Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
The air was sharp with tension as we stepped onto the Ascension Grounds, the wind curling around the banners like it, too, was holding its breath. The sun hung low behind thin clouds, casting long shadows across the stone.
I felt it before I saw it, the shift. Something was wrong.
The guilds stood aligned beneath their respective banners, silent, orderly… but too still. Their gazes flicked toward us, then away, as if they were unsure whether to look or pretend we didn’t exist.
Thrall Squad stood in our usual place, no banner, no title. Just a tightly bound knot of bodies that had survived fire, death, and betrayal.
The Lowborn Squad was beside us again, grouped tightly, but quieter than usual. Teren stood tall, arms crossed, eyes flicking across the field like a man bracing for a storm. Not even Kaila cracked a joke. Camus didn’t blink.
As I slipped into place beside Riven and Jax, I glanced to the center of the grounds, where something new waited.
Zander approached the raised platform where Major Ledor and Major Kaler stood, both straight-backed and solemn. Each held a banner I didn’t recognize.
One was a red sickle against a stark white field, bold and blood-bright.
The other sent a cold shiver down my spine, a crimson and gold emblem, shaped like a cage… with a dragon inside it.
“What is that?” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.
Jax shifted beside me, his shoulders rigid. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Major Kaler stepped forward, his face grim beneath the silver trim of his armor, his voice carrying over the silent grounds like a blade drawn from its sheath.
“Riders,” he began, “we have a new threat.”
He lifted the first banner, the white field blazoned with a sickle-red crescent, and the wind caught it like a curse.
“This emblem has been hung in various locations throughout Warriath,” he said. “And we have received confirmation it has begun to appear in other kingdoms as well, predominantly those to the east.”
I felt my spine stiffen, the wind suddenly colder against the back of my neck.
“They call themselves The Crimson Sigil,” he continued, voice flat with barely checked fury, “and their mission is simple, they intend to eradicate all fae bloodlines. They believe this will secure humanity’s future.
That by removing all magic tied to the fae, they can survive without being enslaved… or worse, eliminated by the Blood Fae.”
A low groan rippled through the assembled riders. Some curses. Others whispered. Even the dragons above shifted uneasily, their wings rustling in the sky.
But then Major Ledor stepped forward, and his face, usually calm, was ashen.
“I’m afraid they are not the greatest threat,” he said, lifting the second banner high.
The crowd fell utterly silent as it unfurled.
At first, it looked regal, until you realized what it depicted.
A dragon. Curled in on itself. Trapped inside a cage.
No flight. No fire. Just containment.
“This,” Major Ledor said, “is the banner of the Varnari.”
A sharp intake of breath beside me—Riven. I couldn’t look away from the image.
“They are a sect,” Ledor continued, “made up of common-born magic users, warders, ex-military, even former assassins. Some come from the ruins of fallen noble houses. Others from guilds they believe abandoned them.”
He let the banner fall lower as he paced the edge of the dais.
“They believe the dragons should serve them. That Fourth Guild, our traditions, our legacy, should be dismantled. They believe dragonkind can be bent to its will. Controlled. Used.”
My stomach twisted violently. The bile rose in my throat.
“They wish to overthrow the throne,” Ledor said, voice grim, “and shape the world in their own image.”
My eyes locked on the image of the caged dragon, and something inside me snapped.
I gasped, barely aware I’d done it, the sound sharp and raw.
Kaelith’s voice flared in my mind, a hiss of rage like molten stone.
Let them try, she growled. And they’ll see just how fast their cages melt in dragon fire.
As the image of the caged dragon snapped and fluttered in the wind, I couldn’t breathe.
How could anyone think they could cage a dragon? I asked silently, the words bitter in my throat.
Kaelith didn’t hesitate. Her voice rolled through my mind like thunder off a distant mountain. They don’t mean a real cage, little storm. The prison is metaphorical. They mean to bind us. Like the Blood Fae do to our hatchlings.
I blinked, anger crackling just beneath my skin. How do you know that?
Her reply came softer, more thoughtful. Siergen has been tracking the roots of these sects. The human one—the Crimson Sigil—they have ties to the Order.
My jaw clenched so tightly my teeth ached. Of course they do.
Solei had all but said it. She’d warned me something was moving beneath the surface, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not that the very organization that raised me, that crafted me, might desire every fae bloodline wiped from the continent.
But if Solei truly supports the Sigil, I said, why would she warn me? Why protect me?
Because even within a venomous tree, Kaelith rumbled, there may be branches that twist in different directions.
She paused, the burden in her mind shifting gently across mine.
Siergen has been traveling between kingdoms. Quietly. Carefully. He believes there’s more to this uprising… especially the timing.
I nodded slightly, gazing across the Ascension Grounds where murmurs were rising like smoke between the riders.
I can see why, I whispered inwardly. The king’s sudden decline. The surge in Blood Fae attacks. Now two new sects rising up against the throne, and the riders. It’s too coordinated to be coincidence.
Kaelith agreed, her voice edged with quiet fury. He believes one of these sects is an outlier. A false flag. They are not allies, Ashlyn. They are working against one another. And we must find their leaders to know the truth behind the chaos.
I exhaled slowly, letting that sink in.
No one sees Siergen, I murmured. He’s always helping us, slipping between places like a breeze in the walls… but I feel him. I think he cares more than anyone knows.
Kaelith didn’t respond right away.
Then, after a pause that felt like a heartbeat caught in a flame, she said,
Siergen’s sacrifice is greater than any creature alive.
The words dropped like an anvil on my chest.
My heart stuttered.
Kaelith…
But before I could reach further, she pulled back from the bond, gently but completely.
And not before I felt the flicker of pain she hadn’t meant to share.
The kind of pain that only came from love. From loss. From a little red dragon whose burdens were far deeper than his jokes.
