Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the mess hall, casting golden light across our table as we shoveled down breakfast. The scent of bread and roasted root vegetables clung to the air, but none of us were really focused on the food.
We ate in a slow, tired silence, still picking through the pieces of the night before.
Riven finally spoke first, breaking apart her bread. “Ferr, you think Jax is gonna keep sleeping with one eye open?”
Ferrula didn’t even look up. “He should.”
That earned a few chuckles around the table, even from Jax himself, who was nursing what he claimed wasn’t a bruise but very much looked like one.
But before I could contribute, Tae slipped into the seat beside Naia, noticeably later than usual. He dropped his tray with a clatter and leaned forward, his voice low.
“Did you hear about the assassination?”
My heart skipped. I straightened in my seat. “No. Who was it?”
Tae glanced around before answering, careful not to let his voice carry. “A noble from Brosha. He was returning on horseback, standard travel, nothing flashy. They hit him as soon as he hit the main road. Killed him and his guards.”
Ferrula swore softly.
“Who do we like for this. The Varnari or the Crimson Sigil?” I asked.
“Since it was a noble killed, the word is, it was the Crimson Sigil. But the investigation team will have to confirm that,” Tae said.
Naia paled. “That’s bold. Even for the Crimson Sigil.”
“Especially for them,” Cordelle said, his tone quiet but sure. “Nobles from Brosha don’t travel without diplomatic protections. This wasn’t a message, it was a declaration.”
We were still processing when the heavy clack of boots approached from behind.
Zander stood at the end of the table, his expression unreadable, but his tone was clipped. “Finish up. We’re heading out. There was an attack, this one just outside the city. We’re investigating.”
Cade hovered behind him, already armored and nodding subtly to each of us in greeting. He didn’t need to say it, but Cade had become much more protective of Zander lately, and I wondered why.
We all exchanged a look, then rose without a word, food forgotten.
The Ascension Grounds were quiet, almost eerily so, the usual clang of training swords and shouted commands absent as the rest of the guild still lingered in the mess hall.
The sky above was streaked with gold and pale-blue, the air crisp and windless—the kind of morning that promised blood beneath its stillness.
We moved in silence, boots thudding lightly against stone.
No orders. No chatter.
Just the sound of wariness tightening between us.
One by one, we called to our dragons—through bond, through breath, through that deep thrum that lived in the marrow of us. And one by one, they came.
Lola was first, silver wings slicing through the clouds. Then Temil and Kass, Narvea and Koddos, even Hein, massive and thunder-backed, descending like judgment from the sky.
And last, Kaelith.
She landed with a crack of wind, her violet wings folding in slow, deliberate precision. Her head turned slightly in my direction, gold eyes unreadable.
Hi, I sent softly, reaching for the bond.
Nothing.
No response. No warmth.
Still, I swung up onto her back, adjusting my grip on the rope I’d fastened over the ridge of her neck. The others mounted quickly, saddles left behind—this ride was short, and we’d need speed, not ceremony.
Zander led the way, Cade on his left as we rose into the sky, the wind slicing past our faces as the guild disappeared behind us. No words were shared midair. We didn’t need them.
When we reached the site, the signs were immediate.
Smoke.
Horses, still pawing nervously at the earth, reins tied to a bent tree just beyond the bodies.
Six dead.
The guards stood in a loose perimeter around them, their armor dulled by travel and dried blood. Most had weapons drawn—not in aggression, but in habit. Like whatever had done this might return.
We landed a short distance away so as not to spook the mounts. Kaelith touched down without a sound, her wings furling like drapes being drawn closed.
I slid down from her back and started forward with the others, boots crunching over broken twigs and scorched earth.
The scene was… brutal.
Burned carriage. One wheel still spinning in place.
The noble’s crest, Brosha’s gilded leaf was barely visible under the blackened debris.
The bodies were twisted. Not by fire. By magic.
Limbs bent the wrong way, expressions frozen mid-scream, their armor peeled back like skin.
Zander stepped beside me.
“This wasn’t just an attack,” he said, voice grim. “This was a message.”
We moved among the bodies with slow precision, the guards stepping back as we spread out. The stench of scorched leather and blood hung heavy in the air, mingled with the bitter metallic scent of magic long since burned away.
Zander crouched beside the central corpse, the one wearing remnants of noble silks and a torn golden sash. His fingers brushed the blood-matted tunic, and then he looked up at me.
“He was the target.”
I nodded slowly, crouching beside him. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
He glanced around once before lowering his voice. “Does this look like an Order assassin to you?”
I leaned closer, inspecting the noble’s body, eyes scanning the torso and arms before pulling back the cuff of his left sleeve. Beneath the fabric, four deep gouges marked the inside of his forearm.
