Chapter 25
Cayden
I lay on my makeshift bed in the dim light of sunrise, tracing the ghost of runes where ink used to be—white lines, gone, like the uncle who’d given them to me.
I’d spent months under his steady hands, and when he stood beside my Prophet, pouring magic into the fraud, I killed him without a thought.
I didn’t regret the man. His skill, the art he left on my skin, that I mourned.
Could you separate the two, mourn the artist, not the bastard, or did choices rot everything they touched? What did that say about me?
Rage so hot and painful that it obliterated everything crashed through me. I launched my fist into the nearest wall. The metal dented, knuckles split, and the sting dragged me back to reality.
I couldn’t drown in thought. Not today. Not with Quinn’s first “free will” trial coming. A joke, all of it. Free will couldn’t be proven. I thought I had it once, until I learned my life was a puppet show.
My stomach growled.
I could go back to my family, but I’d drown in everything I never wanted to be. I couldn’t look at the two boys I knew were mine without the shame choking me. Better to keep my distance, to spare their innocence.
Everly went every day. She was a good friend I didn’t deserve.
‘Xan and I leave for The Pit this afternoon. Q-tip’s first trial is with the Abernathys. Shouldn’t be trouble; they’re allies, even if shaky. I’ll grab a table at The Rooster. Meet me for breakfast if you want.’
‘Allies, my ass. They’re still testing her,’ I shot back.
‘I said, shaky,’ Rowan repeated.
But he wasn’t wrong. The Abernathys bent over backward to show loyalty, so long as they got their chance to test Quinn. And Xan let them.
I slammed my fist into the wall, this time directly through the crack I’d left days ago. This time I wished it were the Architect’s face.
‘I still have a TB,’ I snarled into our connection. ‘All of that could have been a message.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
I sighed, but a smile still tugged at my black mood.
The half-mile walk to the castle eased my anger.
Bustling businesses opened and construction resumed, filling the world with life.
Since Xan kicked me out, some demons eased.
The empty room forced space between me and my bullshit.
Penniless, locked out of Westwater walls, I got a clear shot of reality: my cult had sucked, but at least it had given me belonging.
By the time I crossed into the Architect’s walls, the enforcers barely glanced at me, yet my skin still prickled. Every step screamed what I already knew: I didn’t belong anywhere.
Chancellor Morgen stepped from the shadow of the portcullis, clearly waiting. “Master Cayden. A word.”
Master. She wanted something.
I inclined my head, and we fell into step.
“Have your attempts to see Quinn worked?” she asked.
“They have not.” My lips stayed flat. Did she already know and test me, or was she fishing?
“I see.” Her fingers twitched as if rehearsing the next words. “Did Quinn believe Professor Holiday deserved to die?”
I arched a brow.
She scowled. “You’re her best friend. Don’t play dumb with me.”
Best friend. The fact lifted my steps despite the weight of the question.
“She killed him here, didn’t she? You saw it?” She stopped us dead in the courtyard, right where Quinn had unraveled the professor and his monster.
I nodded. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I need to know.” Her voice cracked. Fear rolled off her in waves, sour and sharp. She crouched, fingers brushing a sickly patch of grass that withered under her touch. “How did his body fall apart?”
I stared at the bright pink of her hair, so stark against the dying green at her fingertips. “It didn’t. He became a dragon. The Alun absorbed him.”
A tremor ran down her back, violent enough I almost mistook it for a shiver. “And Quinn… believed he deserved to die?”
I frowned at the terror I couldn’t place. “I don’t know. Once her Majekah starts, it doesn’t stop.”
She shot to her feet, eyes blazing with something too sharp to be only anger. “That’s not what I asked, boy.”
The word cut deep—boy. I’d been through too much to be called that.
“He leeched off everyone. Parasite. Like my Prophet.” My voice sharpened. “It doesn’t matter what Quinn thinks. He earned it.”
I turned on my heel, bile burning at my throat. My hands stayed buried in my pockets so I wouldn’t put another crack in the castle walls, or in her.
Days ago, I would’ve spiraled into a ball of rage, haunted by ghosts. But my past was easing, step by baby step. By the time I sat at The Rooster, the anger still simmered, but it didn’t own me.
The lack of a third body at breakfast drew my attention. “No Everly today?”
Rowan cocked a brow. “Plenty you can rip on, if you’re desperate.”
I scowled, and he jerked his chin at the chair. “Sit. I’m teasing. Mostly. Look, she’s with her family for the trials. Everyone’s picking sides and holding their breath. The real question? Where the hell are you gonna stand?”
