Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sun had set as we flew past the fractured remains of a charred outpost, the sky streaked in amber and smoke. From the air, the area looked like a ghost, its rooftops hollow, streets carved with scars, the stone perimeter cracked from something far stronger than siege weaponry.
We didn’t land inside, though. None of us wanted to. Instead, we set down just beyond the outpost’s edge near the hollow of a ravine, where the dragons could curl around us and keep a watchful eye on the skies. If they were staying close, we were not as safe as the still night suggested.
We set up camp quickly, provisions unpacked, rolls unstrapped and spread across the soft mossy ground.
The air was cooler here, the wind whispering through the branches of brittle trees that bent and arched like skeletal fingers.
I found a spot near the firepit and unrolled my bedding beside Kaelith, her enormous body already curled protectively around the space, her tail draped loosely across the ground like a lazy warning.
Hein returned from his scouting run not long after, his wings kicking up a gust as he landed. He circled once, then moved in beside Kaelith without a sound. Their scales brushed as they settled together, a silent bond forged in fire and something older.
But peace was short-lived.
“I said we didn’t need to unpack the hardtack,” Zander snapped, crouching over the rations.
“And I said we’re not eating that dried root sludge you brought,” Remy growled back, holding up the offensive bundle like it personally betrayed him.
Zander straightened. “It’s packed with nutrients.”
“It tastes like feet.”
“It’s not about taste, it’s about—”
“Oh, for the love of fire and wings,” Jax muttered from where he’d been securing his bedroll. He stood and stalked over, voice rising with dry irritation. “Sort your shit out. We all know neither of you gives a flaming fuck what we eat for breakfast tomorrow.”
Remy looked like he wanted to argue, but Kaelith snorted behind me, and the silence that followed was enough to make both men back down. Zander gave a grumble and finally walked away from the supplies, heading toward me. He didn’t say anything as he rolled out his blanket beside mine.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Planning to share heat or just annoying me with your proximity?”
“I’m protecting you,” he said simply, glancing at the dragons nestled behind us. “Even if they’re already doing a better job of it.”
“Flattering,” I muttered, but I didn’t tell him to move.
Kaelith shifted, her head lowering beside mine. I ran my fingers along her jaw as the stars blinked into view above us.
It’s a nice night, I said.
Yes, she replied, her voice warm in my mind. But don’t mistake quiet for safety. Something is coming.
I believed her.
Hein shifted, curling tighter around her, and I could hear Zander’s breath steady beside me.
We would sleep in shifts.
But for now, beneath a sky painted in fire and ash, we had each other.
We were up before the sun breached the horizon, dragging ourselves from our bedrolls beneath Kaelith’s protective wing.
The morning was cold, the air crisp with dew and something more metallic—fear, maybe.
None of us lingered over breakfast. A few bites of dried fruit, some hardened bread, and we were off.
The dragons rose into the sky like specters, their wings cutting through the mist as we headed southeast toward the border kingdoms. The flight was long.
Too long. The wind bit at our faces, and the chill in the air wasn’t just from altitude; it was the kind of stillness that settled before devastation.
We reached Grenthia just past midday, circling high above the sprawl of refugee wagons littering the roads.
Families clung to what little they had. Children nestled between sacks of grain and broken crates, soldiers walking beside carts pulled by trembling, thin-legged beasts.
It looked more like an exodus than a retreat.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. All moving toward Moustal, though I couldn’t say if that city would fare better.
I chewed on a strip of dried meat as we soared past, my stomach uneasy despite the food. This wasn’t just loss. This was collapse.
By the time we reached Caston, the sun was low and heavy in the west, casting long shadows across the shattered city. Or what was left of it.
Once, Caston had been proud with its towers lined with blue banners, its walls tall and reinforced by years of careful craft and magic. But now… the magic was gone. Whatever wards had protected the city had failed.
The walls were breached in three separate places, gaping wounds where dragons had clearly slammed through.
Buildings lay in broken heaps. Smoke still curled from some of the rubble, black and bitter in the back of my throat.
The streets were empty except for ash and debris.
Charred bones lay beside crumpled carts, forgotten in alleys and craters.
A banner flapped limply from a broken mast—half-burned, Varnari symbols scorched through its fabric.
