Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
We spent the night in the tunnels beneath the tavern, our little pocket of safety carved out between stone walls. It was the first time in days I’d felt like I could breathe without the weight of betrayal pressing down on my ribs.
Solei and I shared stories from when we were kids. How she used to dare me to scale the gutters outside the tavern windows, how I once tried to ride a wild drake and ended up limping for a week. Zander laughed and then shared some of the antics he and his brothers had pulled off in the castle.
He told us about switching the king’s ceremonial robes with ones dyed a garish shade of pink just before a foreign delegation arrived. About how Dorian always took the blame and Theron always escaped punishment.
“He used to convince me to help,” Zander said with a rueful grin, “then disappear the moment things went wrong.”
By the time we turned in for the night, there was a quiet comfort between the three of us—worn down, maybe even a little broken, but still together.
Cyran provided a full breakfast in the morning—eggs, fire-roasted bread, and something that smelled like spiced meat. I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat.
Because it was time.
Time to go back.
Time to face the fire.
I reached for Kaelith again, trying to find her mind, even just a spark of presence.
But there was nothing.
Not anger. Not rejection.
Just… silence.
I understand, I thought. I just wish I didn’t have to do this without you.
We left the tunnels through the back corridor, emerging into the tavern above. It was practically empty, only a few early patrons nursing drinks at the bar.
No one looked twice as we passed.
The sun had barely risen when we reached the city streets, the light gray and soft, like the calm before the storm.
Our boots echoed against cobblestone, and I pulled my cloak tighter around me as the castle gates came into view.
The guards at the entrance saw us approach. One of them stiffened, then stepped aside without a word.
They knew.
They’d been told to let us through.
And as we crossed the threshold into the castle grounds, the Ascension Grounds came into view—
Packed.
Every rider.
Every major.
Every dragonless prospect standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Waiting for the trial that could burn the world down… or save it.
Theron stood tall in full ceremonial regalia, the deep-blue of his formal cloak trimmed with gold, the Rayne sigil glinting like it had something to prove. His hands rested behind his back, chin tilted in a show of superiority, but it was Inderia who drew my gaze.
She stood just behind him, draped in silver and crimson, the gown clearly meant to present her as a queen-in-waiting.
But it wasn’t her beauty that caught my attention; it was her expression.
Not smug. Not victorious. If anything, she looked…
hollow. Her lips were tight, her eyes glazed as though she’d been trapped in a decision she couldn’t take back.
Was she part of this? Or just a pawn in a much larger game?
We stopped at the edge of the Ascension Grounds as Theron raised his hand, and the crowd quieted instantly. The sunlight fell cold over the wide clearing as he stepped up to the central podium.
“I hereby call this trial to order,” Theron said, his voice ringing out like steel over stone.
“The accused, Zander Rayne, stands charged with treason against the Crown of Warriath, conspiracy with foreign powers—including the Crimson Sigil and the Blood Fae—and attempted regicide against King Emlem Rayne, our father.”
Gasps echoed through the crowd, and I could see some of the younger cadets glance uneasily at one another. The words sounded damning, especially from a prince regent.
But before Theron could speak again, Major Ledor stepped forward.
“I object,” he said, voice sharp and clear.
Every head turned.
“I would like to submit a formal change in counsel for the accused.”
Theron narrowed his eyes. “You are not in a position to—”
“Prince Dorian will represent Zander.”
The crowd erupted into hushed murmurs.
“What?” Theron snapped, spinning around. “That’s—he’s not—”
The wind howled suddenly overhead, and a massive blue Striker dragon, sleek, powerful, and recognizable, circled once before diving low and landing at the edge of the grounds.
Foran.
Dorian dismounted in one smooth motion, his silver-and-charcoal armor catching the light as he strode forward, a figure born for command.
He passed the stunned crowd without hesitation and walked straight up to the podium, stopping in front of Theron.
“This trial is a disgrace,” Dorian said, voice calm but cutting like ice over glass. “You’ve gone too far.”
And for the first time since this began…
Theron looked unsure.
