Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
I stepped closer, my breath catching as I got a better look.
Zander’s skin was mottled with bruises, cruel purple bleeding into yellow and green along his ribs.
There were lacerations along his side, cuts just deep enough to scar.
One trailed down the curve of his hip, still oozing.
His wrists were the worst. His skin broken where the shackles bit deep, blood dried and flaked like rusted iron.
I dropped to my knees beside the bed, my dagger already drawn.
Zander’s eyes followed the blade, not in fear, but in curiosity.
I made a small incision across the heel of my palm, the sting sharp, grounding.
Then I pressed it gently against the worst of his wounds.
My blood pulsed once… and his skin shimmered.
The cuts began to knit together before my eyes, the bruises fading, bone-deep exhaustion lifting from his face like smoke drawn away by wind. His eyes brightened, their natural glow flaring back to life.
He gave me a tired smile. “You always make an entrance.”
I didn’t smile back, not yet. “Does Hein know what happened?”
He shook his head slightly, the movement intentional. “No. He’s cut off from me right now. I imagine he wants his privacy at the moment.”
“Understandable,” I murmured. “But… as far as bad timing goes—”
“I think that was the point,” he said, voice still hoarse but steadier now. “We had to let the majors know our dragons would be unavailable. It left us vulnerable.”
“The majors?” I blinked, sitting back. The thought slipped into place like a blade behind my ribs. “I was so focused on Inderia… I didn’t even consider…”
“That Kaler would retaliate for being humiliated,” Zander finished grimly.
I met his eyes. “Do you think this was him?”
Zander gave a small shrug, the movement tight with pain even as his wounds continued to mend. “I don’t know. But we have to find out.”
I reached for the shackles, my bloodstained hand hovering over the chains. “Let me just—”
“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Leave them. Let’s see how far Theron’s willing to take this. He knows I’m innocent. But he’s been given… a lot of evidence.”
His voice dipped, bitter.
My chest ached as I lowered myself gently onto the bed beside him. I lay my head on his chest, careful of the places still healing, but needing the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His bound hand shifted just enough to brush his fingers against my hair.
“So am I,” he murmured. “But this? This isn’t the end. It’s just a clue to who is behind it all.”
Our conversation died off. The fire had long since died in Zander’s chamber, but the room still held a quiet kind of warmth, one born not from flame, but from presence. I remained curled beside him, listening to his heartbeat, my thoughts churning.
“We need to talk about the Varnari,” I whispered after a while, voice barely audible in the hush.
Zander exhaled slowly. “And the Crimson Sigil.”
I nodded against his chest. “I don’t trust either of them. And I don’t think they’d be sorry to see you locked up… or worse.”
“No,” he agreed. “But this doesn’t feel like politics.”
“It feels personal.” I sat up, meeting his eyes in the moonlight. “Someone wanted you humiliated. Not just removed from power. They wanted you broken.”
Zander’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “And they used the people closest to me to do it.”
We both knew who that meant. Inderia. Possibly the major. Maybe more.
“I’ll find out,” I told him. “We will.”
His gaze softened. “You always do.”
I pressed one last kiss to his temple, then eased off the bed and slipped back into the shadows, retracing my path through the secret corridor. The passage seemed colder now, heavier. As if the castle itself could sense the weight of the lie festering inside its walls.
I made it back to my bunk just before the sky began to lighten.
No one stirred, not yet, but I didn’t sleep.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting. Because we all knew what would come with the dawn.
The performance.
When the first rays of sun slid through the barracks windows, the others rose silently. No laughter. No taunts. Just quiet determination.
We dressed in silence.
Ate in silence.
And walked to the Ascension Grounds with the weight of war on our shoulders.
All the other squads had already gathered. Warborn. Crownwatch. Iron Fang. Even Stormforge, tighter and tenser than usual.
The tension was brittle—like one wrong word would crack it wide open.
Then the castle doors opened.
And Theron stepped out, his armor gleaming in the morning light.
But Zander was not with him.
Not in chains. Not at his side.
Not at all.
The Ascension Grounds held their breath.
And mine… caught in my throat.
Because whatever came next—
It wouldn’t be justice.
Theron approached the podium with measured steps, his silver-lined cloak trailing behind him like a shadow refusing to let go. The majors flanked him on either side, their expressions unreadable, but their presence made one thing clear.
