Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Kaelith’s claws struck the stone of the Ascension Grounds with a sound like thunder, her wings flaring wide before folding neatly against her sides. The moment we touched down, I felt it—tension, thick and electric, already boiling through the courtyard.
Stormforge and Crownwatch were at it, again.
But this time… something was different.
The shouting wasn’t just between squads; it was within them. Crownwatch riders clustered in two jagged groups, shouting over each other. One group looked furious. The other, nervous. Divided.
Kaelith growled low in her throat, and I was already sliding from her back, boots hitting the stone as I rushed toward the crowd. I spotted Riven near the edge, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“What’s going on?” I asked, breathless.
She jerked her chin toward the center of the chaos. “Mattin,” she said darkly. “He’s been trying to gain support for the Varnari.”
My blood ran cold. “What? He’s a rider. The Varnari… They want the dragons controlled. Possibly killed.”
Riven nodded once. “Hence the fight. But it’s not just him. A few of the other Crownwatch riders… they think we need more protocols. That dragons should be curtailed, watched. They follow Theron.”
Of course they do.
“But where’s the major?” I scanned the crowd before I spotted him.
Major Ledor stood near the edge of the Ascension Grounds, hands clenched behind his back, his face ghostly pale. Not intervening. Just watching.
“He’s not stopping this,” I whispered.
Riven’s jaw tightened. “He’s been told to stand down.”
By who…?
Then Lirane’s voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip.
“You divulged our movements to the enemy!” the Stormforge leader shouted, her braid whipping behind her as she advanced on Mattin. “That is treason!”
Mattin didn’t flinch.
“They are not our enemy,” he said calmly. “They see what’s necessary to ensure our safety. The dragons—” his eyes swept upward, “—they only care about their young. Not our people.”
I sucked in a breath, turning toward the sky, just in time to see Mattin’s dragon circling overhead. Wings spread wide, tail twitching with agitation.
Kaelith snarled behind me, her rage sparking through our bond.
And I knew—this wasn’t just a debate anymore.
It was the start of a fracture. One we might not be able to seal.
A gust of wind howled across the Ascension Grounds as a massive shadow fell over us. With a roar that split the air, a brown Swordtail dragon dropped from the sky like a hammer of judgment, landing hard between the divided squads.
Epsom.
His talons scratched the stone as he touched down, massive wings throwing dust and debris into the air. Riders stumbled back, hands raised against the wind. A few Crownwatch and Stormforge members scrambled away just in time to avoid being crushed beneath the weight of his arrival.
Mattin didn’t move. He stood frozen at the epicenter, his eyes wide, hands slowly lifting in surrender.
“You have to understand, Epsom,” Mattin said, his voice trembling as the dragon’s neck arched low, fire beginning to churn beneath his copper-flecked scales. “I did this for the realm. We need this alliance.”
Epsom didn’t growl.
He rumbled. Deep and sharp, his neck glowing brighter as heat coiled beneath the surface. His eyes locked on Mattin with something ancient in them—rage, yes, but something colder too.
Disbelief.
“No,” Mattin whispered, stumbling a step back. “You can’t. I’m your rider.”
There was silence.
Unnatural, suffocating silence.
Everyone stilled. We stared, breath caught, hearts pounding, as something passed between them. I couldn’t hear it, but I felt it. A telepathic conversation layered in pain.
Mattin’s lips parted.
“I took a small dose of Dragonsbane,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Just enough so you couldn’t track me, but I never betrayed you. I swear it, I—”
More silence.
Then Epsom’s jaws parted.
And the world turned gold.
Fire erupted from his throat in a torrent of searing flame, engulfing the space Mattin had once stood. The heat hit us a second later, an explosion of blistering air and smoke that sent every rider diving for cover.
Squads scattered, shields raised, some barely avoiding the outer edge of the blaze as it tore across the stone like a storm given life.
I hit the ground beside Kaelith’s claw, breath stolen by the force of it.
When the fire cleared, the ground was scorched black.
And Mattin was gone.
Only ash remained, drifting, silent, and final.
Epsom let out a low, broken rumble… and took to the sky without a word.
No one followed.
No one spoke.
The fracture had become a crevice. And there would be no stitching it closed.
I rose slowly, brushing ash from my sleeves, my heart still thundering from the firestorm that had just carved a scar into the Ascension Grounds. The scent of scorched stone and betrayal clung thick to the air.
As the smoke drifted upward, my gaze followed it, drawn like a thread, to the royal balcony that jutted from the east tower.
And there they were.
Theron had his arms folded behind his back as if he were already crowned, his chin tilted just enough to radiate condescension. He didn’t flinch at the sight of the flames or the destruction below. If anything, he looked pleased, as though this, too, had played into his plan.
Inderia stood beside him with her hand resting lightly on his arm, delicate fingers curled like a snake’s tail. She looked radiant, her gown shimmering pale-gold in the sunlight, her expression serene. But her eyes, gods, those eyes were sharp with satisfaction. Cold. Calculating. Smug.
They weren’t watching a tragedy.
They were watching a victory.
A slow inhale pulled me back, and I realized Cordelle had moved beside me. His green eyes were solemn, the freckles on his face standing out stark against the pale tightness of his expression.
He followed my gaze, then spoke softly. “The guilds are fracturing.”
His voice was low, certain.
“It’s only a matter of time before we’re forced to choose.”
I didn’t look away from the balcony.
Because he was right.
And Theron was already picking the pieces he planned to sweep off the board.
Major Ledor’s voice cut through the tension like a whip crack. “To attention!”
