Elara's POV
The woman who opened the door had my mother's eyes.
I stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. The world narrowed to just those eyes—green with gold flecks, exactly like the ones I saw in my own mirror every morning. Eyes I'd only seen in fragments of suppressed memories.
"Elara." The woman's voice broke. "My little sister. You're alive."
"Lyris?" The name came from somewhere deep, somewhere the Council's magic hadn't been able to completely erase. "You're—you're supposed to be dead."
"So are you." She stepped forward, arms outstretched, then hesitated. "Can I—may I hug you?"
I couldn't speak. Could only nod. And then she was holding me, and she smelled like herbs and sunshine, and something inside me that had been broken for eighteen years started to crack open.
"I've been waiting so long," Lyris whispered into my hair. "So long to see you again."
Behind us, Cassian quietly closed the door, giving us privacy. But I heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway. Leaving us alone.
When Lyris finally pulled back, her face was wet with tears. "I'm sorry. I know this is overwhelming. You don't even remember me, do you?"
"I—" Fragments flashed through my mind. A girl with dark hair braiding flowers into my hair. Teaching me to climb trees. Reading me stories at bedtime. "I remember pieces. But they told me you died. They told me everyone died."
"Everyone did die. Except for twelve people." Lyris guided me to a chair in her small room. It was cozy, lived-in. Filled with plants and books and evidence of a real life. "Cassian saved us. He was just a boy himself, barely trained, but he pulled us from the burning buildings one by one. I was buried under rubble. He dug me out with his bare hands."
My throat tightened. "The Council said he caused the fire."
"The Council lies." Lyris's voice went hard. "They've been lying for eighteen years. And they took you from me. They took you and ten other children, suppressed our memories with magic, and raised you to be their weapons." She grabbed my hands. "El, do you remember what I told you the night before the attack?"
I shook my head.
"I told you I loved you. That no matter what happened, you were the bravest little girl I'd ever known." Her voice cracked. "And they made you forget even that."
The tears came then, hot and endless. For the sister I'd lost. For the memories stolen. For eighteen years of lies.
Lyris held me while I cried, rocking me like I was still eight years old.
When I could finally breathe again, I pulled back and wiped my face. "Why didn't you come find me? Why didn't you rescue me?"
Pain flashed across her face. "We tried. Cassian tried three times to infiltrate Council territory and bring you home. But their security was too tight. And we were afraid if we pushed too hard, they'd kill you rather than let us take you back." She squeezed my hands. "So we waited. Hoped. Prayed that one day you'd come here, and we'd have a chance to show you the truth."
"And now I'm here to kill him." The words tasted like poison.
"I know." Lyris didn't look surprised. "But you won't. Because you're already starting to see what's real."
Was I? My head spun with contradictions. Everything the Council taught me. Everything I was learning here. What was true? What was lies?
"I need to think," I whispered. "I need to—I can't—"
"Go." Lyris kissed my forehead. "Explore. Look around. Really look. Then come back when you're ready, and we'll talk more. I'm not going anywhere, little sister. Not ever again."
I stumbled out of her room in a daze. The hallway seemed to tilt and sway around me. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt stable.
I needed to move. Needed to do something productive. Something that made sense.
I needed to complete my mission reconnaissance. Map the castle. Find the darkness I knew had to be here.
I spent the next hours walking through Shadowkeep Castle, pretending to explore casually while actually documenting everything. Exit routes. Guard positions. Vulnerable areas. All the information a spy should gather.
But what I found kept contradicting my mission.
In the east wing, I discovered an art gallery. Not torture chambers. Not weapons rooms. Just paintings and sculptures, many created by castle residents. A young servant was teaching a child how to hold a paintbrush. They both laughed when the child got paint on her nose.
The west wing held music rooms where people practiced instruments. I stood outside one door, listening to someone play a haunting melody on a violin. When they finished, applause echoed from inside. A music lesson, not a punishment cell.
The courtyards were worse—or better, depending on how I looked at it. Children played games, their laughter echoing off stone walls. Parents watched from benches, chatting easily. An old man tended a vegetable garden while humming. Guards walked patrol routes but stopped to joke with passing servants.
Where was the fear? Where were the victims?
I documented it all in my mental notes for reports to Mira. But the more I saw, the more confused I became.
In the kitchen, cooks prepared a feast while arguing good-naturedly about spices. "His Majesty likes it with more garlic," one insisted. "He's got good taste, that one."
"His Majesty would eat burnt toast if we served it and say it was delicious," another laughed. "He's too polite for his own good."
They spoke about him like he was family. Like they cared about him.
In the servants' quarters, I found comfortable rooms. Small but clean, with real beds and personal belongings. A young woman was sewing while another read aloud from a book. They waved at me when I passed.
"Looking for someone, miss?" one asked.
