Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I smiled at Zander, the flickering lantern casting soft light across his face. For once, the hard edges of his expression had softened into something thoughtful—hopeful, even.
But I had no idea how to answer the question he hadn’t quite asked. What would it take to change my mind?
“Let’s just see if we can survive this war first,” I said, voice wry but quiet.
He shrugged, the motion lazy, but I saw the weight behind it, the understanding that survival wasn’t a guarantee anymore. Not for either of us.
Then his eyes narrowed.
I followed his gaze just in time to see the basement door slam open.
At first, I didn’t even recognize her.
Solei stormed into the room like a living flame, a torn tunic pulled over a city guard’s uniform, one shoulder soaked through with sweat and dirt. Her braid had come partially undone, strands of dark hair sticking to her blood-smeared cheek.
And her knuckles—gods, her knuckles were raw and bleeding.
“Solei?” I breathed, standing quickly. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room, sat hard on the bench against the wall, and exhaled like she’d been running for hours.
“I had a little run-in with a Varnari assassin,” she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather.
Zander straightened. “Here?”
She nodded, spitting a glob of blood into a cloth and wiping her jaw. “Not far from the Ascension grounds. He was tracking someone.”
I knelt beside her, already pulling the wash basin closer. “Is he dead?”
Solei grinned through the blood. “He’s missing a few important parts. That’s all you need to know.”
Zander let out a short whistle.
“You always did make the worst first impressions,” I muttered, grabbing a cloth to clean her hands.
She winced as I dabbed the torn skin. “He made the mistake of underestimating me. Thought I was just a pretty girl in a dress.”
I raised a brow. “You were literally wearing a guardsman’s tunic.”
Solei smirked. “Then he was doubly stupid.”
Zander leaned back, his eyes still sharp. “If they’re already this close… we’ll need to move soon.”
Solei nodded, more serious now. “At dawn. You’ll need to vanish before the city stirs.”
And just like that, the fragile stillness we’d built was gone.
“Who was the assassin targeting?” I asked, my voice louder than I intended as I rinsed blood from Solei’s knuckles.
She flexed her fingers, wincing as the cloth dragged over broken skin. “A warder. One, with little combat training. He would be dead if I weren’t so curious about the assassin.”
My stomach twisted. “Damn it.”
“They’re distracting us with politics,” I whispered, the realization hitting like a slap. “All this chaos with Zander, the accusations, the staged evidence—it’s pulling attention away from the real damage.”
Zander stood now, jaw tight as he crossed his arms. “I haven’t thought about the dwindling warders in weeks. The guild was supposed to be protecting them.”
“They were,” Solei said grimly. “But too many have been killed or gone missing. And it’s not just them.”
She met my gaze, her voice colder now. “There have been other killings. In the outer kingdoms, mostly. Quiet ones. Two confirmed warders, one in Grenthia and one near the coast. Both murdered in the last week.”
I swallowed hard. “And no alerts went out?”
“Buried,” she said. “Conveniently under travel accidents or fae ambushes. But that’s not all.”
I looked up, already bracing for the next blow.
“Three healers have also died quietly,” Solei added. “One in Thubia and two in Prima.”
Zander’s voice was quiet, but it held a razor’s edge. “They’re targeting our infrastructure.”
“And they’re doing it quietly,” I added. “While everyone’s too busy watching the thrones crumble.”
Solei nodded, her expression unreadable. “They want us fractured. Distracted. Weak.”
And it was working.
“Do you know his name?” I asked softly, watching Solei’s hands as I dried them, the last of the blood wiped clean, but the weight of her words still heavy.
She nodded, leaning her head back against the stone wall with a sigh. “Quinn. He was in the line ahead of you when you enlisted.”
My chest tightened. “Quinn?”
Solei’s eyes flicked to mine, and I caught something almost gentle there.
“I saved his life,” she said. “He would’ve been dead if I’d been two seconds later.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice low. “He’s a friend. Is he… is he okay?”
Solei tilted her head. “Shaken. But alive.”
“Was he scared?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said simply. “But he thanked me.”
She hesitated, and I leaned in.
“And?”
