Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Cyran still held the dagger between us, his expression alert but open, like a man tired of shadows but unwilling to step fully into the light.
“I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I have ties to the Crimson Sigil. Strategic ones. But I have never betrayed the crown.”
I didn’t interrupt. I just stared.
He went on.
“I believe someone is manipulating the Varnari. And possibly the Sigil. Someone’s shifting loyalties behind the scenes. And I think they’ve infiltrated the Order.”
I folded my arms. “So this blood oath, it’s not just a promise not to kill me. It’s for your protection too. You need this person found.”
“Yes,” he said. “But it works to your advantage as well.”
I arched a brow. “Because you think I value my life so much?”
He gave a faint, knowing smile. “Because you value the lives of your friends. We’ve been watching you. The bonds you’ve made with Thrall Squad are… commendable.”
His eyes glinted. “As is your relationship with Prince Rayne.”
I scoffed. “I bet you love that.”
His smile widened. “Only because I know Remy hates it. I haven’t forgotten his treachery.”
That simmered between us for a breath, but I said nothing.
Instead, I reached forward, took the blade from his hand, and turned it in mine.
The cut was shallow but clean. A thin line of blood welled across my palm.
Cyran did the same—silent, deliberate.
We clasped hands, blood mixing in the space between us, warm and binding.
“I give you my word,” he said, his voice steady. “I will never again order your life to be taken.”
I looked him in the eye.
“I accept.” There was nothing further to say and I turned and exited Cyran’s office before I said something I regretted.
The night air bit colder than I remembered as Solei and I emerged from the tunnels beneath The Crooked Claw. She didn’t speak as we walked, just a silent shadow at my side, eyes scanning the street like she expected a dagger behind every shutter.
When we reached the edge of the lower city, several cloaked figures paused in their steps as we passed. Their eyes dropped to my hand, the thin red line still visible across my palm.
They knew.
They all knew.
A blood oath with Cyran wasn’t just a contract, it was a seal. A brand. A warning.
Off-limits.
No longer a discarded daughter. No longer prey. I had more protection now than I’d ever had as one of the Order’s chosen. How deeply ironic.
Solei stopped just short of the castle gate and gave me a small nod. No farewell. No warmth.
Just acknowledgment.
That, in her world, was enough.
I entered the castle grounds alone.
The torches lining the path to the barracks flickered low, and the moon bathed the stone walls in pale silver. Everything was still.
Inside, the barracks were quiet. My squad had returned before me, scattered across the common room in various states of exhaustion.
Cordelle was propped against a pillow, reading quietly.
Riven and Naia were playing cards on the floor.
Ferrula was sharpening her blade. Jax leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them all like the silent protector he was.
Tae was stretched out in a chair, half-asleep with one boot off.
When I entered, they all looked up.
I held up my hand.
“I took a blood oath.”
Cordelle sat forward, the book sliding from his lap. “With Cyran?”
“Yes.”
Riven raised a brow. “Why would he offer that?”
“Because he knows someone’s manipulating the Order. And the Crimson Sigil. Possibly the Varnari too.” I moved to sit on the edge of one of the bunks. “And he knows I might be the only one able to get close enough to find out who.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s scared.”
“Yes,” I replied.
Ferrula nodded slowly. “Smart move, though. Keeps the knives off your back, for now.”
“I still don’t trust him,” Naia muttered.
“Neither do I,” I said. “But at least now, if he betrays me, he burns for it.”
That settled over the room like a quiet truth. Not a comfort, but a weapon. And we were learning how to hold it.
One by one, the others drifted to their beds, the exhaustion of the day finally weighing heavier than the questions. I pulled off my boots and sank onto my mattress, still fully clothed, my hand throbbing where the blade had opened me.
Tonight, the blood pact protected me.
Tomorrow?
We’d see.
The blare of sirens ripped through the stillness like a blade through silk, jolting me from the fragile thread of sleep. The room pulsed with red light from the beacon outside, shadows twisting across the stone walls of our barracks.
“Up!” Ferrula shouted, already halfway into her armor.
I rolled out of bed, heart hammering, and grabbed my boots. Around me, the squad scrambled—Jax hauling his tunic over his head, Riven cursing as she shoved a dagger into her belt, Naia and Cordelle moving with clockwork precision.
By the time we stepped outside, the sun had only just begun to stretch across the horizon, the sky still clinging to the last violet shades of night. The Ascension Grounds buzzed with squads falling into formation, banners fluttering in the wind, armor clanking as bodies moved into place.
