Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
I got up sluggishly, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and the weight of everything still spinning in my head. The sky beyond the window was barely lit, hints of lavender and ash-gray brushing the horizon.
It was almost dawn by the time I’d finally rolled into bed.
Riven stood at the edge of my bunk, a pair of biscuits in her hand. Her copper-red hair was still damp from what must have been a cold wash, strands curling at her jawline.
“Long night?” she asked, passing me the food as I sat up.
“You could say that.” I took one and bit into it, still warm, surprisingly buttery. “But productive.”
She motioned toward the door. “Remy said you need to meet him and Zander at the castle entrance. You’re going to visit the king.”
I blinked. “Now?”
“Cordy thinks you should give him a couple of drops of the elixir,” she added. “It won’t heal him completely, but it might help keep him stable while we locate the rest of the ingredients, and the spell caster.”
I stilled, then gave a short nod. “Cordy filled you in.”
“He did.” Her gaze softened. “He’s worried. We all are. But you’ve got this, Ashe.”
My throat tightened around the last bite as I stood and grabbed my armor from the trunk at the end of my bunk. “Thanks.”
As I began strapping on the plates, Riven leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching like the warrior she was, steady, protective, lethal.
“Just be careful in there. Even dying kings have teeth.”
I smirked and nodded, buckling the last strap. “Noted.”
And with that, I grabbed the vial and tucked it into the hidden pocket inside my chestplate, the soft glow of the elixir pulsing faintly against my skin. Then I followed her out into the rising light.
The courtyard buzzed with quiet tension as the squads gathered behind their designated banners.
Colors fluttered in the wind, steel caught early morning sun, and the murmur of command filtered through the chill air.
But I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact, and moved steadily toward the castle steps.
Zander stepped out just as I approached. His armor gleamed in the dark, but his eyes were weary, threaded with the same exhaustion I felt tugging at my limbs.
“How was your sleep?” he asked as he fell into step beside me.
I huffed. “It feels like I barely got any.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “I know how you feel.”
The castle loomed over us, heavy with silence and stone. When we reached the hallway outside the king’s chambers, Remy was already there, arms crossed, back against the wall like he’d been pacing only moments before.
He straightened as we neared. “Did you bring the vial?”
I nodded and slid a hand beneath the plates of my armor. The vial was warm against my fingers, like it remembered the power it carried. I pulled it free and held it out.
The liquid inside shimmered, iridescent and otherworldly. Even sealed, it vibrated with soft, living energy.
Remy didn’t take it. His eyes met mine, unreadable. “Let’s hope the fae weren’t lying.”
“They weren’t,” I said quietly, clutching the vial tighter for a moment before loosening my grip. “We just have to make sure it’s enough.”
Zander reached forward and placed a hand on the door. “Then let’s do it.”
The room was dim, the thick curtains drawn to keep the light from the king’s withered form. He lay still beneath layers of gold-trimmed blankets, his once-commanding presence now reduced to shallow breaths and hollow cheeks.
We approached the bed in silence, the air thick with the scent of old herbs and faded magic. My boots barely made a sound on the stone floor as I came to the king’s side. His chest rose and fell so slowly I wasn’t sure he was still alive.
Kaelith, I whispered in my mind, drop the stasis field, just for a moment.
There was a beat of hesitation, then a surge of warmth behind my ribs as her magic pulled away. It wasn’t violent or sharp, just a gentle unraveling, a release of pressure that let time resume its crawl within the king’s frail body.
His breath hitched.
I uncorked the vial with a careful twist, the scent of the elixir rising like blooming light. Kneeling, I slid a hand beneath the king’s neck and tilted his head just enough. “Come on,” I whispered. “Just a few drops.”
I pressed the vial to his lips and let a thin stream trickle into his mouth. He coughed, just once, then swallowed.
His lips moved.
“What did he say?” I asked, eyes flicking to Zander.
Zander leaned closer, frowning in concentration. Then the king mumbled again, weak and hoarse, but unmistakably alive.
“That’s a good sign,” Zander said softly, a note of hope threading through the tension in his voice.
I let out a shaky breath and recorked the vial, clutching it in my palm like a lifeline.
