Chapter 19
When Ellaryn woke the next morning, Xander’s plan was the first thing waiting for her.
She didn’t know how he intended to find the King’s mutation, or what shape the process would take—only that it existed now, lodged in her mind like a splinter she couldn’t ignore.
And that ring—that stone—shone through her thoughts like a shooting star.
He had followed her into her dreams.
That night, amid the wreckage of her past—her parents and brother laid out in blood and silence—he had been there. Not speaking. Not reaching for her. Just watching. As if he belonged in the nightmare as much as the bodies did. She didn’t know what that meant, only that it unsettled her deeply.
Ellaryn barely understood how to perceive Xander when she was awake, let alone when her mind was drowsy with sleep.
He was foreign to her in every way: the way he dressed, the way he spoke, the way he moved through space as though it yielded for him.
He was sculpted without the hard edges of Cinders.
Severity and seriousness never seemed to cling to him; it was as if his very being repelled them, softened them before they could take hold.
He brushed them aside like dust from a windowsill—easily, instinctively.
Maybe he was careless.
But he had a plan.
And in fifteen years of this living prison, that alone made him dangerous—in the best possible way.
He felt like a breath of clean air in a place long starved of it.
She let herself imagine life beyond the wall. Sailen standing in sunlight, warmth blooming in his skin instead of rot in his bones. The King defeated. Gone. For good.
Then a dull ache rose in her chest when she remembered she would not be here to see it. Still, she held onto the vision of Sailen free before forcing herself back to reality.
Because the King was still here.
And if she failed to mislead the army today, he would find out about Xander.
Daylight tore across the sky as the sun crested the wall, driving the lingering shadows back one by one. Curtains remained drawn, dwellers still asleep, but the fires continued to burn.
They always burned.
Ellaryn glanced around the square where Damien had told her to meet him. She had expected the army to be here already—kicking down doors, breaking bones, and spreading fear through the streets. Instead, there was nothing.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The King’s bronze statue towered over the square, its unyielding eyes seeming to follow her wherever she moved. She made a point of avoiding its gaze; there was something about it that always left her uneasy.
Then, finally, Damien appeared.
He sauntered towards her, clean-shaven, one hand resting casually around the handle of his sword. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he exchanged a joke with the armoured man walking beside him. There were only seven of them in total.
Ellaryn’s eyes swept the square, searching for the rest of the regiment.
There were no more.
“I thought you were leading a raid?” she asked as he drew closer, entirely unhurried.
“I am.” He smiled, dimples pressing into his cheeks.
“Then where are the rest of your men?” she scoffed, baffled by his maddening vagueness.
“Discretion is key,” he said. “The King wants this done quietly. The less noise we make, the better our chances of catching the ‘thief.’” He used air quotes, a smirk on his lips.
The explanation alone made Ellaryn question everything. Quiet had never been one of the King’s specialities. Power and fear were his favourite tools, and he wielded both loudly, violently, and without mercy.
But perhaps this time was different. He did have a lot on his mind; maybe he just let Damien take charge. Run with his plan. Give him enough blade to cut himself.
She gave him a small nod.
“It’s going to take all day to raid the city with just eight men.” A humourless laugh escaped her.
“Then we’d best get started right away,” he retorted, a smirk tugging at his lips. He gave the Knights a vague, impatient wave—a silent let’s go—before turning on his heel.
They started down the street, and Damien only glanced back when he realised Ellaryn wasn’t following.
“You coming?” he called.
Ellaryn met his gaze. For a moment, neither of them looked away. Then she broke the stare with a quiet sigh.
“Fine.” She fell into step behind them. “But if you or any of your men get in my way, I won’t hesitate to end them.”
Damien raised a brow.
“And by end them, I mean impale them with my sword,” she clarified, a wicked grin pulling at her lips.
“My men are smarter than that,” he replied. “They know better than to sign their own death warrants.”
“Let’s hope.” She shrugged before walking their way.
Behind her, the sun climbed higher.
Ahead of her, everything burned.