The command pulled every rider into line. Even the ones still shaken by Epsom’s fire landed hard in formation, eyes snapping forward. The major stood near the scorched edge of the Ascension Grounds, his expression tight, jaw clenched hard enough I could see the twitch in his cheek.
He scanned us all—Stormforge, Iron Fang, Warborn, Crownwatch, Thrall, and his voice carried like thunder.
“Let what happened today serve as a reminder. The bond between rider and dragon is sacred. It is not political. It is not conditional. And it is not optional.”
His eyes swept the stunned faces. “If you ever willingly sever your connection, if you lie to your dragon, and if you poison that bond… you will die.” He paused, letting the silence settle like ash. “Not by execution. By consequence.”
His gaze flicked, just for a heartbeat, to the royal balcony above.
Theron stood stiffer than usual, the smugness replaced with a subtle twitch of discomfort. Inderia whispered something in his ear, but he didn’t respond.
The major looked, for once, like a man who’d swallowed a bug and was beginning to realize it might still be alive in his throat.
He no longer looked certain that the third prince had the best interest of Warriath at heart.
A voice rose from the Warborn ranks. “What about the other Varnari sympathizers?”
Heads turned. The rider’s face was unreadable, but the tension behind the words was real.
Major Ledor nodded. “We have been given a list of riders believed to be sympathetic to the Varnari cause. Some may be misled. Others… not.”
His voice dropped. “If your name is called, you’ll come with me for a briefing.”
Everyone stilled.
“Darion of Crownwatch.”
A rider stepped forward, face pale.
“Kye of Crownwatch. Trell of Warborn. Mora of Warborn.” He paused. “Ferrula of Thrall.”
My heart dropped like a stone.
I turned as Jax did the same. His eyes locked on Ferrula, wide with disbelief.
Her expression didn’t waver, stoic, unreadable, but I saw the flicker of pain behind it. A twitch in her jaw. A tightening of her fingers.
“Ferr—” Jax started, but she just held up a hand.
“I’ll go,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake.
But I felt something in our squad fracture.
Just a crack.
But it was there.
Major Ledor gave one final glance over the assembled squads before turning sharply on his heel, his crimson cloak snapping behind him. The named riders followed in silence, boots heavy against stone, expressions varying from stone-faced to quietly shaken.
Ferrula didn’t look back. Not at Jax. Not at us.
That—more than anything—made my chest tighten.
As soon as the castle doors swallowed them, the rest of the Ascension Grounds began to stir. Riders turned to their own squads, murmuring in low, urgent voices. Groups tightened, lines reformed, not just physical but political. The fracture was spreading, and everyone felt it.
Thrall Squad moved closer, instinctively closing ranks.
“No way Ferrula’s a sympathizer,” Teren said, folding his arms, his red-brown hair wind-tossed from the earlier chaos. “She’d sooner gut someone with her bare hands than betray a dragon.”
Naia, standing beside him, frowned. “Then why would anyone think she is? Who gave them the list?”
“The crown never reveals its source,” Cordelle murmured. “That’s the trick. Accusation first, questions later.”
Riven let out a low whistle, scanning the grounds. “This isn’t about proof. This is about fear.”
“She’s Dirian,” Jax finally said, his voice hollow but firm. “She doesn’t bow to anyone. Especially not the Varnari.” He stared at the doors where she’d vanished, his fists clenched. “If they think intimidation will work on her, they’re in for a surprise.”
We all nodded, but the silence that followed was uneasy.
Across the grounds, movement caught my eye.
Zander.
He stood at the edge of the Crownwatch cluster, his posture rigid, his hands cutting through the air as he spoke.
Whatever he was saying wasn’t being received well.
The riders around him, three of them older, with polished armor and tired eyes, stood in firm opposition.
One of them jabbed a finger toward the castle. Another shook his head.
Beside Zander stood Cade, arms crossed, glaring at the older riders as if he were one breath away from drawing steel.
Zander’s face was flushed, brows drawn low, his mouth tight with fury.
He wasn’t just defending himself.
He was fighting.
And from this distance, even without hearing the words, it was clear—
Crownwatch had fractured.
We were still talking in hushed tones with Teren pacing like a caged animal, Naia chewing her bottom lip, and Cordelle clutching his pendant like it was the only stable thing left in the realm, when the castle doors creaked open again.
Ferrula emerged alone.
My breath hitched. She was the first.
Her stride was steady, sure. Her chin lifted with the defiant tilt we’d all come to recognize. No guards flanked her. No chains. Just Ferrula, as immovable as ever, walking straight toward us with blood in her posture and fire barely leashed behind her freckled face.
Jax stepped forward the moment she reached us.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.
Ferrula stopped in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest like armor. “I explained to the major,” she said flatly, “that if I ever encountered a Varnari sympathizer, I’d stick a sword in their belly before agreeing to speak with them.”
Her voice was calm. Controlled. But I caught the faint tremble in her fingers.
She exhaled loudly through her nose. “Narvea knows the truth of these accusations. That is all that matters.”
Her dragon’s name lingered like a vow in the air.
Jax took a step closer. His hand twitched as if he wanted to touch her, shoulder, wrist, anything, but didn’t dare. “I’m glad you’re back.”
His voice was awkward, like he wasn’t sure if comfort would be accepted or rejected. “I never doubted you.”
Ferrula’s gaze flicked to him, cool and unreadable.
Then, ever so slightly, she softened. Barely.
“I know,” she said, and turned her head before the emotion could crack through her mask.
Jax stood there, trying not to look too relieved.
And Ferrula pretended not to notice.