeping after your training yesterday," Lyra said by way of greeting. Eren closed the book without marking his place. "Did you find something at the aqueduct?" The directness of the question confirmed Lyra’s suspicion that Eren had been waiting for her return, perhaps even watching for her arrival in the courtyard below. "No," she answered simply, taking a seat opposite him. "Everything was secure. The water tested pure." Confusion crossed Eren’s features, followed quickly by doubt. "That can’t be right. I felt it so clearly—a void, an absence where energy should flow." "I believe you felt something," Lyra said carefully. "But perhaps what you sensed was... more complex than a physical threat." Eren’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You think I imagined it?" "I think your gifts are evolving in ways neither of us fully understands yet." Lyra leaned forward, her voice dropping despite the privacy of Eren’s chambers. "Mother questioned me about the source of our information." The color drained from Eren’s face. "You didn’t tell her—" "Of course not," Lyra assured him quickly. "But she suspects. And she’s asking questions about these visions—about their timing, their nature." She hesitated before adding, "About their source." Eren stiffened. "She thinks I’m being manipulated." "She’s concerned," Lyra corrected, though the evasion felt hollow even to her own ears. "As am I, if I’m honest. These episodes are becoming more frequent, more intense." "They’re not ’episodes,’" Eren said, frustration edging his voice. "They’re real, Lyra. What I see, what I feel—it’s happening somewhere." ’Or it will happen,’ Lyra thought but didn’t say. Eren rose abruptly, pacing the length of the window. "I know how it sounds. I know what they all think—that I’m unstable, unreliable. Even Mother looks at me sometimes as if I’m a stranger wearing her child’s face." The raw pain in his voice made Lyra’s heart ache. "No one doubts your loyalty, Eren." "Don’t they?" He turned to face her, moonlight catching in his silver hair. "Sorrel watches me like I might sprout fangs at any moment. The palace guards tense when I enter a room. And now Mother questions the source of my visions." He laughed bitterly. "Perhaps I am going mad after all." "You’re not mad," Lyra said firmly, rising to take his hands in hers. "But these abilities—they’re unpredictable, powerful. We need to understand them better before we can trust them completely." Eren’s shoulders slumped slightly. "And if I can’t even trust them, how can I expect anyone else to?" Before Lyra could respond, a soft knock interrupted them. The door opened to reveal Naia, her training leathers exchanged for a simple tunic and trousers. Her dark eyes immediately registered the tension in the room. "Am I interrupting?" she asked, hovering at the threshold. "No," Lyra said, releasing Eren’s hands. "I was just leaving." She gave her younger sibling a meaningful look. "Get some rest, Eren. We’ll continue this discussion after you’ve had time to think." As Lyra slipped past Naia in the doorway, she whispered, "She needs a friend right now, not another interrogator." Once Lyra had departed, Naia closed the door and leaned against it, studying her sibling’s troubled expression. "Bad news about the aqueduct?" Eren returned to the window seat, drawing his knees up to his chest in a surprisingly vulnerable posture. "There was nothing there." "Isn’t that good news?" Naia asked, settling beside him. "It should be," Eren murmured. "But it means..." "That you were wrong?" Naia suggested gently when he didn’t continue. Eren’s gaze remained fixed on the distant mountains. "That I can’t trust what I see. What I feel." His fingers unconsciously traced the scar along his collarbone. "And if I can’t trust myself..." Naia reached out, covering his hand with her own to still its restless movement. "What’s really troubling you, Eren? This is more than one mistaken vision." For a long moment, Eren remained silent, the internal struggle visible in the tightness of his jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "The dreams are changing, Naia. I’m not just seeing battles or strategies anymore. I’m seeing..." He swallowed hard. "I’m seeing her." "Elena?" Naia’s voice sharpened with concern. Eren nodded, unable to meet his sister’s eyes. "She looks at me like she knows me. Like we share some connection I don’t understand." ’A connection I’m afraid to understand,’ he thought silently. "Have you told Lyra this part?" Naia asked. "How can I?" Eren’s laugh held no humor. "Our enemy queen appears in my dreams and recognizes me? They already question my loyalty." Naia frowned. "No one who knows you could doubt your loyalty, Eren." "You’d be surprised," he murmured. They sat in silence for a time, each lost in private thoughts as the afternoon light slowly shifted across the floor. Finally, Naia squeezed his hand. "Whatever this is, whatever it means—you’re not alone in facing it. Remember that." Eren managed a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I should try to rest." It was a gentle dismissal, and Naia recognized it as such. "I’ll be in the training yard if you need me," she said, rising. At the door, she paused. "Eren? Trust yourself, even when others doubt. You’ve always sensed things the rest of us couldn’t." After she left, Eren remained by the window, watching as clouds gathered over the mountains—harbingers of a storm approaching from the west. As the first distant rumble of thunder reached him, he closed his eyes, extending his senses toward the sound. ’What am I missing?’ he wondered. ’What did I really feel in the water’s flow?’ In the dim corridor outside Eren’s chambers, a shadow detached itself from an alcove as Naia’s footsteps faded. Kiran stepped silently into the light, her expression thoughtful as she glanced back at the closed door. The conversation she’d overheard would interest the queen greatly—particularly the mention of dreams featuring Elena. The spymaster moved away with practiced stealth, already composing her report in her mind. Some loyalties, she knew, transcended family bonds. And some threats came from within rather than without. As Kiran disappeared around the corner, a second figure remained perfectly still in the shadows cast by a heavy tapestry. Eyes glinted in the half-light, watching the spymaster’s retreat with careful calculation. Only when the corridor fell completely silent did this observer slip away in the opposite direction, moving with a grace that barely disturbed the air. The storm clouds continued to gather, dark and heavy with promise.