Chapter 6
Cyrus
RAYNOFF TOWER ROSE LIKE A blade jammed into the mountainside, angled for defense not comfort. My father had built it when he claimed the first council seat, choosing strategic advantage over accessibility and power over hospitality.
We were here for crisis coordination. The interim council had called an emergency summit to plan countermoves—tracking Raven, assessing the corrupted wellsprings, and figuring out deployment of those who could be trusted.
The conference room had filled while we were in transit. The interim council around the obsidian table—Hartwell, Voss, Irving. A handful of Shroud Guards Voss had personally vetted. My father at the head, not yet seated.
And Parker, standing near the windows.
She looked different, not recovered exactly. The shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there before Alstone’s compound and probably never would be. But she was upright, focused, and carrying herself with authority that went beyond what a Shroud Guard’s posture usually held.
The rank insignia on her collar was new, a field promotion.
I didn’t comment on it. Neither did she. She just caught my eye across the room with a brief nod that said later before returning her attention to the maps on the table.
Marigold noticed too. I saw it in the small pause before she moved fully into the room— taking in the insignia, the fact that she was here at all.
I’d heard Parker had been pulled back from Levon’s library two days ago, where she’d gone after she was rescued.
Raynoff had called her back early because he needed someone who could look at a Shroud Guard and know.
Not just vet paperwork and alibi timelines, but actually know—the way you know things when you’ve been on the other side of what corruption does to a person.
She’d been tortured. She understood from the inside what it felt like when someone’s magic had been redirected against them.
That made her the most reliable instrument they had for identifying compromised guards, and it also meant she was probably the most exhausted person in the room.
My father stood, and the room fell silent. Military command lay in every line of his posture.
He’d changed since learning the truth about my mother’s death. He still carried himself like a general, still commanded every room he entered, but something was different in his amber eyes now, something that looked almost like regret.
The master is operating on multiple fronts simultaneously, Lord Raynoff said. Not a discussion, a briefing. Our intelligence confirms coordinated attacks across six continents. And Raven’s trail leading directly into enemy territory.
He gestured to the maps spread across the conference table—Keane’s obsessive documentation, color-coded and cross-referenced. This was everything we knew about the master’s network, which was both too much and not nearly enough.
We cannot defend everything from a single position, Father continued. The interim council has authorized a tactical split.
Not requested. Authorized.
I stood near the back, my arms crossed with Ember restless on my shoulder. My fire magic wanted to surge every time I looked at those maps. At the corruption spreading across continents. At Raven’s trail.
And at Marigold standing across the room with Keane and Elio. Close enough to see. Too far to touch. The distance between us felt wider than it had any right to be.
We hadn’t talked. Not really. I’d walked away from that humiliating reunion, and we’d barely exchanged more than tactical necessity since. It was easy to hide behind the crisis.
Easy to avoid facing what I’d felt when she’d stood between them like that’s where she belonged while I burned alone.
My fire flickered hotter. The guard beside me shifted away slightly.
The Shroud Guard is still being vetted, Commander Voss said, his Shroud Guard tattoo bright on his neck. We’ve identified twelve compromised members so far. Another thirty are under investigation. Until we know who we can trust, our tactical resources are limited.
Which is why we’re deploying the heirs, my father said. They’ve proven themselves trustworthy. They’ve demonstrated combined magical effectiveness. And frankly, we have no one else with their capabilities who we’re certain isn’t compromised.
So that was it. Not strategic assets—just the last ones standing.
We’ve started assisting with the vetting process, Captain Parker said.
That was why we were being deployed instead of the guard. It wasn’t just that the ranks were compromised. It was the fact they only fully trusted one person to clear them, working through thirty-plus cases, and she couldn’t be everywhere.
Marigold shifted beside Keane, her shoulders squaring like she was about to push back.
Father didn’t let her.
The decision’s been made, he said, his voice cutting clean through the room. The master is striking on multiple fronts. We need coverage the four of you cannot provide from a single location.
Scout’s tiny frame stiffened against her shoulder, mirroring the flicker of resistance in her spine.
So we’re weapons now? I asked. Strategic assets to deploy wherever the council decides?
Father’s amber eyes met mine. You’re heirs. This is what leadership requires.
The weight of that settled over the room.
Raven’s corruption timeline suggests months of preparation, Keane explained, his voice measured despite the tension radiating from Marigold beside him. She was showing signs as early as mid-semester last term.
Months, Marigold said quietly. The guilt in her voice made something twist in my chest. She was suffering for months, and none of us noticed.
I wanted to cross the room, tell her it wasn’t her fault, pull her close and make that guilt disappear, but I couldn’t.
The master’s methodology is clear, Elio added. He targets witches who are emotionally isolated, magically sensitive, and positioned near someone he wants to reach.
And the corrupted wellsprings? Lady Hartwell asked.
Synchronized, Keane said. Seventeen wellsprings across six continents, all corrupted within a three-hour window last November. This isn’t opportunistic. It’s ritual positioning. He’s building something that spans the globe.
Which we don’t have time to fully understand, Father said. Because while we’re analyzing patterns, he’s moving. Building his network. Corrupting more witches. Preparing whatever endgame he’s planned.
He pulled up deployment orders—official and already drafted.
Elio and Cyrus will track Raven’s trail into the Alps, Father said, tapping the table with two fingers.
Fire power for combat. Illusion detection for identifying corrupted targets and seeing through deception.
You’ll gather intelligence on the master’s European operations and attempt extraction if possible.
Keane and Marigold remain at Wickem. Corruption monitoring—students, staff, ley line readings from campus.
Keane’s portal network keeps our intelligence coordinated across regions.