“At Quinn’s side,” I said immediately.
Rowan put his hands in the air. “Unless one of your attempts to infiltrate has worked…” He reached forward and pinched my forearm, making me jerk back. “Gonna say you’re here with me. So no, you won’t.”
“Have you seen Ezra?” I asked.
Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
I clenched my fist. No one had seen that bastard since he stepped into Xan’s shadow in the Alun. He was with Quinn. I didn’t know it, but I knew it. Jealousy and relief warred inside me. I was so fucking tired of feeling two emotions at once I wanted to scream.
“The question isn’t Ezra.” He pointed at me. “Where are you planning on being today?”
A man brought two plates of food to the table and put them in front of us.
“You ordered for me?” I asked.
“You get the same thing every time,” Rowan responded.
Coffee joined the fry-up; my favorite flat white steamed.
“You also can’t pay for it, so yeah, I did my thing,” Rowan added.
I picked up the coffee. “I can’t take Xan’s job. The room’s bad enough.” I clenched my cup. “My damn horse still eats in his stables. Do you know what it costs on The Mile to stable a horse?”
Complaining about costs wouldn’t help. Rowan wanted me to take Xan’s job, and if I kept going, he’d lay into me again… my friend didn’t understand.
“Being inside his walls feels like I’m back in the compound.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I equally felt like I would explode if I didn’t.
Rowan blinked at me, but it was too late to take it back. I picked up my fork and stabbed a fried mushroom.
“The castle doesn’t look anything like your compound.” Rowan shoved an entire sausage into his mouth.
I forced myself to stay calm. Quinn liked his stupid ass, and at moments, he’d grown on me. No. It wasn’t just moments. When had I gone from being forced to talk to Rowan, to joining him for breakfast at a moment's notice?
Rowan swallowed. “And it’s not run anything like your family either.”
“It’s not how it fucking looks, dumb-shit, it’s how it feels.
” I wasn’t sure whether anger or desperation fueled my words.
“This place is run by one man who controls everything inside his walls.” I started shaking so hard my fork threatened to take flight.
I dropped it and clenched my hands together like I’d seen Quinn do so many times.
God, I needed Quinn. She always understood.
Rowan’s chair scraped against the floor. “With me, Cay.”
My instincts tore. Of course, they fucking did. Half of me wanted to obey, and half of me wanted to deck the asshole trying to make me.
Rowan didn’t give me time to think. He sauntered to the bar. “Back in fifteen, tops. Don’t clear our table.”
The man and the bar nodded, and I finally forced myself to stand and follow the giant elemental mage into the thinning fog. Two minutes later, I stepped into Xan’s office, who looked up with confusion, glanced at me, and then let his gaze come to rest on Rowan.
“Xan, what’s on the shelves beside your desk?” Rowan demanded.
No pleasantries, no apologies. Whatever he needed to show me overrode even his constant need to place the Architect above us.
Xan looked just as surprised, a single eyebrow arching into his messy baby-blue hair.
Although I’d seen Xan’s office before, I hadn’t really looked at the details. I assumed the shelves Rowan talked about were the three tiers bolted to the wall with wide mesh baskets. Scrawls, mostly of one color, filled each basket.
“Reports, I think. I literally just sat down.” Xan scowled. “Didn’t get to Valentino’s box yesterday.”
“He’s got no idea what’s on those shelves,” Rowan said, turning to me. “The bottom row is Ezra’s five. My basket, which used to be empty, has become Brit’s basket.”
A handful of moss-green scrawls, days old, by the look, glowed in said basket.
“I mean, that’s harsh, considering how much you’ve been at my side the last two days, Rowan,” Xan mumbled.
Rowan ignored him. “Middle shelf: Hope and housing.” Every basket overflowed, and now that I looked, a few orange scrawls even peeked out from the floor.
“Top shelf: everything else. Jobs, strays, anything needing Xan’s direct say.
Even his new mental-health branch has rotted up there since it started. ”
“It’s not like someone infiltrated my castle,” Xan mumbled to his desk. “Or my girl was kidnapped. I’ve had all the time in the world.”
I didn’t acknowledge his words, especially the “my girl,” as I studied the top shelf. Four baskets, both stacked high with scrawls, many of them in Xan’s baby blue, sat with a glass bottle of what looked like liquor.
“What’s the bottle about?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
Xan turned bright red. “It’s an inside joke, because, you know, it’s on the top shelf, and it’s liquor, so top-shelf liquor.”
I looked at Rowan, who shrugged and then looked back at Xan.