Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Luthias stormed toward us, his jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking just below his temple. He looked every bit the warrior he was, but the rage in his eyes made him appear ready to cleave a mountain in two.
Teren stepped into his path. “What is going on? Why are they here?”
Luthias dragged a hand over his bald head, as if trying to smooth out the anger before it boiled over. “The patrols are being recalled,” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “Soon, every dragon in the kingdom will be in Warriath.”
“What?” Teren snapped. His posture stiffened like someone had yanked a cord through his spine. “That’s impossible. Who gave that order?”
“Guess,” Luthias muttered. “It came through the chain of command. All signed by the regent’s hand.”
My pulse kicked harder. “Then who is protecting the outer kingdoms?” I asked, eyes darting between them. “The commoners have no defense against the Blood Fae’s dragons. Not without the riders.”
Luthias stared at me grimly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Silence stretched between us, the kind that curled with dread.
Then my gaze shifted to the gates, and a name surfaced on my tongue like a blade sliding free from its sheath. “Gerane,” I said.
Teren blinked. “The gate watch?”
“He can get a message to my family,” I murmured. “Movements. Rumors. Supply runs. If anyone knows what’s really going on outside these walls, it’s Cyran.”
Without waiting for agreement, I turned and strode toward the gate. The others followed without question.
Because whatever Theron was doing... he wasn’t just calling dragons back.
He was preparing for something.
And we needed to know what before the sky bled red.
I stopped just shy of the outer gate and turned to Gerane. His keen green eyes watched the street like a hawk, the scar on his hand catching a glint of late sun.
“I need you to summon my sister,” I said. “Tell her it’s urgent.”
He gave me a single, curt nod. No questions. No hesitation. That was one of the reasons I trusted him. Gerane motioned subtly to a man standing outside a butcher’s shop across the way, who peeled off from his post and disappeared down an alley without a sound.
I turned away from the gate, but my boot tapped restlessly against the cobblestone. I wouldn’t have to wait long. Solei had ears in every shadow, but patience had never been my strong suit.
Teren crossed his arms beside me while Luthias leaned against a nearby wall, arms folded like a stone sentinel. I could feel the tension radiating off both of them, and not just from the waiting.
“Do you think Theron’s consolidating the riders for a reason?” I asked quietly.
Luthias’ eyes narrowed. “Of course he is. You don’t pull riders off a continent-wide defense unless you’re preparing for something bigger.”
“Varnari?” I offered. “Or maybe the Crimson Sigil?”
“Or both,” Teren muttered. “Maybe they’ve formed an alliance strong enough to threaten the capital.”
“But why wouldn’t he share that?” I asked, my voice cautious. “If he has intelligence on a major threat, the guilds should be mobilizing, not debating politics and putting cadets on trial.”
“Unless he doesn’t trust the guilds anymore,” Luthias said darkly. “Or maybe he plans to control them himself.”
“Or…” I hesitated. “He knows something we don’t. Something he doesn’t want to share.”
Teren looked toward the sky, jaw clenched. “Whatever it is, it’s big. And it’s coming fast.”
My boot stilled against the stone.
We were running out of time.
And the one person who might give us answers was already on her way.
Solei arrived like a storm, silent, efficient, and deadly in her stride. Her blond braid was tucked under a hood, and her gaze swept over us before landing on mine.
“You summoned?”
“Yeah,” I said, gesturing toward the returning patrols. “We’ve got Warborn riders trickling back. Luthias confirmed the outposts are being recalled. Every dragon in the kingdom is being called back to Warriath.”
Her expression didn’t shift, but I saw the tightness in her jaw. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”
“Worse?” Teren echoed, stepping forward.
Solei nodded once, grim. “The eastern coast is gone. Amdar, Caston, Diria have all been devastated by fire and coordinated attacks. They didn’t just fall. They were torn apart. No warning, no mercy.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “All three? Already?”
“People are fleeing inland,” she continued. “Most are heading for the middle kingdoms, but Grenthia’s already shut its borders. Too many mouths, not enough defenses.”
“Vrangoth and Uriden?” I asked, voice tight.
“They’ll have no choice,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time before they close too.”
My hands clenched at my sides. “What about the Order? Are we accepting our own?”
“Of course we are,” Solei said without hesitation. “But only if they can get through the gates. And most won’t make it that far.”
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “This is a nightmare.”
Solei’s eyes met mine, her voice low and razor-sharp. “More so for the innocents currently on the roads. Bandits are picking them off like game. Desperation breeds monsters.”
I looked out past the gate, my stomach twisting. No wonder the skies had gone quiet. The dragons were retreating. The capital was bracing.
And the world outside our walls was burning.
