Chapter 6
Chapter Six
We were finishing breakfast in the dining hall, the long table cluttered with half-empty plates and cups still warm with tea. The usual chatter had faded into an odd quiet. No one had said it, but we were all thinking the same thing.
Where was Zander?
I’d checked the skies the night before, standing alone near the barracks with my cloak drawn tight and my hand pressed to Kaelith’s scale at my throat, hoping for a glimpse of Hein’s silhouette in the moonlight. Nothing. And when I’d reached for Zander through the bond… silence.
A new kind of silence. One I was beginning to recognize.
He blocked me when he was on crown business.
He didn’t do it to be cruel. I knew that.
But it didn’t make the cold ache any less biting.
And I was starting to see the pattern. The secrecy.
The tension that curled behind his every quiet apology.
It had something to do with Dorian. It had to.
The eldest prince’s refusal to return to the castle wasn’t just disobedience, it was something deeper.
And I had no idea what that something was.
I glanced across the room to the Crownwatch table, where Zander would normally be seated beside his second, Cade.
But Zander’s chair was empty.
And Cade… he was just staring at his food. Fork in hand. Not eating. Not speaking. Like he wasn’t even here.
My throat tightened. Does Zander’s best friend know more about this than I do?
Then, like a ripple across the bond, the words brushed against my thoughts.
I’m back.
I exhaled hard, the breath catching in my chest like I’d been holding it without even realizing.
Did you find Dorian? I asked silently, focusing on the feel of him, that steady weight I hadn’t realized I’d missed so much.
No, came the reply, clipped but not cold. I have to report to Theron and will meet you on the grounds soon.
I pressed my fingers around the signet still hanging beneath my collar.
Soon, I echoed.
The wind carried the scent of oil and charred leather as we made our way toward the Ascension Grounds. Boots crunched against the gravel, the sound of conversation thinning the closer we drew to the circle. The others were already falling into line, the air heavy with purpose.
The major stood at the newly rebuilt podium, posture rigid, arms clasped behind his back like he was carved from stone. But his head was tilted slightly toward Zander, who stood at his side, murmuring something hushed enough that I couldn’t catch it.
Whatever he said, the major gave a short nod.
When he raised his voice, it carried like thunder over the grounds.
“Thrall Squad,” he called, gaze pinning us as we halted before him. “You will accompany Prince Rayne. Another outpost between Thubia and Raweath was attacked. You are to assist the remaining forces in any way needed.”
The words hit with a heavy weight. Another attack. Another bloodied post. My stomach tightened.
I glanced toward Zander, who gave me a subtle, unreadable look.
Kaelith…
Her presence stirred sluggishly in the back of my mind.
Are you able to fly? I asked gently.
Her answer came in a snort and a brush of heat across the bond.
I am not an invalid, she said, dry and biting.
I know that, I soothed. But I don’t want you to endure the strain of a long flight if it’s going to make things worse. I’m just trying to protect you.
She huffed in response, the mental equivalent of an eye-roll wrapped in indignation.
You do not protect the storm, little rider. You ride it.
And then—above us—wings.
Kaelith circled once over the Ascension Grounds, a ripple of violet trailing behind her like starlight.
Hein was with her, the flash of silver a calm presence just to her right. The two of them moved in perfect tandem, their bond a silent song of power and patience.
With a final sweep, they dove low and landed in the center ring. The earth trembled under Kaelith’s weight, her claws clicking against the stone like she meant to leave a mark.
Moments later, the other dragons of our squad descended from the skies—Temil, Kass, Koddos, Narvea, Kieren—one by one, forming a familiar circle of fire and fang.
Kaelith’s wings folded back, her amethyst eyes locking onto mine.
Get on, she said, unceremoniously.
I smiled despite myself.
She was back. And she wasn’t about to let me forget who I belonged to.