This was orchestrated.
He stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, the rising sun catching the polished trim of his armor as he looked out over the gathered squads. His voice, when it rang out, was cold and precise.
“Prince Dorian,” he announced, “did not come to Zander’s aid when summoned. And he will not be returning to the capital for the foreseeable future.”
A murmur spread across the grounds like a ripple of unease, spreading fast.
“I have reviewed the evidence thoroughly,” Theron continued, “and more has come to light—correspondence that confirms dealings not only with the outlaw Cyran, but with known agents of the Blood Fae. Documents sealed in Zander’s hand. I can no longer ignore the threat he poses.”
He looked over us, unblinking.
“In light of this betrayal,” he said, “I have no choice but to sentence Prince Zander Rayne… to death.”
The words rang out like a blade dropped on stone.
There was a heartbeat of stunned silence—
Then Cade exploded.
“You fucking pig!” he roared, shoving off his squadmate’s arm and lunging forward.
A Crownwatch soldier tackled him mid-charge, dragging him down in the dirt. Spears lowered—three gleaming tips pressed to Cade’s throat as he thrashed, snarling. “You lying bastard! He’s your brother!”
Gasps and shouts echoed around the courtyard. Ferrula moved to step forward, but Riven caught her wrist, eyes wide as tensions surged like a tide about to crest.
Cade was one of the best fighters among us. Not noble, not legacy—but good. Brave. He trained the newer cadets when the instructors ignored them. He fixed armor without being asked. He’d earned respect from every squad in the Fourth Guild.
So when Iron Fang raised weapons against him—
Everything cracked.
Iron Fang moved first, stepping to shield the prince regent with drawn steel and smug grins, but Stormforge countered, stepping to Cade’s side, swords unsheathed with a hiss of steel. Warborn followed, no words, just shifting into formation like war was familiar to them.
Our squad moved as one.
And then chaos erupted.
Shouts. Screams. Blades clashed as steel met steel, dragons above circling, screeching. Cadets shoved, fists flew, one of the spears at Cade’s throat was knocked aside as Ferrula threw her entire body into the fray.
I caught Naia pulling Cordelle behind a shield as Riven hurled an Iron Fang cadet to the ground.
Blood hadn’t yet been spilled, but it would be.
Because the prince regent hadn’t just sentenced his brother.
He had fractured the entire Guild.
Use the chaos to slip away.
Siergen’s voice seared into my mind like fire through fog—unyielding and ancient. His thoughts didn’t ask. They commanded.
We must free Hein’s rider.
I hesitated for half a second, glancing across the carnage unraveling on the Ascension Grounds.
Iron Fang had turned feral, Stormforge refused to back down, and our squad was standing with Warborn, defending Cade like he was blood.
No one noticed me slip through the edge of the fray, ducking behind the broken line of benches and circling toward the castle wall.
Zander wasn’t going to die in chains.
Not today.
Do you know where he is? I asked mentally, dodging a collapsing banner as I darted toward the castle arch.
The dungeon, Siergen replied, his thoughts echoing inside my mind. He is in a cell near the corridor that runs beside Alahathrial’s.
“Did you know he’s Zander’s father?” I whispered aloud, my voice barely audible in the echo of dragon cries overhead.
Of course, Siergen responded, with something almost like amusement. I smell his lineage. But Alahathrial’s children must survive.
I followed his mental pull into the castle, my boots soft against the cold stone. Most of the guards had already fled to the grounds, trying to restrain the explosion of blades and oaths. The corridors were eerily empty, like the castle itself was holding its breath.
“You know about Elara, too,” I said softly.
She is the light, Siergen answered. Her brother, the dark. But it is him we need now.
My chest tightened. Brother and sister. One who ruled with warmth. One forged by shadow. Neither ready for the war we were about to lose if I failed.
We moved deeper into the belly of the keep, past forgotten tapestries and sealed doorways, until the scent of mildew and iron filled the air. The dungeon corridor yawned ahead, narrow and lined with flickering torches.
He’s close, Siergen said, his voice like a sure hand in my mind.
I pressed forward, silent, heart pounding.
Because one way or another, I was getting Zander Rayne out.
The heavy dungeon door loomed ahead, thick iron reinforced with ancient bolts and the kind of enchantments that whispered of cruelty, not mercy.
It was locked, of course.