A deep horn echoed across the courtyard, deep, urgent, final. I turned just as Theron emerged from the castle, flanked by two guards and dressed in his usual obsidian-stitched finery, his cloak catching on the wind like wings made of shadow.
Solei stiffened beside me.
“That’s my cue,” she muttered, slipping toward the front gate like smoke. I watched her disappear into the streets, not a single guard stopping her as the tension across the grounds thickened.
The riders gathered fast, boots crunching gravel and banners flapping overhead. Every guild present, every dragon on alert. The Ascension Grounds had never felt heavier, like the wind itself knew what was coming.
Theron stepped up to the podium, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Riders,” he began, “we stand on the brink of war.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“The eastern kingdoms have fallen to the Blood Fae. Entire regions consumed by fire and shadow. And now…” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like stones. “We consolidate our strength here. Warriath will not fall. Not while I draw breath.”
“Then what of the people of those kingdoms?” Teren’s voice rang out across the grounds, strong and furious. “How will you offer aid to the innocent?”
Theron didn’t even flinch. His gaze slid lazily toward Teren, unimpressed. “Those territories were already unstable. No aid will be given.”
Gasps echoed. A few riders cursed under their breath. I felt the rage boil in my chest, white-hot.
Teren looked like he wanted to lunge at the podium. “So you’re abandoning them?”
“They were never our priority,” Theron said coolly. “Our duty lies with this city. With protecting the crown. Warriath must survive.”
No one clapped. No one cheered.
The silence that followed was louder than any horn, and it carried a single truth—Theron had just declared who mattered… and who didn’t.
Ferrula’s voice cracked through the charged silence like a whip. “You would condemn the families of the riders? If the dragons are here, then it’s only a matter of time before the other kingdoms fall. Are we all expendable?”
A hush followed, the kind that screams.
Theron’s expression barely shifted. He turned toward Ferrula, his mouth tightening as if her words tasted foul on his tongue. “All riders matter,” he said, his tone icy. “But we must survive to fight this war. Sacrifice is necessary for the realm’s salvation.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
“How do you define sacrifice?” Taren shouted from Warborn’s side. “Because it sounds like you’re sacrificing everyone else but yourself.”
“What about our friends?” Kaila called from the edge of our group. “Our families? We left them to guard their villages, believing help would come if needed.”
“And now they’re just gone?” another rider yelled. “We trained for this war. This is our fight.”
Stormforge shouted over Iron Fang, their usual hostility forgotten in the growing anger.
“You said we were the last line,” someone else growled, “not the only line.”
Questions exploded all at once—louder, sharper, overlapping like crashing waves.
“Will there be an evacuation?”
“What of Thubia?”
“Where is Dorian?”
“Why aren’t we allowed to act?”
Zander had joined our side now, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched his brother, the prince regent, flounder beneath the barrage of voices. Theron’s posture remained composed, but the rigid set of his jaw told another story.
He hadn’t expected this. Even his loyal Iron Fang members were asking questions.
He expected fear.
Obedience.
An Iron Fang rider, broad-shouldered with a jagged scar down one cheek, stepped forward, his voice cutting through the mounting chaos like a blade. “We should be following Dorian. He’s the one the dragons trusted with the trial. He didn’t abandon his own brother.”
Gasps echoed. Even some of Iron Fang’s own shifted uneasily.
Theron’s head snapped toward him, the regal mask slipping just enough to show the fury beneath.
“And where is my elder brother?” he snarled, his voice rising like a whipcrack over the murmurs.
“I have asked him—begged him—to take this burden from me. Again and again. But he refuses. He hides behind missions and diplomacy, unwilling to make the hard choices required to keep this realm from burning.”
Silence fell like a dropped stone. Theron let it stretch.
“I am not perfect,” he said, pacing slowly in front of the podium. “But there hasn’t been a full-on Blood Fae war in over six hundred years.”
“Because the wards are dropping!” a woman from Stormforge shouted. Her face was red with rage, fists clenched. “And now they’re gone!”
Theron turned to her, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he said quietly, “Let’s address that problem. Right now.”
He swept his gaze across the sea of riders, the shadows of dragons circling above cast like wings across his golden cloak.
“Someone has orchestrated the deaths of over thirty warders in the last season alone. Thirty. If they were still alive, the wards would hold. The outer kingdoms would be shielded. The commoners wouldn’t be flooding the guilds, and we would not be forced to recall our dragons just to protect our own house. ”
A rough and uncertain voice from the back called out, “Who killed the warders?”
Theron didn’t hesitate.
He turned his cold gaze toward me, his words venomous and sure.
“The same people who orchestrate every assassination,” he said. “The Order.”
Gasps rippled again.
But I didn’t flinch.
Not because it wasn’t a possibility.
But because I knew the Order wasn’t behind this.
At least not alone.