Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
The dining hall was quiet for once, just early risers, a few yawning warders, and the soft clatter of utensils against chipped plates. Our squad took our usual table in the corner.
We were halfway through breakfast—eggs, overly chewy bacon, and something the kitchen swore was bread, when the doors opened and Ferrula walked in, composed and straight-backed as ever.
Jax followed behind her, his hair sticking up in three different directions and a limp to his swagger that was almost theatrical.
They sat down like nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t disappeared into our common room the night before under the very obvious guise of “privacy.”
Naturally, our squad had spent the evening speculating. Loudly.
Apparently, the suspense had been too much for Tae.
He turned to Ferrula, barely swallowing a bite of sausage. “So… how was your night?”
Ferrula nodded, utterly unfazed. “It was adequate.”
Riven made a choking sound. Naia’s shoulders shook violently as she buried her face in her mug.
Jax’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me, Ferr? I was slurring my words an hour ago!”
Tae chuckled, but Ferrula gave him a flat look, as if she were commenting on the state of the weather. “I gifted you with a blow job. You have no reason to complain.”
Jax blinked, stunned silent.
Naia snorted so hard she choked on her juice and had to grab Riven’s sleeve for support.
Riven was trying, and failing, to keep a straight face, while I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing outright.
Cordelle, poor Cordelle, had found his porridge deeply interesting and hadn’t looked up once.
Riven wiped her eyes and turned to me. “Is this play-by-play of their sex life going to continue?”
I nodded solemnly. “Dirian women believe a man should be proud to… keep his woman happy.”
Naia grinned, elbowing Riven. “I think I want to be a Dirian.”
Riven raised her cup in mock salute. “Me too. Who knew Ferrula would be the superstar of this group?”
“I did,” Ferrula said plainly, spearing a piece of bacon with deadly intensity.
And we all lost it.
The laughter echoed through the hall like a battle cry, and for one rare, perfect moment, we weren’t just warriors or riders or rebels-in-waiting.
We were just… us.
And damn, it felt good to laugh.
Jax was still red-faced, though trying to look proud beneath the wave of teasing. Naia was mid-way through a question about his so-called “bedroom valor,” and Riven had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. Even Cordelle cracked a smile between sips of tea.
We teased him, but it was the kind that lifted rather than mocked. The kind that said, we see you, and we’re glad you’re happy. Because Jax and Ferrula? Somehow, they worked.
I was finishing off the last of my eggs when movement caught my eye near the back of the dining hall. A court server moved like a shadow between tables, weaving closer until her fingers brushed against her apron in quick, deliberate shapes.
Return to your room. Urgent.
I dipped my chin slightly, replying with a subtle sign of acknowledgment.
Grabbing the syrup bottle from the table, I made a show of pouring too fast, just enough that it dripped over the side and onto my hand.
“Ugh,” I muttered, wiping at it. “I’m going to go change my tunic before we head to the Ascension Grounds. Meet you there?”
“Only if Jax survives the second round of public inquisition,” Naia quipped.
“I’ll be fine,” Jax grumbled, glaring at his now-empty plate. “I’ve got my dignity. Somewhere.”
“Check Ferrula’s armor,” Riven grinned. “She might be holding it for you.”
Laughter trailed after me as I slipped out, the door closing behind me and muffling the warmth of our squad’s banter.
By the time I reached the barracks, the air was cooler—quieter. The scent of smoke still lingered faintly from the Crooked Claw incident, and my boots echoed in the empty corridor.
I stepped into my room and froze.
Solei was standing by the window, her arms crossed, her dark braid tucked into a high collar. No disguise this time. No illusion.
Just my sister.
And that made her all the more dangerous.
“What do you want?” I asked, voice sharp.
She didn’t turn to me right away. When she did, her eyes weren’t cold, they were haunted.
“I came to warn you,” she said. “About the king. And the crown itself.”
I narrowed my gaze. “What about them?”
Her voice was low, urgent. “The king’s days are numbered, Ashe. Everyone close to him knows it. His mind slips further each day, and Theron is already consolidating power behind the scenes.”
My mouth went dry. “We already know Theron’s conspiring with other nobles.”
Solei stepped closer, her eyes scanning mine. “You don’t know the extent. There are whispers in the Order of funds being shifted, and allegiances breaking. And those aligned with the old crown, with its traditions… they’re being eliminated.”
The silence between us turned heavy.
Then her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Zander is next.”
The chill that ran through me had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
My pulse spiked. “What are you saying? That they’re going to kill him?”
