Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Not in the way you think.
His words lingered in the silence between us, wrapping around my heart like a thread pulled too tight.
She doesn’t want a rider.
Gods, it felt like I’d been sucker punched.
I froze, breath shallow, chest tight, like my ribs couldn’t quite decide whether to cave in or hold the weight. The words weren’t cruel, but they weren’t comforting either.
Not the way I’d hoped.
Not the way I needed.
But Siergen’s presence shifted in my mind, quieter now, laced with something close to regret.
I don’t mean… you, he said gently, not exactly. You’ll understand soon.
I wanted to ask what that meant. Wanted to demand the truth.
But before I could form the words, his mind withdrew from mine, slipping away like mist through my fingers.
And I was left alone again.
Not in the forest.
But inside my own skin.
I sat there in the aftermath, knees still in the dirt, arms limp at my sides, feeling more unseen than before Seraveth’s magic had crushed me to the ground.
His words had been meant to soothe.
But they left me more unsettled than before.
The trees thinned as I made my way back to the others, the scorched clearing and twisted wreckage of the noble’s carriage coming back into view. My limbs ached with every step, but it was nothing compared to the chaos burning behind my ribs.
They were still spread out, combing the edges of the tree line for clues, but when they saw me, they gathered fast.
Zander was the first to reach me, his eyes scanning my face like he already knew something had gone wrong. The others followed—Tae and Riven, Naia, Jax. Even Ferrula paused, her expression unreadable, but alert.
Cordelle stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, his eyes focused beneath his hood.
“I had another visit from my Blood Fae stalker,” I said quietly.
“Seraveth,” Riven guessed, voice tight.
I nodded.
They waited. No one interrupted. Not even Zander.
“She said…” My throat felt tight. I forced the words through anyway.
“She said I’m blood-bound to the Blood King.
That I’m his granddaughter. That my mother ran, took a human lover, and hid me in plain sight.
And she said…” I swallowed hard. “That Kaelith is what’s keeping me from reaching my full power.
That if I let her die… I could become something more. ”
Ferrula cursed under her breath. Jax stiffened.
But Cordelle—
He didn’t even blink.
I looked at him. Really looked. “You knew.”
He said nothing, but the truth sat plain on his face. Not shock. Not denial.
Just silence.
He had learned more than he’d ever shared, probably because he didn’t want to hurt me. Or maybe because he feared telling me the truth would fracture the fragile thread between Kaelith and me.
Zander took a slow step forward, his voice controlled, but tight beneath the surface.
“We can’t take a Blood Fae at her word,” he said. “You know that.”
I met his eyes, unsure if I wanted to argue.
“She wants you,” he continued. “You’re a symbol. A weapon. A prize. And the Blood Fae will say anything to get you to their side. Seraveth isn’t here to help you. She’s here to twist you. To isolate you. If you believe anything she says, she wins, and you lose everything else.”
His voice lowered, more personal now. “You lose yourself.”
My breath caught.
And I knew he wasn’t just speaking as a prince.
He was speaking as someone who had almost lost me once already.
I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, like it might hold everything inside me from cracking wide open. My voice came quieter now, less controlled.
“Kaelith believes it too.”
Their expressions shifted, every one of them.
“She won’t talk to me. Won’t anchor me. I can feel the bond… fading.”
It hurt to say it aloud.
My heart clenched, raw and hollow. I wasn’t just losing a dragon.
I was losing her.
Riven stepped forward first, her voice soft but firm. “That doesn’t mean she’s gone.”
“She’s scared,” Naia added. “We all are. But the Sentinel chose you.”
I shook my head. “She didn’t really choose me. Not completely. If she had, Seraveth wouldn’t have been able to touch me.”
Zander moved to my side, close but not overwhelming, his presence solid like a shield in the storm.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly. “I promise. You’re not alone in this.”
“We asked them,” Jax said, nodding toward the skies above.
“The dragons,” Ferrula clarified. “Each of ours. They said Kaelith needs you. That she’s not gone. Just… struggling.”
“They all feel it,” Tae said, more serious than usual. “Kaelith is still holding on. She just needs time.”
Riven leaned forward. “Zola said there’s something else, something none of us know yet. That’s what’s stopping her. But it’s not you, Ashe. It’s never been you.”
Their words settled in like warmth through my cracked skin. I didn’t know if I could believe them fully yet… but they believed it enough for all of us.
I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Then I looked to Zander. “Did anyone learn anything else about the attack?”
His expression shifted, jaw tightening.
Cordelle stepped forward then, holding a charred piece of parchment wrapped in waxed cloth. “I found this tucked into the noble’s satchel. Protected. Almost like they wanted us to find it.”
He handed it to me. I unwrapped it slowly.
And saw the unmistakable mark of the Crimson Sigil—burned into the center of the paper like a warning.
Or a calling card.
I stared down at the insignia, a red sickle against a stark white field, bold and blood-bright, the curved blade curling like a grin through the silence.
The Crimson Sigil.
There was something chilling in its simplicity. Something permanent. Like it had been burned into the parchment with intent, not ink.
“This suggests he was acting as a courier,” I said, my voice steady but grim. “Moving information between Warriath and the outer kingdoms. He was aligned with the Crimson Sigil.”
Tae nodded, crossing his arms. “Then it’s likely the Varnari had him killed. If a noble sides with the Sigil, he becomes a liability to the opposing faction.”
