Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Zander’s voice carried across the Ascension Grounds, cutting clean through the wind and restless rumble of dragons. “We search the castle and the village. No one is above suspicion. Severeth can appear as anyone.”
He was already mapping assignments in his head, rattling them off with the precision of a battlefield commander. “Small, four-man teams. Sweep every quadrant—houses, markets, alleyways. I want no person left unchecked.”
The squads broke apart in quick order, moving to their new partners. When his gaze landed on me, there was no hesitation. “You’re with Ferrula, Jax, and Naia. Southeast quadrant of the village.”
I nodded, catching the slightest flicker of something in his eyes—a mix of trust and the weight of knowing we might not all return.
“I have to stay here to coordinate the castle search,” he continued, his attention already pulling toward a knot of Iron Fang riders. “And I need to deploy the Iron Fang to reinforce the outer watchtowers. Go. And stay alert.”
Ferrula adjusted her weapons belt with a curt nod, Jax simply rolled his shoulders, and Naia brushed a hand across the Zantha root tattoo on her wrist before falling into step.
By the time we reached the main gates, the last of the Iron Fang riders were mounting up, Zander in the center giving rapid-fire orders. We slipped through the open gates into the afternoon light, the clatter of hooves and dragon wings overhead fading as the village spread before us.
The southeast quadrant was a mix of cobbled streets and narrow dirt lanes, the smell of hearth smoke and baking bread almost at odds with the tension curling through my stomach.
Kaelith’s voice coiled in my mind before we’d gone a dozen paces.
We can scan them, she said, her tone a low growl.
All of us. We’ll feel the taint of dark magic if it’s there.
I glanced upward, catching sight of her circling above with the other dragons, their massive shadows sliding over rooftops. The sight alone made the villagers pause and look up, some in awe, others in clear unease.
The deeper we moved into our assigned sector, the quieter the streets became. A child darted into a doorway. A shopkeeper closed her shutters. And beneath it all, the dragons scanned, each slow wingbeat laced with a subtle ripple of magic that sifted through the crowd like a fine net.
The four of us stood at the end of a narrow, crooked lane, staring up at the skeletal remains of what had once been an inn.
The roofline sagged like a tired spine, with windows either boarded or hanging crooked on rusted hinges.
No sign marked the door—hadn’t in years—and the air smelled of mildew, ash, and unwashed bodies.
It wasn’t a business anymore, not even close. Just a crumbling shelter for those with nowhere else to go.
Jax stepped up beside me, scanning the facade with that soldier’s squint of his. “Ferrula and I will take the upper two floors,” he said, already adjusting the strap on his axe.
I nodded. “I’ll check the main floor.”
Naia glanced toward the narrow alleys to the left and right. “I’ll sweep the surrounding area. If there’s a back way out of here, I’ll find it.”
We split without another word.
The moment I pushed open the warped front door, the smell hit me—stale ale from decades past, rot, damp stone, and something sharp underneath, like old smoke. The dim light from the street barely reached inside, casting long, narrow shadows down the hallway.
The main floor was a graveyard of broken furniture and collapsed beams. Dingy rooms branched off from the hall, each one littered with discarded blankets, scraps of clothing, and piles of garbage that crunched under my boots.
A few ragged figures glanced up when they saw the uniform, eyes going wide. Without a word, they scrambled for the exits, some through the hall, others vanishing into hidden gaps in the walls I hadn’t noticed before.
I crossed into what must have once been the kitchen. The long prep table was warped and split down the middle; the iron stove in the corner was caked with rust. Shards of glass littered the floor where a cupboard had been shattered, and dull black scorch marks stained the stone walls.
The air here was colder; the shadows thicker. And for the first time since stepping inside, I was completely alone.
A scuffling echoed from the far corner, just beyond the broken doorway to the pantry. I turned toward it, thinking maybe one of the inn’s residents had slipped back in after the others fled.
Then I heard a rush of air slicing past my ear.
Instinct screamed. I dropped low, the dagger flashing overhead so close I felt the wind of its passing against my cheek. It buried itself in the warped wood behind me with a solid thunk.
I rolled, boots skidding over the debris-strewn floor, and came up in a crouch with my blade drawn.
My attacker stepped into the light spilling through the jagged window. Head to toe in black, his form was lean but solid, every line of him built for speed. The hood shrouded his features, a narrow slit revealing only his eyes, cold, and unsettlingly familiar.
I didn’t have time to place them.
He lunged again, steel flashing in a brutal arc aimed at my ribs. I caught the blow on my blade; the impact jarring up my arm. The force pushed me back a step, my boots sliding on a patch of shattered glass.