The saddle straps were tight beneath my fingers, the leather worn and warm beneath my palms as I buckled the last cinch along Kaelith’s flank. Around me, the others were doing the same. Checking harnesses, securing packs, and exchanging wordless glances before swinging up onto their dragon’s back.
We mounted as one, a unit shaped by fire and fracture. Our dragons spread their wings, massive shadows stretching across the Ascension Grounds. The Lowborn Squad we’d absorbed moved in rhythm with us, no longer separate. No longer second-tier. Just ours.
Kaelith rumbled beneath me, wings snapping once before she launched into the air, the wind tearing past us as we rose.
One by one, our squad followed Koddos’ wings like thunderclaps.
Narvea’s sleek and fast, Kieren’s veering with a dancer’s grace, and Temil, crackling with energy that made the air itself hum.
Above the others, Hein and Kaelith flew in quiet formation, the unspoken strength between them keeping our line steady.
Hours passed in a blur of wind and cold and sky.
Then we saw it.
Smoke.
Thin tendrils at first—gray fingers curling upward into a pale sky, but as we drew closer, the scent of ash thickened in the air. It wasn’t just a campfire or a field blaze. This was deeper. Blacker. Twisted.
The outpost was a scar in the earth, its perimeter torn apart, defensive walls burned and sagging.
What remained of the gate hung on twisted metal.
Charred wooden beams jutted like broken bones.
The tents were mostly cinders, the ground scorched in strange spirals.
A few bodies had already been covered in rough tarps near the gate, though blood still stained the dirt.
Kaelith circled once above the wreckage, her wings level despite the shifting wind.
We land here, I told her. Outside the main gate. Watch the skies. Watch our backs.
Always, she replied.
One by one, our dragons landed just outside the ruined outpost, talons gripping the outer rocks as they fanned their wings and raised their heads. Sentinels of scale and smoke. Ready.
I dismounted, boots crunching into scorched gravel as we moved as a unit toward the open gate.
Zander was at my side, his expression as hard as steel.
A man limped toward us from the shadows of a half-collapsed barrack, his face darkened with soot, one side mottled with fresh burns. He wore the tattered remnants of an officer’s uniform, now blackened with smoke.
Zander stepped forward. “What happened here?”
The man looked at us, at the dragons beyond, at the squad behind Zander, and swallowed hard before he answered.
“We were hit just before dawn. Not rebels.”
He paused.
“Something worse.”
I glanced around.
The outpost was a skeleton, bones of blackened wood and shattered stone jutting from the earth like the remains of a creature burned from the inside out. The air was thick with ash and the sour stench of melted iron. Our boots crunched through gravel and cinders as we moved deeper into the ruins.
Charred banners flapped limply above us, the unmistakable blood-red spiral of the Crimson Sigil snapping weakly in the wind.
Beneath them, torn and half-consumed by flame, lay the shredded remains of a Varnari crest. A dragon in a cage, split down the center, scorched until only a ragged outline remained.
Naia knelt near the ruined flagpole, her gloved fingers brushing over a half-melted sword pommel etched with the Varnari seal.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “If the Sigil hit them, why were they here in the first place? Why would the Varnari position themselves this close to the Thubian trade routes?”
Ferrula stepped over the rubble beside her, brow furrowed. “Maybe they weren’t stationed,” she said. “Maybe they were sent. With orders.”
Naia looked up, frowning. “You think the crown sent them here?”
Ferrula crossed her arms, her stance rigid. “They could’ve been acting as scouts for Theron’s forces. Or worse—bait.”
“That’s a stretch,” Naia snapped, rising to her feet. “The Sigil leaves this kind of destruction. Not the Varnari.”
Ferrula pointed to the collapsed armory behind them. “And yet the doors were unlocked. No defensive burns. No fallback strategies. Either they were already compromised… or they didn’t see it coming because they weren’t meant to.”
Naia stepped forward. “That’s not proof they were working with the crown. You want to believe that because you already don’t trust anyone in royal colors.”