Kaelith, now. Her magic surged back into the room, snapping tight like a cloak being fastened over a wound. The stasis fell back into place with a hum, the air stilling once more.
But a groan echoed from the far corner of the room.
We all turned, our hands moving to our weapons out of instinct.
From behind a velvet partition near the fireplace, a shadow stirred. A second groan followed, low and strained.
Zander stepped in front of me, hand on his sword hilt. “Who the hell is that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
The figure stepped from the shadows with slow, deliberate steps, the silver clasp on his cloak catching the muted candlelight. I moved instantly, fingers curling around my sword hilt, drawing it a few inches free. Zander followed suit.
But Remy’s voice cut in. “Stop. He works for the Order.”
My blade stilled just short of a draw. The man’s hood was pulled back, revealing a lean face with hard lines and the piercing gaze of someone who’d seen too much. My eyes narrowed.
“Why are you here?” I asked, not lowering my weapon just yet.
The courier looked to me first, then turned his gaze toward the king’s sleeping form. “The same reason you are. Cyran has me on protection detail.”
My brows lifted. “Cyran is protecting the king?”
He nodded once, grim. “He doesn’t like being played. And Theron…” His mouth curled into a sneer. “Theron has made an enemy of your father.”
“But Cyran has aligned with the Crimson Sigil,” I challenged, my voice laced with disbelief.
The courier shrugged one shoulder, his expression unreadable.
“This isn’t about the Sigil. It’s about the king.
Emlem was a fair ruler. Ruthless, when necessary, but he never broke the realm.
Theron is mad. And Dorian…” he trailed off with a sigh, “Dorian seems unwilling to take the mantle. That leaves Emlem. Alive, he’s still a symbol.
And symbols are dangerous things in the right hands. ”
Zander stepped closer, his jaw tight. “I agree. If my father has any chance of recovery, we must give him that.”
The courier met Zander’s eyes. “Then keep him breathing. That’s all Cyran asks.”
I glanced back at the king’s still figure, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “What happens when Theron finds out?”
Remy answered that one, his voice tense. “Then we better make damn sure he doesn’t.”
I stepped forward, eyes narrowing as I took in the courier’s torn sleeve and the drying blood along the edge of his tunic.
“Why are you hurt?”
He exhaled sharply, like the weight of the last hour had finally caught up to him. “I just fought off an assassin,” he said, wiping a smear of blood from his jaw. “Someone’s trying to break through that ward of yours and finish the job. They’re done waiting for the poison to do it for them.”
Zander grunted beside me, his fists clenched. “Of course. Everyone knows the king’s on the brink of death. If he dies now, they won’t ask questions. It’ll look… expected.”
The courier nodded grimly, confirming the thought we all hated to say aloud. I studied him closer, his stance, the coiled tension in his shoulders, the calculated way his eyes tracked every shadowed corner of the chamber.
His build was too familiar.
“You’re an assassin, aren’t you?” I asked quietly.
He tilted his head, an unrepentant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I am.”
I didn’t flinch. “And you’re protecting the king?”
“I go where the coin is,” he said simply. “But you don’t need to worry about that. We both know no one from the Order would dare touch you. Not anymore.”
I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t.
Zander stepped closer, voice cold. “If they’re that close to breaking the ward, we’ll need to reinforce it. Or double the guard.”
The courier glanced back toward the king. “You’ll need both. Because whoever they send next won’t miss.”
Remy stepped forward with his arms crossed. “Go see a healer before you bleed out on the king’s floors.”
The courier scoffed softly, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the pain he was trying to ignore. “I’ll live.”
“Not if you keep leaking everywhere,” I muttered.
He gave a crooked grin before slipping out the door, his boots silent even on the polished stone. I watched him go, unease curling in my gut like a shadow that refused to lift.
“A bodyguard from Cyran?” I asked once the door shut behind him. “I can’t believe he didn’t send Solei.”
“He wouldn’t,” Remy said, already turning back toward the king’s bedside. “Too personal. Too noticeable. But an assassin trained to blend in?” He looked at me. “Smart. No one would suspect the Order would protect the King.”
“Not unless they wanted to control him,” Zander said darkly, voice low and thoughtful.
Remy shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe Cyran just doesn’t want Theron getting the crown.”