Kaelith beat her wings and slowed, circling the ground. We cannot all fit within these ruins.
Then we’ll go, I told her, glancing toward Zander.
Hein and Kaelith dipped lower together, the others continuing in measured, protective arcs overhead.
We landed just beyond what had once been the city square. My boots crunched against broken tile and burnt glass as I dismounted, Kaelith’s body tense and eyes scanning every shadow.
Zander swung down from Hein, his face grim as he took in the wreckage. “This wasn’t an attack,” he muttered. “It was an execution.”
He was right.
Any survivors were now on the road to Moustal.
We moved through the shattered streets of Caston in silence, each step heavy with the weight of what had been lost. The buildings weren’t just burned—they were emptied.
Gutted. Every home we passed looked like it had been hollowed out by something worse than fire.
Windows stared back like blackened eye sockets, and the stones themselves felt wrong.
Zander stopped beside a crumbled wall, running his fingers over the deep, jagged grooves etched into the foundation. I moved beside him, and my breath caught.
The markings were unmistakable.
Blood Fae runes.
They shimmered faintly beneath the ash, carved with such precision that the stone still bled darkness around the edges. Words of domination. Of territory. Of warning.
“They’ve claimed this territory,” I whispered.
Zander nodded, gaze lifting toward the copper-washed sky. “We’re too late.”
We rounded a collapsed building, the smell of smoke and blood thicker here, clinging to the ground like fog. That was when I saw boots, half-buried in ash, sticking out from a scorched doorway.
“Someone’s there.”
We ran.
Zander shoved aside what was left of the frame and dropped to his knees. I followed, kneeling beside the blackened body. His clothes had been reduced to ash in places, but the skin on his chest was relatively untouched.
The tattoos were unmistakable.
Crimson Sigil.
An inked serpent coiled around a sword, the blades slick with stylized blood. I exhaled, my heart thudding.
“He was one of them,” I muttered.
“Look at his hand.” Zander lifted the man’s fingers gently. The charred remains of a ring clung to his middle finger, enough to make out the crest. A rearing horse, crowned with flames.
“The crest of Caston’s royal family.”
“He was a royal?” My voice cracked on the words.
Zander’s expression darkened. “Yes. And a traitor.”
“Why would a royal side with the Sigil?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat back on his heels, eyes distant.
“Because,” he finally said, “the farther you are from Warriath, the more diluted the bloodlines become. Marriages are made for land, for alliances. Not magic. By the third or fourth generation, there’s barely any power left.”
I swallowed hard, the truth settling like stone in my stomach.
“So they turned to the Sigil,” I whispered. “Because they were powerless.”
“Because they wanted to be feared again.”
Zander met my gaze then, and there was something cold behind his eyes. Something I hadn’t seen in him before.
“They weren’t the only ones.”
Remy’s boots crunched over ash and loose stone as he stalked toward us, face unreadable, the light casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. Zander turned to him like he’d been waiting for a fight.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Zander’s voice was sharp, a blade unsheathed. “You were told to scout west.”
Remy didn’t flinch. “I don’t answer to you. I’m here on Theron’s orders.”
Zander took a step forward, his fists clenched so tightly I thought the leather of his gloves might tear. “You don’t answer to me, but you sure as hell don’t get to compromise the mission just to keep playing lapdog to the prince regent.”
“You’re one to talk,” Remy snapped, stepping into Zander’s space. “You think this is about the mission? You’ve made everything personal since the moment she bonded with that dragon.”
“That dragon has a name,” Zander hissed. “And if you touch Ashe again—”
“Enough!” I shoved myself between them, hands out like I could hold back the storm with sheer will. “This isn’t the time. I don’t care what games Theron is playing, or what ancient rivalry you two are trying to revive, but this is bigger than both of you.”
Neither of them backed off. Remy’s jaw was tight, that noble fire sparking in his eyes. Zander just stared, cold and unreadable, like he was calculating whether a punch would be worth the fallout.
Then Kaelith’s voice sliced through my mind like a breath of frost.
The others have found something. You must come now.
I turned, ignoring the heat still crackling in the air between them. “We need to go. Kaelith says the others found something.”