She huffed. “He asked if he could make me dinner.”
My brows shot up. “What?”
Solei gestured down to her blood-streaked tunic and battered armor. “He thought I was a court guard. Obviously.”
I bit my lip, a grin tugging at the corners. “He’s very sweet. You should consider his offer.”
She gave me a look.
“I hear he’s an excellent cook,” I added, nudging her knee.
Solei stared at me like I was insane. “Did you fall off your dragon and hit your head?”
Zander coughed behind me, clearly trying not to laugh.
I shrugged, smug. “Maybe. But I’m not the one who just got asked on a date by a warder.”
Solei groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I should’ve let the assassin nick me just enough to avoid this conversation.”
But she didn’t stop smiling.
I looked at Solei, studying her expression as she rubbed absently at her bruised knuckles. “Why can’t you date a warder?”
She lifted a brow at me, like I’d just asked her why dragons breathe fire.
“They’re not involved in court politics,” I continued. “Even the Order doesn’t touch them.”
“That’s true,” she admitted, tone wary. “Healers and warders are off-limits… unless they betray the crown.”
I tilted my head. “The crown, or Cyran?”
That made her pause.
Solei leaned back, eyes flicking to the ceiling like the stone would whisper answers. “Warders protect the city. Not kings. Not houses. Not banners. The city. And we’re losing them at an alarming rate.”
I heard the weight in her voice. That fear, she rarely let anyone see.
She shifted again, voice quieter now. “Healers have always been off-limits. They treat everyone… Order members, guild riders, even commoners if needed.”
“And?”
Solei met my gaze squarely, no hesitation in her next words. “All Orders have the same mandate when it comes to healers and warders.”
She said it like a vow, like it had been branded into her bones.
“We don’t touch them.”
I let the silence settle, heavy between us. Because even for someone like Solei, someone forged in shadows and sharpened by knives, that line mattered.
And right now, someone out there was breaking it.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did you interrogate him?”
Solei gave me a look that could peel paint. “Of course I did. He was working for the Varnari.”
I leaned in, my gut twisting. “Did he say who sent him?”
Her mouth tugged into something between a grimace and a smirk. “Not exactly. But when he was close to death, he admitted there’s a temporary truce between the Crimson Sigil and the Varnari.”
My blood ran cold.
“How can that be?” I demanded. “The Varnari want magic and the crown in their hands, and the Crimson Sigil wants it eradicated for the most part. They’re opposites.”
“I’m aware,” she said flatly. “But the amnesty is only temporary. They’re using it to take out their mutual threat.”
“Us,” I said, my voice a growl.
“To remove the riders,” Solei confirmed. “Every last one of you. Once you’re gone, they’ll deal with each other.”
I grunted and sat back. “Of course. Take out the ones who stand between them and whatever future they want.”
She leaned forward, her eyes sharper now, cutting through shadow like blades. “But here’s the part that should really worry you.”
I met her gaze.
“That kind of organization? The kind that can fund both rebel factions, coordinate attacks, eliminate warders and healers without notice?”
She paused, her voice lowering to a whisper.
“That can only come from the castle.”
Zander’s jaw clenched, the shadows in the room seeming to stretch and hold around him.
“It has to be Theron,” he said, voice cold. “He’s power-hungry, manipulative. He’s already tried to turn the guilds against me, accused me of treason—he’s behind this.”
Solei shook her head slowly, the motion deliberate. “I agree he’s a right bastard,” she said, voice as dry as dust, “but Theron isn’t smart enough to do this alone.”
Zander narrowed his eyes. “You think he has help?”
She leaned forward, flexing her bandaged fingers.
“There are alliances forming between houses that Theron has never spoken to. Too many moving parts. Too many perfectly timed strikes. This…” She waved a hand, motioning to everything—the assassins, the false accusations, the secret factions.
“This is someone who knows exactly how the castle operates. Someone with real reach.”
My gut twisted. “Then who? Who would have that kind of power? That kind of network?”
Solei didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned and fixed her gaze on Zander.
Deadly quiet.
“Where exactly is your oldest brother?” she asked.
Zander went very still.
And the room suddenly felt a whole lot colder.