"Just exploring," I managed.
"Well, if you need anything, just ask. We take care of our own here."
Our own. Like I belonged. Like I was already part of this place.
I climbed to the ramparts, needing air, needing space to think. The view from up here took my breath away. The Shadowlands stretched out below—villages, farms, forests. In the distance, I could see the border where twilight gave way to the Council's bright, harsh light.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rowan appeared beside me. I hadn't heard him approach. "Before the war, there was no border. People moved freely between light and shadow. Both kingdoms thrived together."
"What happened?" I asked, even though I knew the Council's version.
"Fear happened. Greed happened. Someone decided that light was better than shadow, and that shadow needed to be controlled or eliminated." He leaned against the rampart wall. "The Council's founders started a war they claimed was defensive. But we have the documents. We know the truth."
"Why doesn't anyone else know?"
"Because truth is the first casualty of war." He looked at me directly. "And because killing everyone who questions the narrative tends to keep people quiet."
My stomach twisted. "The Council doesn't—"
"Doesn't what? Kill dissenters?" Rowan's laugh was bitter. "Where do you think your fellow trainees go when they 'fail' missions? They don't retire to comfortable homes, spy."
The implication hit me like a fist. All the trainees who'd disappeared over the years. The ones who'd asked too many questions or showed too much mercy. We'd been told they'd been reassigned.
But what if that was another lie?
"I need to go," I whispered.
"Running already?" Rowan pushed off the wall. "Cassian said you were different. That you'd actually look before deciding. Was he wrong?"
"I am looking!" The words burst out. "That's the problem! Everything I see contradicts everything I was taught!"
"Good." His expression softened slightly. "That means you're actually paying attention. Keep looking, spy. And maybe you'll figure out which side is really worth dying for."
He left me alone on the ramparts as the sun set—or what passed for sunset in the eternal twilight.
I pulled out a small notebook and started writing my report for Mira. Day three. Castle reconnaissance complete. Evidence gathered includes: happy servants, playing children, art galleries, music rooms, comfortable living quarters, well-fed residents, no signs of torture or imprisonment, no evidence of cruelty, no indication of evil intent.
I stared at what I'd written. Then I tore out the page and started again.
Day three. Castle reconnaissance complete. Still searching for evidence of the Dark Lord's crimes. Will report again when I find something concrete.
But what if I never found anything? What if there was nothing to find?
What if everything was a lie?
I was still sitting there, frozen with indecision, when I heard screaming from below.
Real screaming. Terrified, painful screaming.
My training kicked in. I ran toward the sound, taking stairs three at a time, hand on my knife.
The screaming was coming from the castle's lower level. From a door marked with warning symbols. Finally—finally—I'd found it. The torture chambers. The proof I'd been looking for.
I burst through the door into a large room filled with—
Medical equipment.
Healers in clean aprons rushed around a table where a woman lay screaming. Not from torture. From childbirth.
"Push!" one healer encouraged. "Almost there!"
I stood frozen in the doorway as a baby's cry filled the air. As the healers wrapped the infant and placed it in its mother's arms. As the woman sobbed with joy, not pain.
"A healthy boy," the healer announced, smiling. "Congratulations."
Someone grabbed my elbow. Lyris, in healer's robes, covered in blood. "Elara! Perfect timing. Come help me clean up. And welcome to the medical wing—busiest place in the castle."
Medical wing. Not torture chambers.
Of course.
I helped Lyris clean up in numb silence, my mind refusing to process what this meant.
"That was the third birth this week," Lyris said as we worked. "Cassian's policies mean families actually want to have children here. They know their babies will be safe, fed, cared for." She looked at me. "The Council's territories have the lowest birth rate in history. People are too afraid to bring children into that world."
"Stop," I whispered. "Please stop."
"Why? Because it's not what you want to hear?" She grabbed my arm, forcing me to look at her. "El, I know this is hard. I know your whole world is turning upside down. But you need to face it—everything they told you was a lie. Everything."
"Then why do they keep sending spies?" My voice cracked. "Why do they want him dead so badly if he's not actually evil?"
"Because he's the only thing standing between them and total control." Lyris's voice went quiet, urgent. "The Shadowlands are the last free kingdom. The last place where people can question, can choose, can live without the Council's absolute rule. As long as Cassian lives, hope lives. They need him dead so that hope dies with him."
The room spun. I grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling.
"I need air," I gasped. "I need—"
I ran. Out of the medical wing, through the corridors, not caring where I was going. Just needing to escape the truth that was crushing me from all sides.
I ended up back in the library. Of course. The library was safe. Books didn't lie. Books didn't—
I stopped dead.
Cassian sat at my usual table, head in his hands, looking more exhausted than I'd ever seen him.
And he was coughing blood into a white cloth.