“I’m saying,” Solei said carefully, “that with Dorian away all the time, he’s the only prince in Warriath with the loyalty of the dragons.
And that makes him dangerous to Theron, to the court, and to whoever is truly pulling the strings.
Dorian will come under fire once he returns from the outer kingdoms. It was fortunate that he left after he was healed. ”
My hands clenched at my sides. “And you’re just telling me about this supposed assassination now?” I didn’t tell her someone already tried. Because assassins were master manipulators and I had no idea who was the mark. Me or Zander.
“I had to be sure,” she said, almost pleading. “And now I am.”
We stared at each other, two sisters standing on opposite sides of a war neither of us had started.
The game felt much, much bigger than either of us had imagined.
The tension between us was thick enough to choke on, like a blade poised just above the skin. I stood near the door, my hand still on the handle, and Solei hovered near the window like a shadow stitched into the stone.
I wanted to scream at her. Wanted to ask why, after everything, she was only now showing up with warnings and whispered truths.
But her eyes…
They weren’t cold. Not like before. They were sharp, yes, but beneath the sharpness was fear. Not for herself. For me.
“You expect me to trust you now?” I asked, voice low, my heart pounding. “After everything you’ve done?”
“No,” she said simply. “I expect you to listen.”
There was a beat of silence between us.
Then, she stepped closer, her voice dropping into something razor-thin and quiet enough to make my skin prickle. “The rebel sect has ties to the court.”
I blinked. “Which sect?”
She gave me a look that told me it wasn’t a question to her. “The Varnari,” she said. “They’ve infiltrated the palace. They’re inside the royal guard.”
The words landed like thunder.
“No,” I said. “That’s not possible. The guards are vetted—hand-selected.”
“And you think manipulation stops at vows and badges?” she snapped, eyes flaring.
“Has the order taught you nothing. The Varnari are patient. Strategic. They’ve been building their influence slowly, weaving through commoners or lowborn houses, finding those with magic, or those who resent the riders. ”
She crossed her arms, her voice trembling just slightly. “They don’t want rebellion like the Crimson Sigil. They want control. They want the crown.”
A chill settled into my bones.
Solei stared at me like she was seeing through all the mistrust, all the armor I’d built since her betrayal.
“I didn’t come here to redeem myself, Ashlyn,” she said. “I came here because if Zander dies, if he falls, there won’t be anyone left to stop what’s coming. And you… they’ll use you. Or kill you trying.”
I swallowed hard, the breath shuddering in my chest.
The Order might have raised me, but they never prepared me for this.
For war from within.
Solei shifted toward the window, already pulling her hood back over her braid. Whatever softness had flickered in her expression was gone now, replaced by the cold efficiency I’d grown up with.
“I have to go,” she said, her voice flat and distant again.
I gave a nod. No embrace. No whispered goodbye. Whatever bridge had been rebuilt in that moment was temporary at best, and we both knew it.
She slipped out the door that led to the hallway as silently as she had come.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she’d stood. The silence was heavy, and I hadn’t even managed to take a full breath before the main door creaked open.
Zander entered with sharp purpose in his stride, the corners of his jaw tight with tension.
“I got a report that Solei was seen on the premises,” he said, his voice clipped.
I snorted. “Your spies are just as good as the Order’s.”
He didn’t smile. “But not as loyal, apparently.”
I met his gaze without flinching. “She came to warn me.”
His jaw ticked. “And you listened?”
“I heard her,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“What did she say?”
“She said the king’s days are numbered, that something’s happening in the court. She thinks the Varnari have already infiltrated the royal guard. And she warned me that they want you dead.”
Zander’s expression didn’t change, he didn’t pale, didn’t flinch, but I could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. It was there, just for a heartbeat.
Then he scoffed. “I’m not going to start panicking every time your sister crawls out of the shadows with another cryptic message.”
“She’s not wrong this time.”
“She’s always playing an angle, Ashlyn.”
“I know that,” I snapped, stepping toward him. “I don’t trust her. But I believe her.”
Zander stared at me for a long, taut moment. The storm behind his lavender eyes built slowly, carefully, until it settled into something harder.
“You believe she wants to protect me?” he asked, quieter now.
“No,” I said. “I think she wants to protect me.”
His expression softened just a breath, just enough for the truth between us to shift.
“And if she’s right,” I said, “then you’re walking into a war without knowing where the daggers are hidden.”
Zander exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair.
“For the record,” I said, “I hate that I believe her. But I do.”
“Then we prepare,” he said finally. “Because I’d rather be wrong and alive… than right and dead.”