Marigold’s necromantic sensitivity gives us early warning if the master moves against the wellspring or the student population again.
And if we lock down, I need portal capacity on site.
The military precision was flawless. The tactical logic sound.
And it made me want to burn something down.
Portal to a secure location in Europe—Paris, most likely, Keane said quietly, already calculating logistics. Then mundane transport from there. He paused. Direct portals would be too conspicuous. The master would sense the magical signature and know we’re coming.
Plus I need Keane here, Father added. He’s been coordinating intelligence from six continents, mapping infected wellsprings, and maintaining communication networks. His portal network is the only thing keeping our defensive response coordinated.
Two weeks away from Marigold. Two weeks trusting others to keep her safe while I was halfway around the world.
Aurora was still safely with family. I’d confirmed that this morning. Lucas was recovering under guard supervision. But Marigold would be here, at Wickem, where the master had already proven he could strike.
Every possessive instinct I had screamed against it.
But I’d been the one pushing for offensive action, saying we couldn’t just defend and react. We needed to match the master’s tactical spread.
Careful what you wish for, Raynoff.
The interim council needs visible results, Parker added. Public confidence is wavering. Parents are pulling students from Wickem. International authorities have been questioning our competence. We need to demonstrate we’re taking action, not just reacting to attacks.
So that was it. We weren’t just tactical assets. We were public relations.
The interim council will vote to authorize deployment, Father said. All in favor?
Four hands went up around the table, strategic sense overriding any hesitation.
Then Father looked at us. And the heirs? You understand what’s being asked?
Marigold’s hand rose first this time. Decisive. Her own choice, not looking to any of us for permission.
Keane followed. Then Elio.
I kept my hand down for one long moment—long enough to let them all know this wasn’t easy. Long enough to make it clear I was choosing this, not just accepting it.
Then my hand rose.
Unanimous, Father said. Elio and Cyrus depart tomorrow at dawn. Keane and Marigold coordinate from Wickem. We will reconvene when you return.
The meeting dissolved into logistics of portal schedules, supply lists, and communication protocols.
I stayed silent through all of it, my fire building hotter with every minute.
THE NEXT MORNING, WE STOOD in the royal common room. The planning and official business was done. Just us now, figuring out how to say goodbye.
Marigold stood between Keane and Elio. She was clearly comfortable with them in ways that made my chest tight—easy proximity, familiar touches, the kind of intimacy that came from established trust and time I hadn’t put in.
I stood apart. Still on the outside. Still fighting the urge to demand she choose instead of learning to share.
Raven’s been corrupted for months, Marigold said. Her voice was steady, but her hands weren’t, her fingers twisted together.
Scout’s glow dimmed to a soft, steady green as he leaned into her.
What if… She took a breath. What if there’s nothing left to save?
Then we make sure the master can’t use her again, I said, too harsh and too blunt.
But I didn’t soften truth just because it hurt.
Elio’s pale blue eyes studied me with that unsettling perception he’d developed since dropping his masks. We’ll find her. Whatever state she’s in.
Marigold turned to me then, her dark brown eyes searching mine for something I didn’t know how to give. You don’t have to go.
The words lit a fuse in my chest.
The council…
Can’t actually force you, she interrupted. You’re an heir. You could refuse. Stay here and—
And what? My fire flared hot enough that Ember trilled a warning. Watch the master operate globally while we cluster in one place? Let Raven suffer because I’m too attached to stay objective?
Too attached to you, I didn’t say. Too fucked up about sharing to handle watching you with them every day while pretending I’m fine.
Her jaw tightened. I just meant…
I know what you meant. I forced the fire down. Forced control. But the mission makes sense. We can’t be everywhere. Someone has to track the European network.
And I need distance before this destroys me.
She closed the space between us. I could have stepped back. Should have, maybe, to maintain the distance I’d been keeping since that disastrous reunion.
But I didn’t.
Her arms wrapped around me, and for one moment, I let myself have this. Her warmth seeped into me, her magic humming against mine in that perfect synchronization that shouldn’t exist but did.
This was what I wanted. What I couldn’t have. Not like this—not as one of three, not as optional, not as something she fit between the others when it was convenient.
Don’t get killed, she whispered against my chest.
I wanted to say: Then ask me to stay. Wanted to demand: Choose me.
But I don’t beg. I don’t ask for scraps of attention between other people’s claims.
Two weeks, I said instead.
When I pulled away, her eyes were wet.
Good. Let her feel it too. Let her know what it cost.
Keane stood nearby, Wisp flickering at his feet. His deep blue eyes held the kind of understanding I never asked for. He knew I was running. Knew why.
And he’d keep her safe anyway. That’s what Keane did. He protected people, even when they didn’t deserve it.
Keep her alive, I said.
He nodded once.
Elio waited by the portal—my travel partner for the next leg of this war and the illusionist I’d once dismissed as spectacle. Crisis burned through masks fast.
Ready? Keane asked as the portal shimmered open.
No. Every instinct screamed to stay. To tear up the orders. To pull her into my arms and be done pretending I could survive this split.
Ready, I said.
The lie scorched my throat. I stepped through without looking back. If I did, I wouldn’t go. And staying would kill me slower than leaving ever could.
The portal sealed behind us. Paris resolved into sharp lines and cold light, Keane’s secure fallback. From here: trains, false names, a slow crawl into corrupted Europe.
On my shoulder, Ember’s wings were tucked tightly against his body, every feather held in rigid, glowing alignment.
She’ll be fine, Elio said beside me. Keane won’t let anything happen to her.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because fine wasn’t the point. She’d be fine without me. That was the point.
My fire burned hotter as we headed for the station.