Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The laughter had barely faded from the air when the courier arrived.
A court uniform, crisp and spotless. The young man moved fast, weaving through the grounds with urgency until he reached Zander. He leaned close and whispered something, low enough that I couldn’t catch it—
But I didn’t need to.
Zander’s posture shifted immediately, his jaw locking tight as he turned toward me and motioned with two fingers. “Another warder was killed.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “Is it Quinn?”
“I don’t know,” he said, already moving. “Let’s go to the tower and find out.”
We didn’t run, but it was close. The courtyard blurred around us, stone and shadow flashing past as we climbed the narrow, spiraling stairs of the warders’ tower. Each step made my pulse thrum louder. The pool couldn’t take another loss. We couldn’t.
When we reached the second level, a guard stood outside the chamber door, pale-faced and stiff-backed.
He nodded once and let us pass.
The moment we stepped inside, I saw him.
“Quinn,” I breathed.
He stood near the far window, alive—whole—but drawn as tight as a bowstring. His eyes lifted when he saw me, and I didn’t think—I just moved.
I threw my arms around him, hugging him so fiercely that he staggered back a step.
“I’m so glad it wasn’t you,” I whispered into his shoulder.
He chuckled, low and wry. “You’re kind. But there are only two warders left in Warriath now. The pool…”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re safe. That’s what matters right now.”
Zander didn’t speak. He stood near the center of the room, his eyes locked on the figure lying still on the floor.
The warder.
A man I didn’t recognize. Mid-forties maybe. Thin, with graying hair and a stillness that was too final. No blood. No obvious wounds.
Zander crouched beside the body. His voice was quiet. Cold. “How did he die?”
Quinn’s expression faltered. “I don’t know. There were no signs of a struggle. No alarm was triggered. He was… just gone. I found him like this when I came to check the binding stones.”
Zander’s gaze didn’t leave the body.
The pool was dying. The warders were dying.
And something inside this castle was making sure they never saw it coming.
I knelt beside the body, the stone floor cold beneath my knees. The man’s expression was peaceful—too peaceful, and that only made it worse. Like he’d never had a chance to fight. Like death had stolen in while he slept.
“Who was he?” I asked, voice hushed.
Quinn stepped forward slowly, wringing his hands in front of him. “His name was Dareth Wynn. He was the senior warder here. He used to oversee the binding stones.”
“Did he ever mention being threatened?” Zander asked from behind me, still watching the body like it might suddenly speak.
Quinn shook his head. “No. But he’d been… tired. Not just physically. Spiritually. Said he could feel the pool weakening every time he touched it.”
I leaned in closer, frowning as my gaze caught something near the base of Dareth’s neck, half-hidden by the collar of his tunic. A faint, inky smear. Not a bruise. Not blood. A mark.
Like smoke had kissed his skin and stayed.
“Quinn, was this here before?” I asked, reaching out but stopping just short of touching it.
He stepped closer and paled. “No. No, that… what is that?”
Kaelith, I called silently.
She responded instantly, her magic coiling through our bond and rushing forward like a warm wind in my blood. Her senses brushed against mine, then stretched outward, touching the room, the body, the stain.
A low, rumbling growl echoed in my mind.
Dark magic, she hissed. That mark isn’t residue. It’s a scar. His life force was consumed, drained, not ended. Someone fed from him.
My stomach turned. Like the veil...
I looked up at Zander. “His life force was drained.”
Zander’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he rose to his full height. “His death is different from the others; they were murdered but not drained.”
I nodded, my fingers curling into the edge of Dareth’s cloak. “We have another traitor, and this one is using dark magic.”
Quinn hovered near the body, eyes wide, hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked younger now, more fragile without the strength of his magic fully behind him.
“What should I do?” he asked quietly, looking first to me, then to Zander. “The only other warder left is Fenn, and he’s barely been through a single full cycle. We’re both novices. Dareth was the one who knew the deeper threads of the pool.”
Zander turned toward him, eyes still edged with anger—but his voice came steady. Controlled. Regal.
“I’m acting regent in my father’s absence,” he said. “Effective immediately, you’re to have two guards with you at all times. The same goes for Fenn. I don’t care what the court says; the remaining warders are now under royal protection.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. He straightened as if someone had just set a crown on his shoulders. “Thank you, my prince.”
Zander shook his head, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “You call me Zander, Quinn. You’ve earned that right.”
My heart warmed at the exchange, and I smiled gently at Quinn. He didn’t return it, but he nodded once, his eyes brighter now, steadier.
Zander turned then, calling to a nearby guard standing rigid at the doorway. “You—go to the Ascension Grounds. Inform Thrall Squad to assemble and report to the tower. We’re going to search the entire castle. Every corridor. Every hidden stair. I want this killer found.”
The guard saluted sharply. “Yes, Prince Rayne,” and sprinted off down the stairs without hesitation.
