Adrian's breath caught in the Academy's library, the air thick with dust and the weight of his choices. The note calling him Valorian still burned in his memory, its ashes scattered but its threat alive. The coded letter and ledger, now sewn into his cloak's lining, pressed against his chest. Mira's demand for royal blood to crack the vault seemed impossible, but the truth—proof of his family's innocence—was worth any risk. Three days to deliver, or the Dravens would bury him.
He pored over a tome on blood wards, its pages brittle under his calloused fingers. Royal blood wasn't just a key; it was a living signature, tied to Alaric's line. Stealing it meant getting close to the king—or his kin. Adrian's spark of magic couldn't charm a guard, let alone a royal, but his mind was sharper than any spell.
Lira found him, her scarf slipping as she leaned over the table. "You're obsessing," she said, voice soft but firm. "What's the plan?"
Adrian hesitated. Lira had saved him twice, but the vault was his burden. "I need something… rare," he said, testing the waters. "For a ward."
Her eyes narrowed. "Rare like royal blood? Toren told me about Mira."
Adrian's jaw tightened. Toren's loose tongue was a problem, redeemed or not. "He talks too much," he muttered. "It's my fight, Lira. Stay out of it."
She crossed her arms. "You don't get to decide that. I'm in, whether you like it or not."
Her loyalty was a lifeline, but it scared him. The Dravens didn't spare allies. Before he could argue, Toren slunk in, his cloak damp from the morning mist. "We've got trouble," he said, voice low. "Draven loyalists are sniffing around. They know you're after the vault."
Adrian's stomach churned. The note had been a warning; now it was a hunt. "How close are they?" he asked.
"Close," Toren said, glancing at the door. "One's outside—Riven, Cassian's cousin. He's got magic and a grudge."
Adrian's mind raced. Running wasn't an option; Riven would track him. He needed to turn the tables. "Lira, get Elara. Tell her there's a threat in the library. Toren, stall him."
Lira nodded and slipped out. Toren hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "Don't die, Corveth."
Adrian hid the tome and crouched behind a shelf, his copper disc—etched with a disruption rune—clutched tight. The library door creaked, and Riven entered, his boots heavy, magic crackling in his hands. He was taller than Cassian, his eyes cold as steel.
"Corveth," Riven called, voice dripping venom. "I know you're here. Come out, or I burn this place down."
Adrian's heart pounded, but fear was an old friend. He flicked the disc across the floor, its rune catching the light. It pulsed, and Riven's magic sputtered, his sparks dying. Adrian lunged, tackling Riven into a shelf. Books crashed, and Riven roared, throwing a punch that grazed Adrian's jaw.
They grappled, Adrian's smaller frame no match for Riven's strength. But he was faster, slipping free and kicking Riven's knee. Riven stumbled, and Adrian pinned his arm, disc pressed to his throat. "Call off your dogs," Adrian hissed. "Or I carve my own proof."
Riven laughed, blood on his lip. "You're dead, Valorian. The vault won't save you."
The name hit like a blade, but Elara's voice cut sharper. "Enough!" She stormed in, Lira behind her, guards in tow. Riven was hauled up, cursing, his magic bound.
Elara's eyes bored into Adrian. "You attract trouble, Corveth. Explain."
He swallowed, the truth too risky. "He attacked me. Draven loyalist. Check his orders."
She nodded, but her gaze lingered, suspicious. "Stay out of fights, or I can't protect you."
As the guards dragged Riven away, Lira whispered, "That was reckless."
"Had to be," Adrian said, rubbing his jaw. Toren's stall had worked, but Riven's words—Valorian—meant the Dravens knew everything. Time was gone.
That night, Adrian met Lira and Toren in the workshop, the air heavy with tension. "We need royal blood," he said, laying it bare. "Alaric's sister, Princess Eryn, visits the city tomorrow. Public event. It's our shot."
Toren whistled. "Stealing from a princess? You're mad."
Lira's face hardened. "How? She's guarded like a fortress."
Adrian pulled out a sketch—a conduit rune, refined from his paper. "This amplifies a small draw—enough for a prick, not a wound. I get close, use it, and Mira does the rest."
"It's suicide," Toren said, but his eyes gleamed. "I'm in."
Lira sighed. "Me too. But if we fail, it's over."
Adrian nodded, the weight of their trust heavier than the vault. The Dravens were circling, his name exposed, and the princess was a long shot. But he'd survived exile, betrayal, and fire. He'd survive this—or burn trying.