Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
We guided Jax slowly down the corridor toward the barracks, each step steadied by Tae and me, though Jax grumbled under his breath the entire way. He’d been healed, but the blood loss still clung to him like a shadow, and his face was pale beneath the healing glow Meri had left on his skin.
Riven walked ahead, clearing the way like she expected Ferrula to be waiting on the other side of the door with a fist or a blade.
She wasn’t far off.
When we stepped inside, Ferrula was already standing by her bunk, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched, eyes locked on the door like she’d been waiting for a fight.
Cordelle was gone. His bunk empty, his books stacked too neatly to have been a hasty departure. It struck me as strange. He was the last person I expected to leave when one of us was injured. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
We got Jax to his bed, and he eased down slowly, one arm wrapped around his ribs. He lay back with a groan, blinking up at the ceiling, then over at Ferrula’s unflinching glare.
“I may have fucked up,” he said with a half-smile.
Ferrula didn’t return it.
Her hand went to her blade.
“You embarrassed me.”
The words landed like a slap. Cold, deliberate, with venom.
Jax winced, not from pain, but from her.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice low. “You would’ve died.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then I would have died. On my feet. In a trial. With honor.”
She turned toward him fully now, her muscles coiled, like she had to physically restrain herself from saying or doing more.
“You don’t get to decide when I fall, Jax.”
He sat up slowly, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.
“I know that now.”
Ferrula held his gaze a moment longer. Then, with a quiet scoff, she turned back toward her bunk and began unstrapping her armor piece by piece, each buckle louder than the silence that followed.
The tension simmered for hours, stretched thin like the silence before a storm.
None of us said much after returning to the barracks.
Jax had rested, barely, and Ferrula hadn’t spared him a single glance since she stripped off her armor and folded herself into a stoic, cold wall on the far side of the room.
But it didn’t last.
“You still mad?” Jax finally asked from his cot, his voice casual, but his eyes didn’t move from her.
Ferrula looked up slowly from the whetstone she was dragging across her blade. The sound of metal on stone stopped.
“I don’t get mad,” she said coolly. “I get disappointed.”
Jax pushed himself upright with a wince. “That’s worse.”
“Damn right it is.”
Riven, and I exchanged a look from across the room. Naia paused in her corner, her hands halfway through braiding her hair, eyes flicking between them like she was bracing for the detonation.
“You stepped into my fight,” Ferrula said, rising to her feet and tossing the blade onto her bunk. “You interfered in a trial that meant everything to me. That wasn’t your right.”
“You were about to take a sword to the face,” Jax shot back. “Forgive me for thinking your life was worth more than a damn tradition.”
Ferrula stalked toward him. “You think I don’t know how close it was? I wanted to face him. I needed to. And you stripped that from me.”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“I didn’t need protection!”
Jax stood now, too, wincing slightly but still squaring his broad shoulders. “You think I did it because I don’t trust you?”
She crossed her arms, chin tilted defiantly.
He took a breath. “I didn’t step in because I doubt you. I stepped in because I love you.”
Ferrula blinked. Just once.
He didn’t stop. “It wasn’t about weakness. It wasn’t about trying to save a damsel or whatever you think I see when I look at you. It was you. I would’ve done the same for Naia if someone tried to gut her in front of me. Or Riven. Or anyone in this squad.”
His voice dropped quieter. “But it was you. So I moved.”
Ferrula stared at him, the lines around her mouth tight. Her fists clenched at her sides.
Jax looked at her with nothing but sincerity. “I swear, I will never dishonor you like that again. You have my word. I may not always understand Dirian pride… but I understand yours.”
Ferrula didn’t speak.
But she turned her back slowly, and though her jaw was still tight—
She didn’t draw her blade.
Ferrula stood still for a long beat, the firelight from the central brazier casting deep shadows over her face. Her posture remained rigid, but something behind her eyes had shifted—just slightly.
Then, slowly, she turned—not to Jax, but to Naia.
“Naia,” she said, her voice quieter, but still edged. “I need to ask you something. And I want the truth.”
Naia didn’t flinch. She nodded, braiding forgotten in her lap as she looked up calmly. “Always.”
Ferrula studied her, arms still crossed, chin lifted. “When Jax says he’d do the same for you… for your family, do you believe him?”
Naia didn’t even blink. “Absolutely.”
Ferrula’s brows knit together, not in disbelief, but in contemplation.
Naia continued, her voice even, but filled with something steadier than certainty—understanding. “That’s who he is. Jax would throw himself into fire if it meant someone he loved made it out alive.”
Jax shifted uncomfortably near his cot, shooting Naia a wary look. “You trying to make me sound reckless?”