As the footsteps faded, I looked once more at the dark mark curling along Dareth Wynn’s neck.
Whoever did this wasn’t just killing.
They were feeding.
And they were still inside these walls.
I heard a commotion and went to check.
Thrall Squad assembled outside the warder’s chamber like a wall of steel and scale. The air buzzed with tension, and beneath it all, the stench of the dark magic still lingered like ash in my lungs.
I took a breath and faced them. “We go in twos. This castle has too many shadows. I want everyone accounted for.”
Ferrula stepped forward before anyone else could speak. “I’d like to pair with Ashe.”
Jax arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “Oh? And here I thought I was your favorite.”
Ferrula gave him a lazy shrug, the edge of a smirk playing on her lips. “I bless you with my presence often enough, Jax. Consider this a mercy.”
He chuckled, glancing toward Naia. “Fine by me. I could use some time with the princess, anyway.”
Naia rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her mouth as she moved toward him.
Tae was already linking arms with Cordelle as if they were heading to a festival instead of a sweep for a murderer. “C’mon, Cordy. Let’s go hunting.”
“Only if you don’t touch anything,” Cordelle muttered, and together, they slipped off toward the lower halls.
Ferrula turned to me, expression sharpening. “Where to, Ashe?”
I nodded upward. “Second level. The spare royal rooms. Zander said they aren’t used as often, and they make a great place to hide.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Ghosts, dust, and hidden blades. Just my kind of date.”
We moved quickly through the tower, our boots echoing against the stone steps as we ascended. The castle’s upper levels were older, the stone darker, colder somehow. Ornate wall sconces flickered weakly, casting long shadows that slithered over faded tapestries and cracked archways.
We passed empty rooms with soft furniture and shutters that trembled in the wind.
I pushed open a heavy wooden door; the creak groaned as if it hadn’t moved in a while. The chamber beyond was wide, with arched windows and a broken chandelier lying in a pile on the floor.
“Start on the left,” I said. “Check for blood. Magic. Anything strange.”
Ferrula drew a dagger with a casual twirl of her wrist. “Strange is relative in this place.”
We began the slow sweep. The air was still. The quiet too heavy.
And somewhere… someone was watching.
I could feel it.
The next room we entered was nothing like the last.
It was pristine.
The stone floors were swept clean, the curtains freshly hung, and the scent of lavender clung to the air. Candles—recently extinguished—left trails of smoke curling in the corners. My spine stiffened.
“I thought this room was unassigned,” I whispered.
Ferrula moved ahead, her boots silent on the polished floor. She circled the canopied bed; her steps slow, measured.
Then—
“Ashe,” she called, her voice tight. Urgent.
I was at her side in seconds.
And froze.
Theron lay crumpled on the far side of the bed, his body half-curled against the wall like he’d tried to crawl away.
His normally sun-kissed complexion was ashen, lips tinged with blue, sweat beading across his brow.
His eyes were closed, barely fluttering beneath the lids, and his chest rose in slow, shallow breaths.
He looked like death waiting for the final bell.
“Go get Meri. Fast.” My voice cracked like a whip. Ferrula didn’t argue. She just spun on her heel and bolted from the room.
I dropped to my knees beside him, my shaking fingers pressing to the side of his throat. Faint pulse. Weak.
Too weak.
I lowered my ear to his chest, straining for every whisper of breath, every faltering beat of his heart.
He was alive, but barely clinging to it.
If Theron was a victim…
My stomach twisted. My mind spun.
Then who was the true mastermind?
Zander. My voice echoed through the bond, laced with panic. We found Theron. He’s unconscious—barely clinging to life. Meri’s on her way.
The response came immediately. Where?
North end of the castle, second level.
I’m coming.
Barely a minute passed before Zander burst through the door, his boots skidding slightly on the polished floor. His eyes locked onto Theron’s crumpled form, then to me, kneeling beside him, and his entire body tensed.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to one knee across from me. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “He was like this when we found him. I was so sure it was him behind the deaths. Behind everything.”
Zander stared at his brother’s pale face, jaw clenched. “He always craved power. If someone offered it—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
I exhaled shakily. “He conspired against his own, but… I guess he outlived his usefulness.”
Zander’s expression flickered—grief, rage, guilt. I didn’t know how to reassure him. I wasn’t sure there was a way. Not with this.
The door opened again, and Meri swept in, skirts pulled high, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She dropped beside us without a word and pressed her fingers to Theron’s neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, her magic already flowing into him in soft waves.
After a moment, she opened them. “He was poisoned.”
Zander’s voice was like steel. “Heal him. We need to know who did this.”
Meri gave a short nod. “It won’t be easy. The toxin is complex. He may not fully recover.”
“Do what you can to get him conscious,” I said, watching the flicker of magic dancing across her fingertips. “We need answers. And fast.”
If Theron wasn’t the one pulling the strings…
Then someone still was.
And they were far too close.