Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Morning light filtered softly through the barrack windows as I slipped inside, as quiet as a shadow. My boots made barely a sound against the stone floor, and I exhaled in relief when I saw the others still wrapped in sleep.
I crossed to my wardrobe and pulled out a fresh pair of clothes. I’d barely tugged them on when I heard a rustle of blankets.
Riven turned over, blinking blearily at me. Her voice was scratchy with sleep. “Do I want to know where you were last night?”
I smirked. “Probably not.”
She sat up straighter. “Was it fun?”
“Terrifying,” I said, and her face sobered. “Zander was attacked last night. Someone drugged him and came for him while he slept.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Was he hurt?”
“Badly. I… he’s healed now though.”
Riven swore under her breath as the others began to stir. Naia blinked awake, Jax grumbled something about too much drama before breakfast, and Cordelle rubbed at his eyes as I recounted what had happened.
“He didn’t see who it was?” Naia asked, already pulling on her flight leathers.
“No,” I said. “They wore a mask. But they were inside the castle. And they knew how to knock him out without a trace.”
The mood was grim as we dressed and headed for the dining hall.
We sat together, silent as we ate, the tension coiling around us like a second skin.
Then the door opened.
Zander entered with Crownwatch beside him, his posture strong but careful, like he wasn’t quite back to full strength. He looked… good. Too good for someone who’d nearly died, if I was being honest. His hair was still damp from washing, and the dark tunic he wore clung in just the right places.
I didn’t dare look too long.
Good morning, beautiful, his voice slid into my mind like warm smoke.
I coughed into my cup, choking slightly on my cider. Have you been getting tips from Siergen?
Does that dragon actually flirt with you? Zander asked, amusement curling through the bond.
A little, I admitted. He once told me my hair looked like moonlight caught in a storm.
Zander’s mental voice went dry. Remind me to snip his tail if he does that again.
I hid a smile behind my mug, pretending not to notice how Cade, ever-watchful, was looking between me and Zander with that calculating expression he wore when things didn’t add up.
Zander returned to eating, chatting casually with his squad, but every so often, his gaze would flick toward me, lingering for just a moment too long.
You should eat, he sent softly.
You should rest, I fired back.
Not when you’re sitting across the room and I can’t get the sight of you in that tunic and nothing else, out of my mind.
I nearly choked again.
He chuckled in my mind, smug and satisfied.
And despite everything, the assassination attempt, the whispers of rebellion, I felt something warm in my chest.
Danger was coming.
But for now?
I let myself flirt back.
We were halfway through breakfast when Tae set down his cup, wiped his hands on his pants, and quietly excused himself.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he crossed the dining hall and approached a tall woman with auburn hair braided tight against her scalp, Kateria. Iron Fang, by the dark-red on her sleeve and the cocky slant to her shoulders.
They spoke in hushed tones, standing close enough that their words didn’t carry, but not so close that it felt intimate.
Still, I caught the subtle scowl twisting Perin’s face from across the room.
His jaw flexed, lips thin, but he said nothing as Tae offered Kateria a nod and returned to us a few minutes later.
Naia narrowed her eyes at him. “What was that?”
Tae smirked, sliding back into his seat. “Kateria and I were speaking the other day.”
“Is that what you call it?” Naia teased, sipping her cider.
Tae rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever. After that, we talked about the court. Specifically, the king.”
Jax leaned in. “And what would Iron Fang have to say about that?”
“Kateria’s father is a court advisor,” Tae replied, picking up a slice of fruit without looking up. “She hears things. And things are getting bad.”
“How does she know?” I asked, already feeling the pressure build behind my eyes.
“She listens. And she watches.”
“What did you ask?” I probed.
Tae looked up, more serious now. “If Theron has the trust of the court.”
“And?” Jax asked, already tensing.
“It’s close,” Tae admitted. “Some are still loyal to Dorian, especially since the attempt on his life, and there are a few, mostly younger nobles, who think Zander should be named regent.”
I blinked. “Zander?”
Tae nodded. “He’s a rider. He’s respected. And he’s not as politically entrenched. Some see him as… fair. Strong. Uncorrupted.”
“But?” Cordelle prompted.
“But Theron’s power is growing.” Tae’s voice dropped. “Fast. He’s stacking committees. Placing his own people in positions of influence. And now with the king declining—”
“They’re circling,” Riven finished. “Like vultures.”
“Would Zander take it?” Ferrula asked. “If they asked him?”
Silence hung in the air like a blade.
No one answered.
Because we all knew Zander wouldn’t want the crown.
But wanting had never mattered in Warriath. And nobody would accept a commoner as his bride.
My food felt tasteless as I finished it and we left the dining hall.
The morning sun spilled golden light across the Ascension Grounds as we made our way toward the central rings.
The air was cool, but tension hung heavier than the mist clinging to the stones.
Ahead of us, Iron Fang was already assembled, looking sharp, uniform, and entirely uninterested in the Lowborn Squad standing awkwardly beside them.
Though they were positioned together, the divide was stark. The Lowborn Squad; Teren, Luthias, Kaila, Ayda, and Camus; stood slightly apart, like iron filings repelled by the magnetic sneer of nobility.
Major Kaler stepped forward from the sidelines, voice crisp as always. “All squads, to your assigned rings. Lowborn Squad, join Thrall for today’s training.”
His tone was neutral, but he listed the names rather than acknowledging them as a unit, and the pause afterward said more than his words ever could. They were assigned to us… but they were still being kept apart.
We walked together in silence until we reached our ring. As we took our positions, Zander broke away from Crownwatch, his cloak fluttering behind him like a shadow of purpose.
“Teren,” he called as he reached us, “I had you all reassigned to train under Thrall Squad this week.”
