Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
The major’s order echoed through the grounds like thunder, but it didn’t erase the tension, it only muted it.
Slowly, reluctantly, the squads began to disperse, blades sheathed, eyes still burning with unspoken fury. Stormforge retreated to the northern edge, Iron Fang peeled away toward the cliffs, but no one had truly backed down. The air still vibrated with held grudges and unfinished fights.
Warborn and Crownwatch lingered longest, casting wary glances at both sides. Peace had been declared—not earned.
Remy had vanished sometime during the standoff, but now he emerged from the castle’s west entrance, a rolled banner held under one arm. His expression was unreadable as he crossed the grounds, striding toward the section where Thrall Squad always formed up.
He knelt at the center, driving the banner pole into the earth.
The silk unfolded slowly in the breeze.
A deep purple dragon, inked in sweeping detail, unfurled across the banner’s surface—Kaelith, unmistakable in form and posture, her wings flared, her eyes fierce.
My heart clenched the moment I saw it.
The others murmured, some stepping forward with awe, others exchanging glances of quiet pride. But I didn’t move.
I just stared.
Then I asked the only question I could form.
“Why did you choose her?”
Remy didn’t look surprised. “She is the most powerful dragon in Thrall Squad,” he said simply. “And she’s quite… unique.”
His eyes met mine. “As are you.”
I turned away—before he could say more, before I had to feel the weight of that compliment settle in a place already cracked.
I walked toward the barracks, the edge of Kaelith’s banner flapping behind me like it belonged to someone else.
I was halfway across the field when Teren intercepted me, his expression guarded but urgent.
“Message for you,” he said quietly. “From a guard.”
He handed me a folded parchment, wax seal broken.
No mark. No name.
But I knew the writing the moment I saw it.
Cyran.
My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it, the ink dark and precise. Whatever he had to say…
It wasn’t meant for anyone else.
I lowered the letter in my hands, heart still pounding from the signature alone, and glanced sideways at Teren.
“Can you run interference for me?” I whispered. “Both Zander and Remy hate it when I meet with my father.”
Teren followed my gaze toward the edge of the grounds, where Remy was deep in conversation with the major—though his eyes flicked to us more often than necessary, suspicion already blooming in his stare.
“Yeah,” Teren muttered, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “I love getting under Saulter’s skin.”
He stepped smoothly beside me, sliding his arm across my shoulders like we were old lovers instead of co-conspirators.
“How about we take a stroll, Rebec,” he said, loud enough to carry across the wind-swept field.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re terrible.”
But I walked with him, letting his casual banter and easy grin shield me from the eyes I knew were tracking our every move. We made our way across the training field toward the gate, Teren laughing just loud enough to make it seem like we were reminiscing about some ridiculous squad tale.
When we were close enough, he paused near a weather-worn statue, turning to face me and gesturing animatedly with his hands.
To anyone watching, we were just two riders talking.
With his back to the Ascension Grounds and Remy’s gaze, I slipped into the alley behind the outer wall, heart in my throat.
And then I ran.
The village streets were quiet this late in the evening, the light dimming into a pale-rose as the last warmth of sun slipped beyond the rooftops.
I kept my hood up, steps quick but purposeful, threading my way through cobbled alleys and broken fences until I reached The Crooked Claw, its sign swinging lazily above the door, warped from age and salt air.
Inside, the tavern was dim and low-lit, the scent of old smoke and stronger drink lingering in the wooden beams. I moved past full tables, eyes avoiding mine, shoulders shifting to give me passage.
They knew who I was.
And they knew why I was here.
My suspicions were confirmed the moment I reached the stairwell at the back—leading to the tunnels below.
Solei stood waiting at the top step, arms folded, a dagger glinting faintly at her hip. She looked like a shadow with a face I knew too well.
“Hello, sister,” she said, her voice cool.
And just like that, the warmth of the world slipped away.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath our feet as I descended with Solei, the darkness thickening the deeper we went. The torches lining the stone walls flickered low, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the tunnel. It smelled of earth and secrets.
“How are you?” she asked softly, her voice less guarded in the hush of the underground. “Did you bond your dragon?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice flat. “But it’s more of a marriage of convenience than a true bond.”
