41. CHAPTER 41
By the time Professor Yan dismissed us, my arms ached from stretching cords across Esme’s back, and chalk dust clung to my leathers.
Feather Wing trudged out together, trading jabs about who had the most uncooperative flier.
The fliers themselves had already returned to the Vale, leaving us lighter but somehow lonelier as we crossed into the courtyard.
The laughter died at once.
Gasps rippled through our ranks. My chest squeezed tight as my eyes found what silenced us.
A cadet hung against the pale stone of Alpha Wing, suspended by shimmering cords of magic. Her arms stretched wide, her boots swung two feet above the ground, and blood dripped from her chin in a slow, sick rhythm.
Harlyn Cowens. Infantry.
Recognition struck like a blade to the gut. Months earlier, she challenged Sadie in the sparring rings and nearly killed her, stabbing only millimeters from her heart. She didn’t just humiliate Sadie—she relished it.
Now she hung lifeless, head tilted at an unnatural angle.
Beside me, Sadie went rigid, the color draining from her face. Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles white, but she said nothing.
Akira swore softly, her voice shaking. “Gods… they did this in broad daylight.”
Micah stopped dead, a tray of tools slipping from his grip, the clatter ringing too loud in the silence. Thora’s griffin wasn’t there, but I could almost imagine Sylivia’s feathers slicking tight in predator stillness.
Whispers broke like cracks in ice .
“Another one.”
“Infantry this time.”
“She deserved it.”
“No one’s safe.”
My skin crawled, every hair prickling. The shimmering cords that held Harlyn flickered faintly, not rope or chain but something conjured—something wrong.
Esme’s voice slid through my mind, colder than I’d ever felt her. “This is deliberate. Calculated. Whoever did this wants you all to watch.”
Boots thundered behind us—professors and lieutenants sweeping in, shouting orders, throwing up wards to shove cadets back. A shimmering barrier sealed the courtyard in moments, cutting us off from the body, but the sight of it was already burned into our eyes.
I couldn’t breathe.
Because this wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a warning gone wrong. It was a choice. And whoever picked Harlyn Cowens had done it in the open, daring the rest of us to wonder—Who was next?
The courtyard filled fast, cadets pouring in from every wing and floor, their boots thundering across the cobblestones. Voices rose, high and panicked, whispers turning sharp as blades.
“Who is it?”
“Infantry—look, it’s Harlyn Cowens.”
“She’s strung like a trophy.”
“Gods, how didn’t the towers or patrol see this?”
The press of bodies made it hard to breathe. Some craned their necks for a better look, others shoved forward as if daring the barrier to let them through. The wards shimmered brighter with every cadet that pressed close, humming with restrained force.
“Back to your chambers!” Lieutenant Gray’s voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip. Professors fanned out behind him, their faces grim, their gestures sharp as they forced the crowd back. “Move! Lockdown until further notice. No exceptions. ”
The orders rippled outward, swallowed by a tide of cadets resisting. Fear made them stubborn. Nobody wanted to turn their back on the sight of Harlyn hanging limp against the stone.
Professor Melamora strode forward, eyes flashing, her tone colder than the night air. “Do as you’re told, or I’ll have you dragged there myself.”
That broke the standoff. Reluctantly, cadets shuffled back, peeling away in stiff, uneasy lines. The barrier shimmered one last time before sealing tight, cutting off even the faintest glimpse of Harlyn’s dangling form.
The walk to my chamber was a blur. My body moved, but my mind stayed rooted in the courtyard, in the steady drip of blood on stone.
By the time I reached my hall, the smell of food clashed harshly with the memory.
Mess stewards had been ordered into the halls, dropping canvas sacks onto tables for cadets to snatch on their way to their rooms.
I pulled mine open and blinked. Inside was a hunk of hard bread, a wedge of cheese, and a tin cup already half full of watered juice. Simple. Practical. The kind of thing you’d hand a soldier on campaign in the last century. It tasted like ash in my mouth.
Around me, cadets grumbled as they accepted their rations, the noise a low, restless growl. A few cracked bitter jokes—about prison fare, about the professors chaining us in our rooms next—but none of it stuck.
Not with the image of Harlyn burned into our eyes.
Esme’s voice brushed the back of my mind, quieter than usual. “Eat, little Rider. You’ll need your strength. Whoever strung her there… they’re not finished.”
And I knew she was right.
The canvas sack sat forgotten at the edge of my desk, its contents—bread and cheese—untouched. I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the wall. The image of Harlyn strung against Alpha Wing burned so deep it pulsed behind my eyes every time I blinked.