Teren gave a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank the gods. I can’t stand most of Iron Fang. They act like their dragons are too good to breathe the same air as ours.”
“They’re not,” Riven muttered, and Ayda smirked in agreement.
Zander didn’t smile, but his voice lowered slightly. “Have you heard anything new from your sources in the Outer Kingdoms?”
I blinked, surprised at the question. He’s been gathering intel? My respect for him deepened.
“Yeah,” Teren said, eyes flicking around. “More than a few of the outlying villages have been approached by some mysterious sect. No uniforms. No symbols. Just a voice claiming they represent the ‘True Heirs of Warriath.’”
I glanced at Zander, then the others. “That’s the same wording used in the whispers from Warriath.”
“And Meri said some of the reassigned healers went missing around those villages,” I added.
Cordelle’s brow furrowed. “So it’s not just here. It’s spreading. This sect… they’re forming across the kingdoms.”
“Which means this isn’t a rebellion anymore,” Zander said darkly. “It’s a movement.”
“And one backed by power,” Teren added. “They’re not just gathering commoners, they’re targeting magical bloodlines.”
“Warders,” I said slowly. “Healers. Maybe even riders.”
We stood in silence, the implications threading through us like ice.
It wasn’t just an uprising.
It was a claim.
And someone was preparing to make it.
We stood in a loose half-circle within our assigned ring, the morning sun now fully risen and glinting off blades and armor as if nothing had changed. But everything had. The moment Teren mentioned the “True Heirs of Warriath,” something shifted.
Luthias, quiet until now, stepped forward, his arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes sharp beneath his shorn scalp.
“I’ve got some additional intel,” he said, his voice low. “The sect, this group claiming to represent the ‘True Heirs’—they’re actively recruiting. Healers. Infantry. Warders. Anyone with magic, mostly from common bloodlines.”
“We figured that much,” I said, eyeing him carefully. “But?”
“They have a different view when it comes to dragon riders.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my stomach already twisting.
He hesitated. “They’re spreading the belief that dragon riders are privileged tyrants. Elitists. That we serve the throne, not the people. That our dragons seek to hoard power instead of being protectors bound by oath.”
I stared at him. “That’s a lie.”
“Of course it is,” Riven snapped. “But it doesn’t matter if it’s true, it only matters if people believe it.”
“They’re using it to stir rebellion among the commoners,” Luthias continued.
“Spreading stories of riders burning villages for sport. Claiming we’re trained to protect the royal bloodlines and only them.
That common-born riders are just token symbols used to lull the rest of the people into silence. ”
“They’re trying to fracture us,” Cordelle murmured, eyes dark. “Create division between commoners and the very riders who could defend them.”
Jax’s lip curled. “Typical. Turn the only weapon they can’t control into something feared.”
“That’s not all,” Luthias said grimly. “They’re organizing quiet resistance in places where the Fourth Guild doesn’t patrol. Blocking supply lines. Sabotaging patrols.”
“They’re building a network,” Zander said softly, almost to himself.
“They’re building an army,” I corrected. “And if they convince the people that dragon riders are the enemy… then the horde isn’t their salvation.”
“It’s their target,” Naia finished grimly.
A long silence fell over us as we stood shoulder to shoulder with the Lowborn Squad, two groups who’d once been shoved to the edges of the system now staring down the storm brewing beneath it.
We were mid-training in the ring, the sun hot overhead, steel clashing against steel, breaths coming hard and fast as we sparred in rotating pairs. Jax and I circled one another, his blade gleaming in the light, sweat running down his temple.
That’s when I saw her.
A court courier, moving too fluidly for a servant, weaving through the outer path of the Ascension Grounds with purpose, too much purpose. Then she signed, two quick flicks of her fingers near her hip.
I need to speak with you.
My heart kicked in my chest.
Solei.
I faked a stumble. Jax’s blade sliced across my upper arm, a shallow, burning sting.
“Shit, Ashe,” he hissed, immediately dropping his blade. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, gripping the cut. “That was my fault.”
Zander was already watching, brows pinched with concern.
“Can I go wash up?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
He nodded once, but his eyes lingered too long.
I jogged toward the barracks, blood already darkening the sleeve of my training tunic. As soon as I slipped inside, I heard the door click behind me.
Solei stepped in, locking it.
Her hair was cropped short, dyed a dark, dull brown, and tucked beneath the courier’s cap she peeled off. A second later, she yanked off the wig.
“You went to a lot of trouble just to see me,” I said, eyeing her warily.
“You know me,” she said with a half-smile as she pulled the wig from her head. “Subtle entrances are kind of my thing.”
“Why are you here?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Her face shifted, the amusement fading. “Have you heard of the new human movement?”
“I’ve heard whispers,” I said slowly. “Of a rebellion.”
She shook her head. “That’s their mission, but their real name is The Varnari.”
The word landed like a whisper laced in steel.
“They’re a sect made up of common-born magic users, warders, ex-military, even former assassins,” Solei continued. “They believe the dragons have chosen wrong. That the royal bloodlines are a decaying legacy and Warriath must fall for the continent to survive.”
“So they don’t trust riders,” I said quietly.
“Not yet,” Solei admitted. “But that could change.”
I frowned. “How?”
“It’s too soon,” she replied. “But your influence in the Fourth Guild is growing. If they believe you aren’t bound by crown or class, if they see you as one of them, you might be the bridge.”
I stepped back, heartbeat thudding. “Solei, are you one of them?”
She didn’t answer. Not directly.
Instead, she pulled the wig back over her cropped hair and straightened her tunic. At the door, she paused, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Just… choose the right side, Ashlyn.”