Chapter 21 | Part 4

The conversation lasted two hours.

Nyxara asked about Umbra’kor, then the surface. She returned twice to his air affinity. Every drow mage she had met in thirty years had worked shadow or earth.

Drusniel answered carefully. Partial truths. Deflections that sounded like answers. He told her about the Duskborn Trials without mentioning the sabotage. About Wyrmreach without mentioning the Voice. About Szoravel without explaining why.

She let him deflect. That was the dangerous part. She didn’t push. She simply noted each evasion, cataloged it, and moved on. Building a map of what he wouldn’t say that was probably more valuable than what he would.

“You carry something,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Everyone carries something.”

“Not like this.” Nyxara touched the rim of her cup. “When you entered my territory, the flowers turned. They turn for magic, for power, for things that interest me. But they turned hard for you. All of them. At once. That’s new.”

Drusniel kept his face still. The Null lay cold beneath his shirt. He resisted the urge to check that it was covered.

“I’m a mage,” he said. “Magic interests your flowers.”

“Magic is common here. The contested lands overflow with it. My flowers have seen mages, alchemists, priests, and creatures that defy categorization. They don’t turn for common magic.” She paused. “They turn for old things. Things that remember what this land was before the lords carved it up.”

He said nothing.

“Keep your secrets,” she said. “For now. Secrets are currency in the contested lands, and I prefer my investments to appreciate rather than be spent.”

The conversation shifted. Nyxara laid out the geography between her territory and Szoravel’s position: four days of travel through lands that belonged to no one and everyone. The gap between the three lords’ territories, unpoliced and unstable. Things lived there that had been pushed out of all three domains. Predators without masters. Magic without rules.

“You won’t survive it alone,” she said.

“We’ve survived this far.”

“This far has been the easy part.” She said it without mockery, which made it worse. “Srietz knows. Ask him later, when you’re alone. Ask him what lives in the gaps.”

He hadn’t said the fear aloud. She answered it anyway.

Drusniel looked at Srietz. The goblin’s ears were nearly flat against his skull.

“I don’t need your permission to cross your territory,” Drusniel said. “We’re already here.”

“Yes. And my scouts stopped you.” Nyxara stood. The flowers behind her parted. “You will follow my guide to the border. My checkpoints will supply you. Everything the guide observes comes back to me. That is the price of passage.”

“Passage only. I won’t swear service to you.”

“I have not asked for an oath. Air magic is rare here. The other lords have no one like you. I intend to learn what you can do.”

Four days under observation. By the border, she could know enough to use against him.

Drusniel thought about the alternatives. The volcanic shelf behind them, impassable without supplies. Vorthrak’s territory to the north, where strength was the only currency and they had none to spare. Sytherix to the south, where the rumors were worse than Vorthrak’s reality. And the uncontrolled gap between territories, where Srietz’s silence spoke volumes about what waited.

“My companions stay with me,” Drusniel said. “As a group. We’re not separated.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nyxara’s smile returned. “A mage, a shapeshifter, and an alchemist who’s survived the contested lands before? I’d be a fool to break up that collection.”

Collection. Not team. Not group. Collection.

Drusniel heard the word and filed it away.

“We take the passage,” he said. “At the border, we go our own way.”

“Wise.” Nyxara turned to leave, then paused. She looked back at Drusniel, and the calculation in her face had given way to curiosity. Genuine curiosity, which was far more dangerous.

“One more thing,” she said. “A drow with air magic, traveling to Szoravel, carrying something old enough to make my flowers sing. You’re not the first interesting thing to pass through my territory. But you might be the most interesting thing this year.”

She walked between the flowers. The stems closed behind her, hiding the path.

Varesh materialized at the edge of the clearing.

“Quarters have been prepared,” the scout leader said. “You’ll rest tonight. Tomorrow, a guide will be assigned for your journey through Lady Nyxara’s territory.”

“A guide,” Drusniel said flatly.

“A guide.” Varesh’s tone left no room for misinterpretation. “Lady Nyxara is generous with her protection. She prefers to ensure her investments are… observed.”

They were led to a structure built within the flower field itself, walls woven from thick stems, floor covered in dried petals that crunched underfoot. It was comfortable, supplied, and completely exposed to anyone who knew how to listen through the flowers.

Drusniel chose a place beside the entrance and kept his pack within reach.

End of Chapter 21.4 —> 21.5: The Black Garden: The Terms