“Zane?”
His voice slid in, low and steady, like dark water. “I’m here. I’m always here. ”
I hesitated, fingers knotting in my blanket. “She wasn’t just killed. She was on display. Whoever this is, they’re… escalating. First, the courtyard. Then the classroom. Now strung up like a warning sign. They’re not hiding anymore.”
A long silence stretched before his reply. “You’re right. This isn’t just killing. It’s performance. Whoever’s doing this wants us afraid, wants us watching.”
“It’s working,” I admitted, pressing my palm to my chest. My bond mark thrummed faintly with unease. “Everyone’s jumpy. Sadie hadn’t said two words since we saw her. What happens when cadets start turning on each other?”
“They already are,” he said. “I’ve heard the whispers. Branch against branch. Wing against wing. It’s tearing at the seams.”
I shut my eyes and leaned my back against the wall . “Winter break can’t come soon enough.”
The thought slipped out before I could stop it, and the silence on the bond shifted.
“Where are you going?” Zane asked.
My stomach tightened. I didn’t know. I had been pondering the thought for a few days. Knowing, we couldn’t be separated for long.
“I don’t… know.” The words felt small. “My father’s house isn’t home. It never has been. Not since… I swallowed hard. Not since my mother died. He wouldn’t care if I came or not. I don’t have anywhere else. He surely won’t be there. And what about us, our bond, our powers?”
The bond hummed warm, steady. Zane didn’t rush his reply . “Come with me.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“To my family’s palace. It’s not perfect. It’s… complicated. But it’s safer than going back to your father’s. And you wouldn’t be alone.”
The offer settled between us, heavy and bright all at once. I mean, it was what I wanted, deep down, but also the thought terrified me. He had a lot of siblings, and his father was the fucking duke for goodness sake. Not to mention I killed his brothers, Zane’s uncles .
And then the image of Harlyn slipped back, the dread in my chest easing just enough for me to breathe.
“Think about it, you deserve somewhere that feels like home, Auri. Even if it’s only for two weeks.”
The bond was quiet for a long stretch, but my chest wouldn’t loosen.
My thoughts spun too fast, words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“What if I manifest there? At your palace. In front of your family. In front of your father. None of you Drusearons channel raw power—you don’t know what it’s like.
What if my power breaks loose? What if I destroy something?
What if I hurt someone? What if I make your family hate me before they even know me? ”
Zane’s reply was steady, like iron wrapped around fire. “We’ll deal with it. Together. If you burn a hall, we’ll rebuild it. If my father hates it, well he hates it. You won’t be alone, Auri. Not in this. Not ever again.”
I pressed my palm hard to my bond mark and forced myself to believe it. Another thought burned hotter than the rest, one I refused to say aloud until now.
My voice shook. “What about… what I did to your uncles?”
The silence that followed nearly broke me. My throat closed, but the words wouldn’t stay buried.
“You know… what happened…” Tears started to blur my vision, hot and unwanted. “I killed them both, Zane. How do I face your family with that? How do I walk into your father’s house when I’ve spilled Drusearon blood?”
His answer cracked through the bond, fierce and unyielding.
“You don’t apologize for surviving.” His voice dropped, sharp as a blade.
“The one who touched you deserved death the moment he laid hands on you. And the one who shielded him deserved it the moment he chose to stand between you and justice. You didn’t kill them for being Drusearons, Auri. You killed them for what they did.”
My breath hitched, the tears slipping free. “But your father—”
“My father,” Zane cut me off, his temper bleeding through the bond, “is not a god. He is a duke. And as far as I know, he believes your father was the one responsible, not you. He doesn’t know what happened to you, and if he did and he didn’t punish him by death, then I wouldn’t want to associate with him. ”
The conviction in his voice broke something loose inside me, leaving me raw and trembling. I curled deeper into my blanket, the ache in my chest sharp and sweet all at once.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is.” His thought struck fierce, hard-edged. “It is when it comes to you.” The next pulse came softer, gentler, almost breaking at the edges.
For the first time since seeing Harlyn strung up, my breath came easier.
The fear didn’t vanish, but it eased—like a shadow pushed back by firelight.
I wanted to believe him. Gods, I wanted to.
I knew deep down if I didn’t want to go, he would go with me wherever I chose—but I didn’t want him to sacrifice the holiday with his family.
I also didn’t want to be away from him, especially not for two weeks.