Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Zander kept his arm firm around my waist as we crossed the Ascension Grounds, his stride long and purposeful. The Stormforge riders and Thrall Squad melted aside as we passed, the gravity of what had just happened still clinging to the air.
We didn’t slow until we reached the castle’s heavy doors.
The guards swung them open, and the cool, shadowed halls swallowed us whole.
Our boots echoed off marble as we wound our way toward the courtroom, Kaelith’s steady hum in the back of my mind a constant reminder that she was watching, listening.
When we stepped inside the great chamber, the murmur of voices fell silent. Courtiers and petitioners alike turned to look at us, tension flickering like candlelight in their faces.
“Out,” Zander said, his voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. No raised volume, no need, just command, absolute and inarguable.
They hesitated for only a heartbeat before obeying, silks and boots rustling as they hurried toward the side doors. The echoes faded until it was just us and the cavernous space.
He guided me to a carved bench near the throne, the rich wood polished smooth by centuries of use. I sank onto it, feeling the coolness seep through my leathers, while Zander took the spot beside me.
I nodded toward the ornate monstrosity at the center of the dais, the throne itself. All gilded edges, inlaid gemstones, and curling designs meant to impress and intimidate. “Are you ready to sit on that thing?”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Not really. But I have to make sure your father understands I am acting as the King of Warriath until further notice.”
I studied him, knowing he didn’t say those words lightly. Dorian’s decision still hung between them like an unhealed wound, but I also knew my prince well enough to recognize the truth beneath his reluctance.
Dorian wouldn’t change his mind.
And as much as Zander hated it, everyone else already knew what he hadn’t yet fully accepted. If he didn’t stand as the uncontested king, we’d lose this war before the first battle line was even drawn.
I turned as a knock echoed through the throne room, bouncing off the high stone walls.
Zander drew in a long breath, his jaw tightening. Then, without looking at me, he rose and crossed to the dais. The sound of his boots on the steps was steady.
When he lowered himself into the throne, the weight of it seemed to settle over him instantly—the gilded edges gleaming in the muted light, the carved dragons on either armrest curling protectively around him.
“Enter,” he called, his voice ringing with authority that left no question who now ruled this space.
The massive double doors swung open, the hinges groaning under their own weight. The courier he’d sent earlier stepped through first, leading a tall, broad-shouldered figure in his wake.
Cyran Rebec.
He stopped just inside the threshold, his eyes locking on Zander. Shock flared there, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. But after a moment, he dipped his head in a slight bow, the movement stiff.
“I got a report that you had ascended the throne,” Cyran said, his voice edged with something between disbelief and challenge. “I admit I didn’t believe it.”
Zander’s gaze was cold steel. “You are not here to discuss my position within this court.” His tone cut through the air. “You are here to tell me if you had anything to do with the assassination attempt on Ashlyn’s life.”
Cyran’s eyes shifted to me, assessing. “I have a pact with Ashlyn,” he said evenly. “Even if she were not my daughter, I would never break that oath.”
“You tried to kill me before,” I reminded him, my tone cold.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Solei would kill me and take my seat if I broke my oath. She has never forgiven me for ordering your death. I made a mistake, one I will not make again. And you know this.”
I studied him, reading the truth and the shadows behind his words.
While I believed Cyran wasn’t opposed to killing me if it served his purpose, I also knew he wouldn’t break an oath, especially not one bound by the Order.
And as much as I hated to admit it, I believed him about Solei.
She had risked her life to expose Veyna’s true identity.
If she’d been wrong, she would be in the dungeon… or dead.
“I believe you,” I said finally.
His brow furrowed. “Then why was I summoned? Why did you suspect me?”
“Because the assassin used the numbing compound on me,” I replied. “It’s highly regulated in the Order. A novice can’t get their hands on it.”
Cyran stepped forward, his voice lower now. “You are certain it was—”
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “I’m sitting because I’m still recovering from its effects. Had my squadmates not come to my rescue, had my dragon not alerted them…” My voice hardened. “…I would be dead.”