“You are reckless,” she replied without missing a beat. “Especially when it comes to people you care about.”
Then her gaze returned to Ferrula, gentler now. “If he’s claimed you, Ferrula, when you mean something to him, you have to accept that… flaw.”
Jax groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Now it’s a flaw.”
Naia smirked, eyes sparkling. “A beautiful flaw.”
Ferrula looked between them, her jaw still set, but the tension in her shoulders began to ease. The rigid fury bled into something quieter… something almost like peace.
She didn’t smile. Not quite.
But her arms lowered.
And for Ferrula, that was as close to forgiveness as anyone got.
Ferrula took a deep breath, the kind that sounded like it scraped past years of pride and walls she’d built too high to scale. She turned fully toward Jax, her expression unreadable, but her voice carried the weight of something hard-won.
“I am coming to understand the differences between Grenthian and Dirian men,” she said carefully, as if she’d practiced the words in her head a dozen times. “You are… unaccustomed to our customs.”
Jax blinked, caught somewhere between caution and hope.
Ferrula lifted her chin. “I will allow this one error in judgment.”
Jax exhaled with visible relief, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then I promise to make it up to you. Later.”
Ferrula raised an eyebrow. “Good. I expect many orgasms as penance for your lack of judgment.”
Silence.
Then Riven choked on her laugh, Naia shook her head, and Tae looked suddenly fascinated with the knot in his boot laces.
I bit my lip hard enough to sting.
Jax just grinned wider, unbothered and clearly proud. “Of course.”
Ferrula didn’t smile, but her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary, and when she turned away, her expression was softer than I’d ever seen it.
And somehow, despite the blood and bruises… it felt like Thrall Squad was finally breathing again.
Riven broke the quiet first, her voice low and tight with worry. “Has anyone heard from Cordelle?”
We all paused, the question hanging in the air heavier than it should’ve been.
I sat up straighter, tension coiling in my chest. Cordelle was dependable. Predictable. He didn’t just disappear.
Without responding aloud, I reached out through the tether.
Zander.
A pause. Then a flicker of warmth, tired and strained.
Is Cordelle on a mission? For the crown?
No, Zander answered. I could feel his frustration pressing against the words.
Are you okay? I asked.
A beat. Then, Yes. But Inderia is making my life hell. I’m trying to find her a suitable husband to get out of this engagement. Our negotiations are... not going well.
I winced.
I’m sorry, I offered. Good luck.
I cut the connection gently and turned back to the squad.
“He’s not on any official mission.”
Riven’s brows drew together. “So he’s just… gone?”
The others looked at me, but I could see the silent exchange between them—they didn’t know about the private channel between Zander and me, but they did know our dragons could speak to each other.
“Do we look for him?” Riven asked.
Ferrula didn’t hesitate.
She reached for her armor, strapping on her breastplate with swift, practiced movements. “If he’s not back in an hour,” she said, voice like stone, “we search the castle.”
No one argued.
Because when one of us vanished—
We didn’t wait.
Tension ran high in the barracks.
Ferrula had already strapped on her gauntlets, the rest of the squad tense and half-armored, waiting for the clock to run down on the hour we’d agreed to give Cordelle. No one said it, but we were all thinking the same thing—if something had happened, if Iron Fang had done something...
I reached out instinctively.
Siergen?
The connection was instant, calm like a still lake in the middle of my storm.
Kass and Cordelle are fine, he said gently. I’ve been tracking them. You have no reason to fear.
Relief poured through me. I exhaled and turned to the others. “He’s okay. Siergen said Kass is with him.”
The shift in the room was immediate. Shoulders loosened, weapons lowered slightly, even Ferrula paused mid-buckle.
And then the door creaked open.
Cordelle stepped inside, calm as ever, as if he hadn’t just nearly sent Thrall Squad into a coordinated castle sweep.
His robes were slightly dusty, his usual orderliness a bit disheveled, but his expression was measured, thoughtful.
Riven crossed her arms. “Where the hell were you?”
Cordelle lifted a brow, like he’d just come from the archives. “An errand. For my father.”
Ferrula blinked. “That’s it?”
“It was about the lorekeeper lineage,” he explained, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m next in line. And Theron… he’s made it clear he won’t excuse my upcoming responsibilities just because I’m a bonded rider.”
I stared at him. “Wait… what does that mean?”
Jax shifted from his cot, voice low. “Are we going to lose you?”
Cordelle met my eyes. Then nodded once, solemnly. “When my father dies… yes.”
No one spoke.
Because there was no anger in his voice.
Just inevitability.