Kaelith loved him.
And suddenly, I didn’t just want to know what Siergen had sacrificed.
I needed to know why.
Major Kaler stood at the edge of the platform, the red sickle banner still snapping behind him, but it was the dragon-cage banner that hung heavier in the air. His voice, usually cool and measured, held a sharpness now—one honed by frustration.
“The dissension is growing,” he announced to the gathered guilds, his eyes sweeping over the riders, warders, and assembled squads. “Some noble houses in the outer kingdoms have withdrawn communication. They’ve lost faith in our ability to protect them.”
I felt the words like a slap, and my fingers curled into fists at my sides. The crown created that. I wanted to scream it. They stripped the warders from their towers. They pulled the healers from their people. They did this. But I stayed silent.
Kaler’s mouth tightened as he continued. “Several of these houses have refused royal summons. They no longer send messages. They no longer acknowledge Warriath’s authority. They’ve broken from the kingdom in spirit, if not in name.”
A ripple moved through the crowd, unease settling into our bones.
“Squads will be dispatched in the coming days,” Kaler went on. “Each to a different Kingdom. You will remind them who protects this realm. Who has always stood between them and the Blood Fae.”
Just then, a court courier broke through the gate. His cloak was dusted with ash, his cheeks flushed from a hard ride. He moved straight to the platform, hand extended.
Kaler accepted the parchment and broke the seal.
He read quickly.
Then his face hardened.
The silence that followed was absolute.
His voice was low when he finally spoke, but every word rang clear as a death bell.
“War has been declared.”
Gasps and murmurs broke out immediately.
Kaler raised the letter.
“The Varnari have sent a formal warning to the crown. They do not recognize the authority of the Fourth Guild. Effective immediately, they intend to destroy its legacy.”
His hand lowered.
“They have declared that the dragons will serve them, or be slain.”
A breath caught in my throat.
And then, the final words—
“Fourth Guild will be dissolved.”
The world tilted slightly on its axis.
Not just a threat. Not whispers in taverns. Not stolen glances and painted banners.
This was a declaration.
The storm wasn’t coming anymore.
It had already broken, and we were standing in its eye. But before I could process the reality the sound of shouting echoed around me.
The great iron-bound doors of the castle slammed open with a clang that echoed across the Ascension Grounds.
Theron stormed out, his royal guards flanking him like living statues of polished steel. His crimson and black cloak billowed behind him, each step striking the stone like a hammer. Rage simmered off him in waves—controlled, yes, but barely.
He made a direct path for Zander, who stood near the base of the dais, his hands casually resting behind his back. Crownwatch shifted around him instinctively, protective but not interfering. My squad didn’t move, but I felt the tension coil in every shoulder like a bowstring drawn taut.
“Zander,” Theron called, his voice sharp and full of venom, “you are hereby charged with treason.”
The entire field froze.
“You have actively worked against the crown,” he continued, stopping just short of his brother. “You have conspired with dangerous elements, and you will not be king.”
Zander tilted his head slightly, his lavender eyes cool and measured as he regarded his older brother like a puzzle that had suddenly stopped making sense.
“I have no desire to be king,” he replied evenly. “Both you and Dorian would ascend before that burden was placed on me. So, tell me, Theron… why have you made this accusation?”
That was when Theron’s gaze slid to me.
I felt it before I saw it. The heat. The loathing.
His voice turned to poison.
“You allowed that unclean commoner to use her blood to heal you. You let her touch you, merge her filth with royal blood. And now…” his lip curled, “you follow her around like a lost puppy.”
My heart stilled.
All across the grounds, heads turned, toward me. Toward Thrall Squad. Toward Kaelith, who loomed in the skies above like a silent sentinel.
How had he found out?
That night, the blood, the healing, had only been witnessed by people I trusted.
But Remy could find out. If he wanted to.
I swallowed hard, feeling the ground shift beneath my feet.
Remy wouldn’t.
Would he?
He could have found out. That much I knew. Whether he told Theron… that was another question.
Zander’s posture didn’t change, but his voice dropped low, threaded with warning. “Watch your next words carefully, brother.”
Theron sneered. “You’ve allowed her to become your weakness. You’ve given her power she doesn’t deserve.”
Kaelith’s voice blazed into my mind like dragon fire. He’s wrong. He fears what he cannot command. And I will not be commanded.
Neither would I.
And if Theron wanted a war?
He’d just called down the storm.
The sharp, sudden laughter broke through the tension like glass shattering on stone.
Heads turned instantly.
The royal messenger, the one who had just handed the major the missive, now stood at the edge of the platform, cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, a smirk stretched wide across his face.
“The throne is so predictable,” he sneered, his voice carrying easily across the stunned crowd. “Our leader said you’d turn on each other. All I did was give Theron a fake message. And here you are, like blind dogs fighting over scraps.”
Every muscle in my body locked tight.
Theron’s face went crimson, his mouth twisting into fury and humiliation. “Apprehend him!” he barked, jabbing a finger toward the messenger.
But the man didn’t run.
He moved—too fast.
From beneath his cape, he pulled a small crossbow, already loaded with a frost-tipped bolt.
Thwip.
The sound cut the air in two.
The arrow hurtled straight toward Theron, deadly, gleaming, and aimed true.
A royal guard lunged, shoving Theron hard, and the bolt struck him instead, embedding deep into the space just left of his heart. The guard collapsed with a guttural gasp, blood already blooming through the silver threads of his uniform.
Screams erupted.
I whirled—
Just in time to hear a second thump.
Time slowed.
Zander staggered, eyes wide in shock, his tunic already darkening around the bolt now buried in his shoulder.
“No,” I breathed, as he crumbled to the earth.
Kaelith’s scream tore through the skies like a blade through thunder.
I ran.