Cyran’s expression darkened, his jaw set. “Only senior assassins have access to that compound. If they went against my orders…” His voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “…they are dead.”
“What if one of them sold it?” I asked.
He huffed, the sound low and furious. “Worse than dead.”
I thought about his words, the tight knot of unease pulling in my gut. “Maybe someone got access to the tunnels that shouldn’t have. Is there any chance you were robbed without your knowledge?”
“That compound is made off-site,” Cyran said, shaking his head. “And few in the Order have access to it at all.”
“The Crimson Sigil is marching against us,” I said slowly. “Perhaps they commissioned my death.”
His eyes blazed for a moment, and when he spoke, there was steel in every word. “I was fooled by the false banner of the Crimson Sigil. But I will not work against the crown again. Many of the Orders have fallen, and I am unsure who still lives.”
I arched a brow. “The irony is not lost on me. You sided with a faction openly hostile to the crown, and now your own seat is in jeopardy. You require our help to keep it.”
Cyran’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I am well aware of my predicament. But I guarantee you, I will find out who attained that compound. I would offer you the assassin, but we both know if your sister finds him first…” His mouth curved in a grim smile. “…nothing I say will stop her.”
I returned the smile edgier than his. “I don’t want to stop her. I just want information first.”
My voice hardened. “Specifically, whether he’s working for Severeth.”
Cyran’s expression didn’t soften, but his tone carried a grim certainty.
“Anyone who finds the assassin will extract the information needed. And if any member of the Order is caught aiding the Blood Fae…” His voice dropped to something cold and final.
“…they will die in the most horrible way imaginable.”
I believed him. The only thing worse than betraying Cyran’s Order was assisting the enemy.
Zander, still seated on the throne, motioned toward the doors. “You may go. Report back to me once you have tracked down the origin of the compound.”
Cyran inclined his head and turned to leave. But when he reached the massive doors, he stopped, one hand resting on the carved wood. Slowly, he turned back to meet my gaze.
“Considering your proximity to the throne,” he said, his voice calm, almost conversational, “I would never try to execute you.”
A short huff escaped me. “I know. You’ll try to exploit my position instead.”
Cyran’s mouth curved into a thin, knowing smile. “Of course.”
And then he was gone, the heavy doors shutting behind him with a deep, echoing thud.
I rose from the bench, stretching my legs. The lingering heaviness in my limbs was gone, replaced by a slight headache pulsing just behind my eyes, but otherwise, I was back to normal.
Zander stood as well, the throne looming behind him like a silent witness.
“I did not have the best childhood,” he said, his tone dry but edged with truth.
“And I pretty much resent my father more than anyone.” His gaze flicked toward the closed doors Cyran had just walked through.
“But it’s possible your father is worse. ”
I laughed, the sound short and knowing. “You haven’t even seen his mean side yet. He wasn’t kidding. If one of his own betrayed him…” I trailed off, shuddering.
“What would he do?” Zander asked, brows pulling together.
“The last assassin to betray him was a man named Zerin,” I began. “He tried to assassinate Cyran, but in an underhanded way. He used Solei instead of going after Cyran directly. She was beaten and used as bait. She was only eleven years old.”
Zander’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “The assassination attempt failed. How did he get her back?”
“He went to the meeting but managed to slip Solei a blade during the negotiations for her release. Zerin expected Cyran to die for his daughter… and truthfully, he might have, if Solei hadn’t cut her bonds and slashed Zerin’s ankles first.”
“Damn,” Zander muttered.
“Cyran displayed him in the village square for three days,” I continued, my voice low.
“The Order members took turns beating him, and when he finally begged for death, Cyran allowed Solei to kill him. The humiliation of an eleven-year-old girl taking your life…” I shook my head.
“For an Order assassin, that’s as bad as it gets. ”