We lined up beneath our own banner, Kaelith’s deep violet silhouette fierce against the morning breeze.
But my eyes caught immediately on what had changed.
Two new banners had been staked on either side of the podium.
One bore a silver wolf with a crown—Dorian’s house sigil.
The other, a blood-red phoenix rising from fire—Theron’s.
Tae blew out a breath beside me, tugging at his gauntlet. “Those are the princes’ personal banners.”
“Then where’s Zander’s?” I asked, scanning for a third.
Tae shrugged. “There isn’t one. Because he’s not vying for the throne.”
I frowned. “So this is about choosing a side.”
“If they want us to choose, that’s pretty easy,” Riven muttered under her breath.
“Not really,” Ferrula countered. “If we align with the wrong monarch and they don’t ascend, our lives will be… miserable.”
“They aren’t already?” I said dryly.
Tae chuckled once, low. “Good point.”
The crowd stilled as Major Ledor stepped onto the podium, his expression grave, the wind tugging at his red-trimmed cloak.
His voice cut through the air.
“There has been another Blood Fae attack. This time in Raweath.”
Murmurs rippled through the gathered squads.
“Our enemies grow stronger. And bolder. The threat is no longer distant. It’s here. It’s now.”
He scanned the crowd, eyes lingering on the banners beside him.
“It is time,” he said, “for the guild to unite under one banner. For strength. For survival. For clarity.”
A beat of silence.
“It is time for the guild to choose its leader.”
The air was tense, stretched tight with expectation as squads shifted restlessly under the early morning sun. The sirens had died down, but the silence they left behind was heavier than any sound.
We stood beneath our banner, still catching our breath, when the sound of boots crunching across the stone reached us. I turned, hand instinctively drifting toward my belt—until I saw them.
The Lowborn Squad.
Teren led the way, his dark eyes calm but determined. Kaila followed close behind, along with Camus, Luthias, and Ayda, their faces tight with something close to grief, but steadied by resolve.
“What’s going on?” I asked as they stopped in front of us.
Teren gave me a crooked smile. “We want to follow Dorian. So… our squad disowned us.”
I blinked.
“They what?”
“They said loyalty to the banner comes before loyalty to the realm,” Ayda muttered, her voice biting. “Guess they weren’t lying.”
I looked at them, their gear hastily packed, their shoulders squared but bruised by betrayal, and I felt something in me settle.
“You’re always welcome with us,” I said.
Teren’s smile grew faintly. “Good. Because we lost our rooms, too. Hope you’ve got enough bunks for a permanent move.”
“We do,” I said without hesitation. “It might get real cozy, though.”
Tae elbowed Teren. “We’ve got one common room with a bed. I recommend you call dibs on whichever bunk doesn’t squeak.”
Jax smirked. “I’m sure Ferrula and I can switch off with Camus and Ayda.”
“It’s going to suck,” Teren muttered.
“It’s going to be worth it,” I corrected.
But the question still loomed above us like a guillotine.
“How is this choosing thing going to work?” I asked, watching the other squads across the grounds.
Tae pointed subtly.
We watched as Iron Fang stepped forward, their formation distinct and proud—straight to Theron’s banner without hesitation.
Stormforge followed moments later, but they turned the opposite direction—falling in behind Dorian’s banner with equal unity.
Warborn approached next. They hesitated—only briefly—then stood behind Theron as well.
I scanned the line of Crownwatch, already bracing.
Most of them, Zander’s people, moved toward Dorian.
But a few peeled off and stood beneath Theron’s sigil, backs stiff with tension.
And then… all eyes shifted to us.
Thrall Squad.
The misfits. The exiled. The newly reforged.
We didn’t hesitate.
With Teren and his people at our side, we marched in unison and took our place behind Dorian’s banner, Kaelith’s violet one still flying proudly behind us.
We had chosen.
Not out of strategy.
Not out of fear.
But out of loyalty—to what was right.
Even if it meant more enemies tomorrow than we had today.
Major Ledor stood tall at the center of the Ascension Grounds, his red-trimmed cloak rippling in the wind as he looked out over the gathered riders.
His eyes swept across the lines—Theron’s banner to one side, Dorian’s to the other, and Thrall Squad solid at the back, our ranks now doubled with the Lowborn Squad at our side.
“You are evenly split,” Ledor announced, voice booming over the field. “A guild leader cannot be declared until one banner receives seventy percent assent. Until then, the command structure remains fractured.”
Before we could process the weight of that, another horn blared from the castle.