Dorian stepped up to the edge of the podium, his voice calm but carrying over the assembled riders like the first crack of thunder before a storm. “Riders,” he called, “connect with your dragons. The truth will be shared.”
A pulse rolled through the Ascension Grounds like magic awakening. I felt it tug at my chest, reflexive, instinctive, but Kaelith was still silent in my mind. Hein too. Zander and I locked eyes, the same understanding flashing between us.
We were the only two without a dragon response.
All around us, riders went still, eyes closing, expressions shifting into awe, anger, or revelation. The bond poured truth into their minds. I watched the tension snap like old rope as disbelief fell away.
Riders’ heads lifted, many turning toward Theron with fury simmering behind their eyes.
And one by one, they moved, not toward him, but toward Dorian’s banner.
All except Iron Fang.
Even still, the shift was devastating. While Iron Fang remained the largest, Theron had just lost the support of every other squad. His ploy had collapsed under the weight of truth, and the dragons had done what no court ever could.
They exonerated Zander.
“What happened?” I whispered, my voice tight.
“They obviously saw something,” Zander muttered, stunned. “Something that proved I never betrayed them.”
Major Ledor stepped forward, his face carved from stone.
“Your accusations were false,” he said to Theron, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“The dragons showed Zander’s movements—every step over the last few months.
There were no meetings with the Sigil. No messages to the Varnari.
And he’s never seen the vial of poison you claimed he used to attempt to assassinate the king. ”
Theron’s mouth twitched, and his eyes slid to Inderia.
“She intercepted the missives,” he said calmly. “If they were falsified… we’ll find the perpetrator.”
Major Ledor’s eyes narrowed. “You sentenced your own brother to death without proof. What kind of king does that?”
Theron turned then, slow and deliberate, until he stood face to face with Ledor.
“One that values the safety of this continent over blood ties,” he said coldly.
But the silence that followed… wasn’t one of agreement.
It was judgment. Heavy and sharp.
And Theron finally looked like a man surrounded by enemies.
Major Ledor’s expression twisted into something close to revulsion as he turned toward Theron. “I assume this means Zander is cleared of all charges?”
Theron gave a stiff nod, jaw tight. “Of course. My priority is, and has always been, the safety of Warriath.”
Liar.
Inderia stood just behind him, her hands clasped in front of her gown, eyes pinned to the dirt like it could shield her from the gazes burning into her from every direction.
Her silence was louder than any apology.
And though she looked like a queen beside Theron hours ago, now she stood like a prisoner, one with no supporters and even fewer admirers.
No one would be vying for her hand now. Theron had weaponized her and, in doing so, shattered what little power she might’ve claimed on her own. She was a tool, discarded. A crownless queen among blades.
Dorian stepped toward Foran, his armor glinting in the morning light, posture rigid. The blue Striker shifted beneath him, wings half-furled, waiting. He was nearly in the saddle when Theron spoke again.
“Can’t you stay, brother?” Theron asked, forcing the words out like they tasted bitter. “It’s clear the riders wish you to lead.”
Dorian turned his head, the look in his eyes cold enough to turn breath to ice. “I will leave the day-to-day politics to you,” he said. “But be warned, brother…”
He paused just long enough to let the words settle like coals in our lungs.
“If you come after Zander again, it will be war. And I’m not talking about the Blood Fae.”
The words cracked through the crowd like lightning. Theron took a half-step back, visibly shaken.
“You would actually go to war with First Guild over Zander?” Theron asked, incredulous. “He’s not worth it.”
Dorian mounted Foran in a single motion. The dragon’s wings shifted, and in that heartbeat of silence, Dorian’s voice rang as clear as a death sentence.
“He is worth it, Theron… and you of all people should fear that.”
Foran launched into the sky a moment later, blue flame searing the wind behind him. No one moved. No one breathed.
We were all left stunned.
I turned to Zander. “What is going on between them?”
Zander watched the skies, his jaw tight. “I have no idea,” he said quietly. “But I intend to find out.”