The Hollow Palace
Talia woke to silence.
Not the kind that followed peace.
The kind that followed removal.
There was no sky above her when she opened her eyes. No wind. No distant roar of dragons circling Blackspire. No familiar hum of mana currents weaving through stone.
Only stone.
Close.
Too close.
The ceiling pressed low enough that sitting upright felt like an argument with gravity itself.
For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was.
Then she tried to move.
And the chains reminded her.
Pain bloomed instantly—not from metal biting skin, but from something deeper. Something inside the chains that responded before her body did.
Bloodbinding.
She understood it before she fully remembered learning the word.
Her wrists jerked automatically, and the reaction alone made her gasp.
A sharp pulse snapped through her veins like a warning.
Her magic answered—
and was forced back down.
Hard.
Talia sucked in a breath, forcing herself still.
The suppression wasn’t external restraint.
It was internal imprisonment.
Like her own power had been rewritten to reject her.
Her throat tightened.
No panic.
Not yet.
Think.
Always think first.
That was what Blackspire had taught her.
Except Blackspire felt like a lifetime ago.
Talia slowly turned her head.
The chamber was small.
Stone walls.
No visible door.
No windows.
No sound beyond her own breathing.
And something worse—
the faintest pulse of runes carved into the floor beneath her, glowing faintly red with every beat of her heart.
She was sitting in the center of a sigil.
A containment array.
Designed for her.
Her stomach tightened.
“No,” she whispered.
The word echoed too softly to mean anything.
Her fingers curled against the floor.
Cold stone.
Too clean.
Not Blackspire.
Not anything she knew.
Which meant—
the imperial capital.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Think.
How long had she been gone?
She tried to reach outward.
For Rowan.
For Dacre.
For anything familiar.
The bond with Rowan flickered faintly.
Weak.
Distorted.
Like it had been stretched too far and left to fray.
But there.
Alive.
Talia exhaled shakily.
Rowan was alive.
That mattered.
Then she reached further.
Deeper.
For the other connection she had never fully understood.
Zephyra.
The response came—
but wrong.
Distant.
Muted.
Like a storm heard through miles of stone.
A dragon’s presence, vast and ancient, but constrained behind something thicker than distance.
Talia’s chest tightened.
“Zephyra…” she whispered.
Nothing answered clearly.
Only a faint pressure against the edge of awareness.
Alive.
But trapped.
Or suppressed.
Or both.
Talia opened her eyes again.
Her pulse was uneven now.
Not fear.
Calculation.
She shifted slightly—and pain lanced through her wrists again, sharper this time.
The chains reacted immediately.
The bloodbinding tightened.
A warning pulse surged through her entire body.
She froze instantly.
So sensitive.
So precise.
Every attempt to resist increased the suppression.
Whoever built this knew exactly how her magic worked.
Or—
had studied her.
A slow, sick realization settled in her stomach.
This wasn’t a prison built in reaction to her capture.
This was prepared for her existence.
Talia exhaled slowly through her nose.
Think.
Not panic.
Not emotion.
Think.
She tested the bond again—carefully this time.
The suppression responded instantly, like a reflex.
But beneath it—
there was structure.
Layers.
Not just chains.
Architecture.
She could almost feel the system feeding off her attempt to resist.
The more she pushed, the more it learned.
She stopped immediately.
And forced stillness.
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
Time didn’t behave properly here.
There was no natural rhythm.
Only the pulse of runes beneath her.
One.
Two.
One.
Two.
Like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.
Talia swallowed.
Then—
a sound.
Soft.
Measured.
Footsteps.
Her entire body went still.
The air changed before the figure appeared.
Not physically.
Magically.
Like pressure shifting in a sealed room.
A door that had not been visible before opened somewhere in the stone.
And Evelisse Veyr stepped inside.
Perfectly composed.
As always.
Talia didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Evelisse studied her for a moment.
Then smiled slightly.
“You’re awake,” she said.
Talia’s voice was low. Controlled. “How long.”
Evelisse tilted her head.
“How long what?”
“How long have I been here.”
A pause.
Then Evelisse walked slowly into the chamber.
Her footsteps echoed softly across the rune-lit floor.
“Time is subjective,” she said.
Talia’s jaw tightened. “Answer the question.”
Evelisse smiled faintly.
“Long enough,” she said.
That wasn’t an answer.
It was avoidance.
Talia exhaled slowly. “Rowan.”
Evelisse’s gaze flickered slightly.
“She’s alive,” she said.
Relief hit Talia so sharply it almost hurt.
“And Dacre,” Talia added immediately.
A pause.
Longer this time.
Then Evelisse’s smile returned.
“Still loyal,” she said.
Talia narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t the question.”
Evelisse stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Not rushed.
Intentional.
“He hasn’t come,” Evelisse said softly.
Talia’s stomach tightened.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means a great deal,” Evelisse replied.
Silence stretched.
Talia forced her breathing steady.
“You’re lying,” she said.
Evelisse tilted her head. “Am I?”
Talia didn’t respond.
Because she didn’t have enough information yet.
And Evelisse knew that.
Of course she did.
The silence between them was deliberate now.
Measured.
Then Evelisse spoke again.
“You’re weaker than I expected,” she said.
Talia’s eyes sharpened. “I’m restrained.”
“Yes,” Evelisse agreed. “But not fully.”
That made Talia still.
Evelisse stepped closer again.
And crouched slightly so she was level with Talia’s seated position.
“You’re adapting already,” she said.
Talia’s voice dropped. “What do you want.”
Evelisse studied her for a long moment.
Then said simply:
“Understanding.”
Talia gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what they all say.”
Evelisse didn’t react.
“You’re inside a living containment system,” she said calmly. “It responds to you.”
“I noticed.”
“No,” Evelisse corrected softly. “You’ve only noticed what it does to you.”
A pause.
Then she added:
“You haven’t noticed what it does for you.”
Talia frowned slightly. “For me.”
Evelisse’s gaze sharpened.
“It keeps you contained,” she said. “But also preserved.”
Talia’s pulse stuttered slightly.
“That’s not comfort,” she said.
“No,” Evelisse agreed. “It’s function.”
Silence.
Talia tested the chains again subtly.
Instant suppression response.
Pain lanced through her nerves.
She stopped immediately.
Evelisse watched.
“Good,” she said.
Talia looked at her sharply. “Good?”
“You’re learning restraint,” Evelisse replied.
Talia’s voice turned colder. “I didn’t ask to be trained.”
Evelisse smiled faintly.
“No one does,” she said.
That landed differently than intended.
Talia’s gaze narrowed. “What are you doing to me.”
Evelisse stood again.
And for the first time—
something almost like honesty appeared in her expression.
“I’m keeping you alive,” she said.
Talia didn’t believe her.
Not fully.
But she also couldn’t dismiss her.
Evelisse stepped back toward the doorway.
Before leaving, she paused.
And glanced over her shoulder.
“You should rest,” she said.
Talia’s jaw tightened. “I’m not resting here.”
Evelisse smiled slightly.
“You will,” she said.
Then she turned.
And as she reached the threshold, she added softly—
“No one is coming for you.”
Talia’s breath caught slightly.
Evelisse continued without turning back.
“And soon,” she said, voice almost gentle, “he will forget you even exist.”
Silence followed her exit.
The door sealed itself without sound.
Leaving Talia alone again.
In the hollow palace beneath an empire that had decided she was already gone.