But it wasn’t until I checked his hands that something clicked.
I gently pried back his fingers and found what I was looking for.
Red marks. Small crescent moons where nails had sunk into flesh. And beneath his cracked fingernails—blood that wasn’t his.
“Was this guy trained?” I asked Zander. “Any combat experience?”
Zander shook his head. “Not really. Some ceremonial blade training, maybe. Why?”
I pointed to the man’s hand. “Because he fought back. Whatever hit him, he got his hands on them. Scratched. Clawed. Maybe even landed a hit.”
Zander’s brow furrowed, then his expression darkened. “If this was an Order assassin, he wouldn’t have been able to touch them.”
“Exactly,” I said, standing. “Order assassins are trained to end a life in seconds. No trace. No struggle.”
Zander exhaled bitterly. “Then it was the Crimson Sigil.”
“That’s my guess,” I said grimly.
Zander rose beside me, his eyes scanning the tree line, distant and storming. But before he could speak again, I turned to him.
“Why didn’t you bring Remy?”
Zander’s jaw tightened.
I pressed, “He was an Order assassin. If anyone could identify their work, it’s him.”
“Because,” Zander said slowly, “right now, I don’t know if he’d recognize it, or lie about it.”
I stared at him.
And I realized… he wasn’t just doubting Remy’s insight.
He was doubting Remy’s loyalties.
As Zander’s answer hung in the air, heavy and pointed, the sound of boots crunching over loose gravel approached fast from behind.
Tae.
He came to a halt beside us, his brow arched high and that knowing grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, well,” Tae said, hands on his hips. “Sounds like someone is having issues with Remy Saulter.”
The rest of the squad wasn’t far behind, drawn by the tension like moths to fire.
Riven smirked, arms crossed. “Zander, are you jealous?”
Naia leaned closer to Jax, stage-whispering, “You’d think with the prince’s jawline and that broody magic, he wouldn’t have to compete.”
“Guess even the dark and royal types get insecure,” Jax added with a wink.
Zander shot them a look, deadpan and unamused, but it only made them laugh harder.
Then Cade strode over with that cool Crownwatch swagger, clapped a hand on Zander’s shoulder, and said, “Hey, if it’s any consolation, I think you have better hair.”
Even I snorted at that, the tension breaking just a little.
Zander rubbed a hand over his face, clearly done with all of us.
“Can we get back to the investigation?” he said flatly.
That just made Jax laugh harder.
But we all stepped back into formation, the jokes fading, but the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth didn’t quite disappear.
Because if Zander was jealous…
Maybe that meant he saw me.
Not just the power. Not just Kaelith.
Me.
Zander’s voice cut cleanly through the fading chatter, his tone snapping back into command.
“Spread out. I want to know where the attackers were hiding before the ambush. Look for signs, drag marks, broken branches, blood trails. Something that tells us where they came from.”
We nodded and moved without question, fanning out through the clearing and into the tree line, our boots crunching over dead leaves and scorched earth.
I moved farther than the others, past the outer ring of trees and into the deeper brush where the light thinned and the scent of smoke faded into damp moss and pine.
That was when I felt it.
A breath of magic, just behind my shoulder—too cold to be natural.
I turned fast, short sword already in my hand, but the figure who stepped from behind the twisted trunk of an old tree was already raising her hands in mock surrender.
Seraveth.
Pale and as beautiful as a blade left too long in the snow.
“I’m not here to fight,” she said calmly, her violet eyes glinting like glass under moonlight. “At least, not yet.”
My grip tightened on the hilt. “Then what do you want?”
She took a slow step forward, cloak brushing the forest floor like shadow. “To talk. I thought it was time you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Seraveth smiled, though it was a tragic attempt. “We’re blood. You and I.”
I froze. The words hit like a slap. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” she said, tilting her head. “Ask your grandfather.”
“No,” I snapped. “You’re not related to me. You’re a killer.”
And then I lunged.
She met my blade with her own, thin, curved steel flashing as it met mine in a shower of sparks. We danced through the trees, fast and brutal, her movements graceful but restrained. She parried more than she struck, her footwork sharp, but defensive.
Every time I came at her, she deflected instead of returning force. Every strike I landed, she dodged, not because she couldn’t hit me, but because she wouldn’t.
It was like sparring with a ghost who anticipated how I moved before I did.
“You’re holding back,” I growled, breath ragged.
Seraveth’s blade met mine with a ring of finality, holding me frozen, eyes inches from mine.
“I don’t want you dead,” she said softly. “Not yet. And you are right. I’m not your sister. I’m your cousin.”
I shoved her back, sword raised, ready for more.