“And you still think the court can be redeemed,” Ferrula bit back. “Wake up, Naia. That banner,” she pointed to the Varnari remains, “wasn’t hung by mistake. It burned here with the rest of them because someone let it.”
The wind gusted, scattering soot between them like ash-blown snow. Neither moved.
Riven stepped between them, her voice dry. “If you two want to wrestle it out, I’ll start taking bets.”
Jax, behind her, just shook his head, eyeing the burned entryway like it might still collapse.
I glanced up at the Crimson Sigil banners, fluttering defiant, mocking.
The Varnari were here.
The Sigil followed.
And someone had expected it.
The scent of smoke clung to everything—clothes, skin, breath. No matter how deep we moved into the outpost, it didn’t fade. If anything, it thickened, soaked into the cracks of stone and bone and memory. The kind of destruction that wasn’t meant to be survived.
Zander crouched beside one of the fallen.
An older man in noble garb, his once-rich cloak reduced to soot-stained tatters, the sigil of a lesser house half-burned from the leather across his shoulder.
There were several bodies scattered across the scorched courtyard, but none we could do anything for now.
I watched as Zander’s gloved hands moved over the man’s coat, carefully checking for hidden pouches or coded markers. His jaw tightened as he found something, just beneath the collar, near the base of the man’s neck.
He pulled free a partially burnt letter, edges blackened and curling with soot.
“I think there’s more to this,” he said, his voice taut. He stood, turning the missive over in his hands. The seal had melted, but faint traces of a sigil still remained. A dragon breathing fire toward the heavens.
The royal court.
I stepped closer, the wind catching the scent of scorched ink.
“What does it say?” I asked, voice hushed, like the ash might listen.
Zander’s eyes flicked across the page, lips parting as he read the singed words aloud, voice darkening with each line.
“‘To Lord Amblin… deploy your unit on the Raweath border under the guise of patrol. Stall any Crimson Sigil interference until reinforcements arrive. Maintain discretion. Should this letter be intercepted, burn it immediately. The Unifier’s allies must not be allowed to reach the sanctuary before we do.’”
My blood ran cold.
“The Unifier?” I whispered.
Zander’s gaze met mine, hard and knowing. “They were never meant to survive this.”
We both turned toward the smoldering ruins as realization settled heavy in my gut.
This wasn’t just an outpost ambush.
It was a setup.
And someone in the crown wanted the Sigil to strike first.
We gathered near the ruined courtyard, the scorched letter held tightly in Zander’s hand as if the wind might steal it away. Smoke still curled from the shattered walls, but the flames had died—leaving only ash, silence, and too many questions.
“The Unifier,” I said quietly, trying to wrap my head around the name. “He hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years.”
“Not since his rider died,” Zander replied, his voice thoughtful. “He vanished after that. No one’s heard from him since. Some believe he went into the mountains. Others think he chose eternal rest.”
“And yet,” I said, my gaze drifting toward the charred remains of the missive, “the Varnari think he’s aiding someone.”
Zander’s eyes met mine, and there was something in them I didn’t often see—uncertainty.
“Seems that way.”
Naia stepped forward, her boots crunching lightly on shattered glass. “Who’s Lord Amblin?”
Zander didn’t hesitate. “A minor noble from Thubia. He’s always been outspoken, especially about the guild and crown policy. Has very little magic of his own. I’m not surprised he’s aligned with the Varnari.” He glanced back at the broken outpost. “He’s also an avid supporter of Theron.”
Ferrula’s eyes narrowed, arms folded across her chest. “So is this more proof? That Theron’s leading the Varnari?”
Zander shook his head, frowning as he stared at the ruins. “Theron is smart. Calculated. But this… this was very well thought out. Coordinated. Political subterfuge layered with military maneuvering. If Theron is involved…”
He looked at each of us in turn.
“Then he’s not doing it alone.”
The wind howled softly across the broken stones.
And beneath it, I could almost hear the whispers of a dragon long thought gone… returning.