Novels by Kenita

"Aelith," Eryndor whispered, his voice cracking as he reached for her hand. "Why is it so quiet?"The shadows on the ground didn't just lengthen—they began to rise, turning from two-dimensional stains on the stone into jagged, flickering pillars of ink. The silence wasn't empty; it was heavy, like the air right before a mountain collapses."Get behind me, Eryndor," Aelith said, her voice barely audible over the sudden, low-frequency hum vibrating through their teeth."Behind you? Aelith, the sky is literally inside out! I don't think standard flanking maneuvers cover 'the universe is currently folding like a cheap laundry basket'!""Just move! Now!"In the center of the shrine, right above the shimmering well, the air didn't just tear—it shattered. Spiderweb cracks of violet and gold light raced across the empty space, and then, with a sound like a giant gasping for air, a rift wrenched open."Oh, look at that," Eryndor remarked, his eyes wide. "A giant, glowing mouth of doom. And her

“Aelith?”“Yes?”“I think I just performed a very successful swap with myself.”“Eryndor Silvaris, do not drink that wine.”“I’m really thirsty, though,” he whispered, his eyes wide with panic. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just the existential dread?”“Put it down. Put it down slowly.”Eryndor looked at the cup. He looked at Aelith. Then, his hand gave a violent, involuntary twitch, and he gulped the remaining liquid down in one frantic, nervous reflex.“Oops.”“Oops? Did you just say oops to a cup of heart-stopping night-shade?” Aelith’s face went from white to a terrifying shade of translucent grey.“My hand did a thing! You know how my hands do things without asking permission!” Eryndor gasped, clutching his throat. “Wait. It tastes like… blackcurrant and iron? That’s a bold choice for a murder weapon.”“Eryndor, listen to me. Breathe. Can you breathe?”“Yeah, I’m fine. I feel—actually, I feel kind of tingly. Like my blood is throwing a very small, very rhythmic rave in my

“Wait,” Eryndor grinned weakly, his ribs groaning under the pressure of the heavy boot. “Before we start fighting… did you like the dance? Honestly? On a scale of one to ten?”The Southern assassin looked down at him with eyes that held the warmth of an arctic midnight. “Zero. Your rhythm is offensive.”“Ouch. Tough crowd,” Eryndor wheezed.“Get your foot off my student!” Aelith’s voice was a whip-crack in the tavern’s smoky air.The assassin’s weight shifted as he spun to face her, his other hand drawing a curved dagger from his sleeve with a sound like silk on stone. “The vial belongs to the Shroud, lady. You should have stayed in your high towers.”“Eryndor, grab it!” she barked.“I’m trying! I’m currently being utilized as a floor mat!” Eryndor yelled, his fingers scrabbling for the glass container.The assassin kicked outward, aiming to crush Eryndor’s fingers, but the boy rolled—a motion that started with a desperate flail and ended with him accidentally catching the man’s heavy

“There,” Eryndor whispered, pointing toward a flickering lantern near the end of the pier. “She’s actually doing it. She’s meeting with the Southern Shroud.”“Looks like my social schedule just got a lot more dangerous,” Eryndor added, his eyes fixed on the exchange below. “I really hope these guys are allergic to something, because if they are, I’ve got a backup plan.”Aelith grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the shadows of a warehouse. “We can’t just stand here in our ceremonial rags, Eryndor. We stick out like a pair of sore thumbs in a glove factory.”“So, what’s the move? We head home and call it a day?”“No,” Aelith said, looking him up and down with a grimace. “We need a cover. And I know exactly where to get one that won’t ask questions.”“Please don’t say the dumpsters. I’ve had enough items in my hair for one week.”“Lorandir’s backroom,” she clarified, already steering him toward the merchant district. “Move. Quietly.”Ten minutes later, Eryndor was staring at a sequ

"Just walk," Aelith had said, but 'just walking' for Eryndor was like suggesting a fish 'just fly'—it was theoretically possible but statistically unlikely to end well.The two of them crouched low behind a marble balustrade overlooking the Royal Library's main rotunda. Eryndor’s boots were still damp, making a tiny, pathetic squelch every time he shifted his weight."Do you always sneak into forbidden state archives after nearly being murdered, or is this a special 'I’m your mentor' treat?" Eryndor whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, domed space.Aelith shot him a look that could have flash-frozen a waterfall. "Keep your voice down. The acoustics in this hall are designed to amplify the slightest whisper into a state offense. If we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me.""With what? A broken harp and a pocket full of blue foam?" Eryndor muttered, carefully peeling a piece of dried moss from his sleeve. "Look at this place. It’s huge. How are we even supposed to

"Stay down! And for the love of the gods, stop breathing so loudly!" Aelith hissed, her voice a sharp contrast to the whistling of another bolt passing inches above their heads."I’m trying, but my lungs are having a disagreement with the rest of my body!" Eryndor gasped, pressed flat into the damp moss. "Also, you’re currently using my ribcage as a shield! Which, honestly, I get, but it’s not helping the breathing situation!"Aelith didn't answer. She rolled off him with a fluidity that made his head spin, her dual blades clearing their sheaths with a double shring that sounded like ice cracking. "On my mark, we run toward the ravine. If we stay here, they'll pin us down like target practice.""The ravine? The one with the rocks? And the steep drop? Aelith, have we met? I struggle with flat hallways!""Run, Eryndor! Now!"He didn't need a second invitation. He scrambled up, his long ceremonial robes catching on a nearby root immediately. He jerked forward with a pathetic squawk, the