I sank into the nearest chair. “I don’t know what’s more unnerving… that Cyran’s playing hero, or that he thinks I need protecting.”
Remy’s mouth twitched, as if he might argue, but then the sound of heavy boots echoed beyond the corridor.
The air shifted.
Zander tensed beside me.
The door opened with slow, deliberate purpose.
Theron entered, clad in obsidian black with a sash of crimson sweeping over one shoulder like a blade. His expression was carved from ice, his eyes locked on the king’s still form before sliding to me.
To us.
His gaze lingered on the vial I still held.
“Interesting,” he said, lips curling into a mockery of a smile. “Did I miss the invitation to this little family party?”
Zander’s voice was calm, but the fury burned beneath it. “We just returned. We were unable to breach the Blood Fae wards. We were attacked before we even got close to the isle.”
Theron smiled, deliberate and cold. A serpent waiting to strike. “I’m not surprised. But your failure…” he tilted his head, gaze sweeping the room, “will work to my advantage.”
My pulse kicked up, magic coiling beneath my skin, but Zander stepped forward, his expression carved in steel. “Careful, Theron. People might start to suspect you want to lose this war.”
Theron’s lips curved into something that should’ve never been called a smile. “Oh, I won’t lose. I will take everything.”
Remy crossed his arms, his stance tense beside the king’s bed. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s losing the support of half the guilds.”
Theron shrugged like it was a minor inconvenience. “Confidence is earned. Let’s just say that by this time next week…” he paused, turning his full attention on Zander, then me, “I’ll be crowned. And you two—” his finger stabbed the air, “—will be dead.”
The air turned frigid. Remy took a step forward, the sound of his boots scraping against stone too loud in the silence. His magic flared like a storm building behind his eyes.
A guttural growl rippled from his throat.
Theron smiled wider.
“There’s still a place for you, Remand,” he said, voice as smooth as silk-wrapped poison. “You were always more interested in killing than politics.”
He turned on his heel before any of us could move, robes snapping at his ankles as he exited the suite with a grace that reeked of control.
The door shut behind him with a finality that echoed louder than any threat.
I looked at Zander.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
I already knew.
Theron had declared war.
“I guess the gauntlet’s been thrown,” Remy said, his voice like ground stone. “And I hate to say it, but Theron only does that when he’s sure he’ll win.”
Zander didn’t even blink. “He’s hiding something. We need to find out what, and fast.”
A roar echoed outside the window—raw and primal, shaking the stained glass in its frame.
Then came another.
Then screaming.
All three of us moved at once, racing to the arched windows that overlooked the Ascension Grounds.
Below, chaos reigned.
Riders were locked in battle with men clad in blood-red armor, the unmistakable sigil of the Crimson Sect slashed across their chests like a brand.
Steel clanged against steel. Magic flared—bright bolts of kinetic energy, flashes of fire.
Dragons soared and dove overhead, their roars like thunder against the morning sky.
“No,” I whispered, a cold dread clawing its way up my spine.
My eyes searched frantically. Ferrula, Jax, Naia… where were they?
Jax was holding the left flank, his sword a blur as he covered Ferrula’s back. Naia surged through the crowd, power radiating from her like a living sun.
And Cordelle was barely on his feet.
He was being pushed backward, his halberd clumsy now, too heavy in his bloodied grip. His opponent moved like a serpent, striking again and again. Cordelle stumbled, his heel catching on a stone.
“No!”
I slammed a fist against the window.
And then Riven burst through the fray, her hair flying behind her like a banner. She launched herself between Cordelle and the blade meant for his throat, parrying hard enough to send sparks flying.
Relief flooded me for half a second.
Then it happened.
A second man, one I hadn’t seen, emerged from the shadows at her back. His blade gleamed.
“RIVEN!” I screamed as he plunged it into her shoulder.
Her body arched, a choked gasp escaping her lips before she collapsed to her knees.
“No—no no no—”
Kaelith’s roar pierced the skies above, a sound of pure fury. Hein answered her, their rage now one.
I felt the storm rise inside me, my magic sparking beneath my skin like lightning begging to be unleashed.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
All I could feel was the scream tearing from my throat as Riven fell.