Another strike came before I could breathe—faster this time. He was relentless, pressing forward with precision born of training. And with every clash of steel, that gnawing sense of recognition burrowed deeper.
I knew those eyes.
I just couldn’t remember where.
Steel rang against steel as we traded blows, the sound harsh in the cramped, shadowed kitchen. My attacker moved quickly, every strike meant to cripple or kill. I parried high, stepped inside his guard, but he twisted away like smoke, one hand vanishing beneath his black tunic.
When it reemerged, there was a glint of glass between his fingers.
He hurled the vial at my face.
It shattered before I could turn fully away; the contents misting against my skin. A sharp, chemical tang hit my nose, and almost instantly, a creeping numbness spread down the side of my face, crawling into my jaw and neck.
Damn it.
Either this would-be assassin was human and didn’t possess magic, or their power was so rare they’d be caught immediately if they used it. The compound, though… that was old-school. Effective.
My grip tightened on my blade even as my knees threatened to soften. I knew enough about assassin methods to recognize the feeling—one of several alchemical brews meant to impair, disorient, and slow the prey. It wouldn’t kill me outright. Not if I stayed on my feet.
Kaelith. My call rang in my head as I stumbled back, forcing myself to keep my sword up.
Her presence surged into my mind at once, fierce and assessing. You have been drugged.
Don’t count me out yet.
She reached out through the horde link, her mental voice a command. Jax and Ferrula will be with you in under a minute.
The numbing cold was spreading faster now, making my fingers tingle, my breath hitch. I adjusted my stance, refusing to give my attacker the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
From somewhere outside the inn, Jax’s voice roared, a shout of pure fury.
My attacker froze, eyes darting toward the sound. And then he bolted for the doorway, moving with the kind of speed only fear could give.
Jax burst through the warped doorway first, Ferrula right behind him, both of them scanning the room with weapons drawn.
The sight of me sinking to my knees must’ve been enough as Jax was at my side in two strides, his arms coming around me like a shield. “We’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured, the grit in his voice betraying the anger simmering beneath.
I let my head rest against his shoulder for half a heartbeat before glancing up at Ferrula. Her gaze was a storm—cold and furious.
“He’s so cute when he’s overprotective,” I muttered, my voice a little slurred from the lingering numbness.
Ferrula’s lip twitched, though her eyes didn’t soften. “He has a certain charm,” she said dryly. “Who did this?”
I tried to push to my feet, but my legs refused to cooperate. My knees wobbled, and I sank back into Jax’s hold with a hiss of frustration. “It was an assassin. He sprayed me with a numbing agent. It’ll wear off in a minute or two; my body’s already purging it.”
Ferrula’s eyes narrowed. “Who would send an assassin after you?”
“That,” I said, leaning heavier into Jax as a dull heat began to crawl back into my limbs, “is a question I plan to ask my father. Because while anyone can throw on black and hide their face…” I met her gaze steadily. “…that numbing compound is almost impossible to duplicate.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “You’re saying—”
“It’s an Order recipe,” I finished, my voice sharpening despite the weakness still in my legs. “And I want to know why one of their secrets was used on me.”
Jax kept his arm locked firmly around my waist, half-carrying me out of the gutted inn while Ferrula stalked ahead, clearing the way with a glare that made every villager we passed duck out of sight. Naia brought up the rear, scanning every shadow, her hand never far from her sword.
The trek back toward the Ascension Grounds felt longer than it should have, my legs still tingling from the numbing agent. Jax’s grip never loosened, and despite myself, I leaned into him, letting his solid strength keep me steady.
As soon as we rounded the last corner, Zander was there, standing with several Iron Fang riders, his posture solid with command. But the moment his eyes landed on me, all that discipline fractured into alarm.
He closed the distance in three strides, his hand already at my back as he took over from Jax without a word. “What happened?” His voice was tight, controlled only by habit.
“An assassin,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Black hood, no magic. Used a numbing compound on me, one only the Order knows how to make.”
The look in his eyes went from alarm to ice in an instant. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the attention of a court courier loitering near the gates. “You,” Zander barked, and the young man nearly tripped over himself to get closer.
“I want you to fetch Cyran Rebec,” Zander said, his tone calm enough to be terrifying. “Tell him his daughter was attacked by an assassin, and if he doesn’t attend my court in ten minutes…” His eyes hardened like stone. “…I will have the dragons incinerate his tavern and the tunnels beneath it.”
The courier blanched but didn’t argue, bolting off toward the village in a dead run.