She slowed, blinking as she glanced sideways at me. “That’s not like you.”
“It’s exactly like her,” I said, my tone clipped. “And I’m done being her bitch.”
Solei’s lips quirked at the edges. “I like the new you.”
“It’s not new,” I snapped. “You just never saw me.”
For the briefest moment, her expression faltered. Something flickered in her eyes, regret, maybe, but it vanished almost as quickly as it came.
She nodded once, then led me down a side corridor toward a heavy door set deep into the stone.
“I’ll take you to Cyran.”
The office hadn’t changed. Still dark wood and bookshelves, maps stretched across the walls like old battle scars. And there he was—behind his desk, hands clasped before him, with his eyes so dark they looked black.
“Ashlyn,” Cyran said, a smile ghosting his lips. “It’s good to see you.”
“Is it?” I asked, crossing my arms as Solei stepped out, leaving us alone in that cold, quiet room.
He sighed, slowly, like he’d prepared for this moment and still found it disappointing. “I made a mistake with you. That is rare for me.”
I raised a brow. “And what was that? Selling me? Or keeping me just useful enough not to die?”
His features sharpened, no longer the charming mask of the smiling strategist. Just steel now.
“You were never meant to survive the guild,” he said.
The words hit like a blade.
“The healers were to be… redistributed to more noble houses,” he continued, voice devoid of shame. “And those of lesser birth were expected to fall in the trials. Quietly. Cleanly.”
I stared at him, my throat tight.
It wasn’t betrayal anymore.
It was confirmation.
I meant nothing to him. I never did.
My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. My voice, when it came, was a low, controlled flame.
“You sold me to die.”
Cyran didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
The rage that tore through me was fast, bright, and without pause. I launched across the desk before I could think, my hands slamming into his chest, sending him stumbling back into the shelves with a dull thud. A few scrolls toppled, one bursting open as it hit the floor.
He recovered quickly, but not fast enough.
I swung. My fist connected with his jaw, satisfyingly hard, and he staggered sideways, hitting the edge of the desk.
“You sold me!” I snarled again, advancing. “You put me in the guild like I was nothing more than meat for the grinder! Your own daughter.”
He spat blood onto the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and still—he didn’t raise a hand to stop me.
“I didn’t think you’d make it, Ashlyn,” he said, breathing hard. “But you did.”
“Why tell me this now?” I asked, panting, fury still shaking through my limbs. “Why not let me die thinking there was still some shred of decency in you?”
Cyran straightened, the barest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his bruised mouth. “Because I promised you the truth. No more games. No more lies. You’ve earned that.”
I stared at him, every part of me still vibrating with the urge to drive my dagger straight through his ribcage.
But he wasn’t done.
“There’s more going on than you realize,” he said quietly. “And I don’t like being manipulated.”
My eyes narrowed. “Manipulated?”
He nodded, pushing off the desk. “I orchestrated a plan. But somewhere along the way, the pieces stopped moving like I wanted them to. Someone is playing me.”
His gaze met mine. Serious. Calculating. Wary.
“And that,” he said, “is a problem for both of us.”
I scoffed, moving away from him.
“That’s ironic,” I muttered. “Someone manipulating you. It looks good on you, actually.”
Cyran tilted his head slightly, his bruised jaw already purpling. He didn’t speak, just waited.
“Now you know how it feels,” I said, voice sharper than steel. “To be played like a piece on a board you didn’t even know you were standing on.”
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t deny it.
He just nodded once, solemn.
“If you’re done floating on that high of vengeance,” he said finally, “we have business to discuss.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What business could we possibly have?”
“I underestimated you,” Cyran said plainly. “That won’t happen again. And let me make something clear—” His gaze locked with mine, unflinching. “I will never try to have you killed again. Not through a whisper. Not through a hand I don’t control.”
I didn’t believe him. Couldn’t.
But then he said something I didn’t expect.
“I’ll swear it.”
I blinked.
“I offer you a blood oath.”
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Binding. Final.
Unbreakable.
Cyran stepped around the desk, slowly, and withdrew a slender blade from his coat. He held it out, hilt first, not as a threat.
But as an offering.
“You want truth?” he said. “Then let’s start here.”