Page 15 of Beyond the Treaty
Azrael nods, his eyes brightening with agreement. “The
Council stores their most sensitive documents in the archives below the palace. Breaking in won’t be easy, but we can slip in unnoticed if we’re cautious.”
The risk sends a chill down my spine, but I push it aside. “What if we’re caught?”
Azrael smirks, the fire in his gaze flashing dangerously. “Then we fight. But if we execute this correctly, they won’t
even know we were there.”
The idea of sneaking into the Council’s archives seems
impossible, yet his steady confidence reassures me and keeps my fear at bay. For the first time in days, I sense a glimmer of control returning to me.
“We need a plan,” I say, my thoughts racing. “And a way to get past the guards without attracting attention.”
Azrael’s grin sharpens. “Leave that to me; I’ve had years to perfect the art of slipping through shadows.”
His confidence strengthens mine, though I realise this is justthe beginning. The Council’s deceptions, the connection with Kaelen, the storm brewing on the horizon, everything teeters on a fragile edge. But for now, I have a mission.
Azrael leans closer, his voice low and fierce. “Rest tonight, Elara. Tomorrow, we begin unravelling the Council’s web. And they won’t know what hit them when the time comes.”
I meet his gaze, a surge of determination swelling within me. “Let’s make them regret ever thinking they could control me.” With those words, the pact between us is sealed. The Council may hold the threads of fate, but I am no longer their puppet. Together, Azrael and I will uncover the truth and, if necessary,
dismantle their schemes piece by piece.
The hours before dawn stretch long and silent. Despite
Azrael’s urging, sleep refuses to come. My mind churns endlessly, questions without answers, plans lacking clarity, fears that refuse to fade. What secrets lie hidden in the Council’s archives? What truths about the bond, the treaty, and my role in their schemes linger in the shadows? And what will I do when I uncover them?
When the first rays of sunlight filter through the window, I push myself up, my determination solidifying like tempered steel. Whatever lies ahead, there’s no turning back now. By mid-morning, I find Azrael waiting in the shadow of an old garden arch near the palace’s western wing. He’s dressed in dark, unobtrusive clothing, his fiery intensity subdued into a calm, predatory focus.
“You ready?” he asks, though his tone clearly indicates he expects no hesitation.
I nod. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Without a word, he hands me a slim dagger, its hilt wrappedin worn leather. “Just in case,” he says, his voice low. “Not that I intend to let anyone come close enough for you to use it.”
The cool weight of the blade feels oddly reassuring in my hand. I nod again, holding it tightly. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Azrael leads me along a rarely used path through the palace grounds, his movements precise and silent. I follow closely behind, my heart pounding as the towering walls of the Council chambers loom ever larger.
“The archives are beneath the east wing,” Azrael whispers as we approach a narrow stone staircase leading down. “They are guarded, of course, but their patrols are predictable. Stick close, and we’ll be in and out before they notice.”
My pulse quickens. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Anything about the bond, the treaty, or the prophecy,” he replies. “If we’re lucky, something incriminating enough to shatter their control over you and Kaelen.”
The staircase spirals downward into the earth, the air growing cooler and heavier with each step. At the bottom, Azrael halts, listening intently before gesturing for me to follow. Flickering torches dimly lit the corridor ahead, and faint footsteps echoed in the distance.
Azrael motions for me to wait as he moves ahead, his movements so fluid and silent that he seems to melt into the shadows. Minutes later, he returns, his expression grim yet steady.
“Two guards at the main entrance,” he murmurs. “We’ll need a distraction.”
Before I can ask, he presses a small vial into my hand. The liquid inside shimmers faintly, like moonlight trapped in glass. “Drop this near the corner when I signal,” he instructs. “It’ll release harmless smoke, enough to distract them. Once they’re
preoccupied, we move.”
I grip the vial tightly, my stomach twisting with nerves, and