I unfolded the letter again, skimming the coded missive tucked inside. The symbols were faint, the wording strategic—just veiled enough not to trigger suspicion.
“He was leaking guild movement reports,” I said quietly. “Exact deployment routes. Details about training grounds. Weaknesses.”
Jax rubbed the back of his neck, his expression darkening. “He’s lowborn, but he still has fae blood. Why the hell would he side with them?”
I looked up from the parchment, considering the question. “The Order has ways of… bribing people into doing its bidding.”
Naia tilted her head. “He betrayed the crown for money?”
I folded the letter with care and handed it back to Zander. “Actually, the Order rarely has to resort to monetary bribes. Not that they won’t,” I added. “But that’s not their preferred method.”
Riven narrowed her eyes. “Then what do they use?”
I looked at each of them, letting the weight of my answer settle before I spoke.
“They find a person’s weakness.”
Ferrula’s brow furrowed. “Define weakness.”
“Sometimes it’s greed. Sometimes it’s the nature of their…
appetites,” I said carefully. “Other times it’s ambition.
Desperation. The need to belong. To feel powerful.
Cyran has many operatives at his disposal—skilled ones.
They research a target thoroughly. And then they exploit whatever they find. ”
Silence fell again, thicker now.
Because this wasn’t just about one noble.
This was about the way the Order wormed through power. Quiet. Patient. Unforgiving.
And no one was untouchable.
Zander moved to the charred remains of the carriage, kneeling before his hand brushed ash and splintered wood aside with care. The smell of smoke still clung to the wreckage, faint but distinct, like something refusing to die.
He shifted a shattered plank and pulled something from beneath the bench—tarnished metal glinting in the sunlight.
A keyring.
He turned it in his palm, reading the small brass tag attached.
“It’s from the Black Snake Inn,” he said, rising to his feet.
My breath caught. “That place? It’s known to house smugglers, assassins… the more unscrupulous types in Warriath. It’s not the sort of place that houses a noble—unless he or she is breaking the law.”
Zander’s jaw tightened. “Then he wasn’t just staying there.”
“He has to be corresponding with someone inside the Inn,” Riven added, eyes narrowing. “Or he was using it as a drop point.”
Zander nodded. “Either way, we need to speak with the innkeeper, and the businesses close to it. If he was working for the Crimson Sigil, he may have been staying at the Black Snake… but he was likely conducting business elsewhere.”
Tae glanced over his shoulder, toward the haze of Warriath rising in the distance. “I’m guessing we’re walking?”
He gestured to the narrow forest path that led along the base of the cliffs. “Our dragons can’t get us much closer from this side anyway, not without spooking every villager between here and the upper city.”
Zander gave a quick nod. “Then we walk.”
He turned to the guards still standing near the bodies.
“Clean the site,” he ordered. “Return the remains to the appropriate families. And tell Theron no further action is needed here.”
The guards saluted, already moving with practiced efficiency.
And then we turned, leaving the burned carriage and the bodies behind, walking toward Warriath with ash at our backs and something darker ahead.
The walls of Warriath loomed above us, carved stone rising like the bones of an old god. But as we passed through the side gate and into the lower quarter, it became clear this part of the city had long been forgotten by the crown.
The homes were crumbling, roofs patched with mismatched shingles, shutters hanging loose or missing altogether.
Narrow alleys twisted between soot-stained buildings, the air thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and something sour.
The storefronts were dim and shuttered, some barely clinging to the illusion of commerce.
And nestled in the heart of it all was the Black Snake Inn.
It squatted between two slanting buildings like a fat, bloated spider—its wooden sign cracked down the middle, the image of a black serpent barely visible beneath layers of grime. The door creaked even before Zander pushed it open.
Inside, the tavern stank of stale ale, damp straw, and the thick musk of unwashed bodies. Light barely reached the corners. A few patrons hunched over drinks in the shadows, their eyes tracking us with quiet, territorial suspicion.
The innkeeper stood behind the bar, polishing a glass that hadn’t seen clean water in years. He was squat, wide-shouldered, with a balding scalp, and a mouth that looked like it had long since forgotten how to smile.
Zander stepped forward, holding up the key. “This yours?”
The innkeeper squinted at it, then gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah. One of mine.”
“Do you remember who rented it?” I asked.
His gaze narrowed. “No idea.”
“He was a noble,” I said.
“No noble’s stayed here. That I’d remember,” the innkeeper said.
“He may have been in disguise,” Zander said, calm but firm. “Or using a false name.”
The innkeeper scowled, voice rough as gravel. “I don’t know anything about that. I don’t ask questions. Especially not for people who pay in coin and don’t cause trouble.”
His tone turned colder, almost taunting. “And I don’t take kindly to armed nobles poking around my place like they own the slums.”
Zander held his gaze a moment longer, unreadable, then nodded once. “Thank you for your time.”
We left without another word.
The others were already waiting out front. Riven shook her head as we approached. “Nothing. The butcher barely opened his mouth, and the blacksmith next door acted like I was holding him at sword point.”
“They’re scared,” Naia said quietly. “Or loyal to someone else.”
Jax grunted. “This whole street is rotten. You can feel it.”
Zander folded his arms. “If the noble was staying here, he was doing more than sleeping in a back room.”
Cordelle’s gaze moved across the rooftops. “He was conducting business. We just don’t know what kind.”
And whoever helped him…
Wasn’t talking.