Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
The skies rippled with heat as the sun broke free from the clouds.
All eyes turned upward as Foran’s shadow swept over the grounds.
His wings beat heavily, a noticeable limp in the right one, but he landed with steady grace.
The moment his talons touched the stone, the wind shifted, dragging smoke and salt across the grounds.
Zander and I moved first. Dorian slid from Foran’s saddle with a grunt, his armor scorched and half-buckled, the edges of his crimson cloak blackened. He looked like a man who’d been through the very worst of hell, and wasn’t sure he’d made it out.
“Dorian, where have you been?” I asked, eyes scanning the faint bruising along his jaw. “Why hasn’t Foran kept in contact with the horde?”
Dorian glanced around, lips pressing together. “It’s not safe for me to remain here,” he said quietly. “Foran’s lost his link with the horde.”
“What?” Zander’s voice was tight. “That’s not possible. Siergen can fix it—we’ll call him now—”
“No.” Dorian held up a hand, his tone clipped. “Foran won’t attempt to speak with his kin. He’s afraid whatever was done to him… it could spread. Until we know, we’ll remain apart. We won’t put the horde in danger.”
The ache in Zander’s expression mirrored the one forming in my chest. “Then why come back at all?” I asked.
Dorian’s eyes darkened. “Because your dragons aren’t flying.”
I stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I was hoping to intercept a patrol,” he said, wiping the sweat and soot from his brow. “But almost every unit on this side of the continent is holed up inside Warriath’s walls.”
Zander cursed under his breath. “Theron’s orders.”
“He’s a fool,” Dorian snapped, lifting his gaze to mine. “There’s a human armada coming. They are moving from Grenthia toward Moustal. They aren’t coming for peace.”
Zander’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might shatter his own teeth. His fists balled at his sides, and he looked like he wanted to punch straight through the stone walls of the courtyard.
“How come there haven’t been any reports?” he snapped.
“I’d be surprised if there weren’t,” Dorian replied grimly. “Theron holding you all here means he knows. He just won’t split his forces.”
My stomach twisted. So this was calculated silence. Not ignorance. Not oversight. Just more of Theron’s twisted games.
“We’ll inform the squads,” Zander said, his voice quieter but no less resolved. “War is coming. They need to be ready.”
Dorian’s eyes dropped briefly to the ground, then rose to meet ours. “I must find a safe place for Foran to… rest,” he said. “He tires easily now.”
My throat tightened. “Is it the same poison that was used on the king?”
Dorian hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “It’s possible. The traitor had access to my gear. I saddled Foran myself… and the infection leached into his scales through the leather. I didn’t notice the change until it was too late.”
“And you?” Zander asked, tone hollow.
“I was contaminated as well,” Dorian admitted, brushing a hand across his side, where his armor sat loose and too big for his frame. “But not to the same extent. The worst of it went into him. But our life force… it’s intertwined now. When he falls—”
“You’ll fall with him,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash.
Dorian didn’t deny it. “That’s why we’re staying away. If Theron’s supporters knew how weak I was…” His voice trailed off, then steadied again. “They’d seize power before my body hit the floor.”
Zander took a staggering step back, his expression drawn. “You should’ve told me. We would’ve—”
“There was nothing to be done,” Dorian said softly, reaching out and laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ve made peace with it. But Zander… if I fall, it will be up to you to rule. The dragons will not accept Theron. Not now. Not ever.”
Zander stared at him like the sky had just landed on his chest. He didn’t speak.
Dorian squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, brother. I know you never wanted this burden… but you may have to accept it.”
Zander stepped forward, his hand gripping Dorian’s arm just before he mounted Foran.
“It won’t come to that,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’re not going to die. We’ll find the one responsible for this. I swear it.”
Dorian gave him a faint, weary smile. “I know you’ll try, Zander.
But this isn’t on you.” His gaze flicked toward the castle behind us, toward the sleeping city and the people inside who had no idea what storm gathered beyond the horizon.
“What matters now is keeping Warriath safe. For our people… for Elara.”
Zander’s jaw tensed again, emotion working its way through his carefully held expression. He looked like he wanted to argue, to protest, to scream. But instead, he just nodded. Quietly. That promise settling on his shoulders like iron.
Dorian sat atop, the blue Striker giving a low rumble of discomfort that made my heart twist. His wings, once flawless, now bore the faintest ripple of scarring magic through their membranes.
Just as he adjusted his reins, the Stormforge leader stepped out of the door that led to her squad’s quarters. Her black hair was braided down her back, her armor catching the morning light like moonlight on steel. Dorian stilled.
He looked at Lirane as if she were the one thing he wanted to fight for more than the throne.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he.
But when Dorian raised a hand in salute, there was a tenderness to the motion that spoke volumes. Regret. Love. Things unsaid and never to be spoken aloud.
Then he took to the skies, Foran struggling briefly before finding his rhythm. They flew high and east, toward the Dragon Isle—at least, that’s what anyone watching would think.
But I knew better.
So did Zander.
Dorian wasn’t returning to safety.
He was flying into the shadows—alone.
We stood at the edge of the courtyard, the last wisps of Dorian’s trail vanishing into the clouds. Zander hadn’t moved since his brother disappeared into the horizon, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“He’s hiding it well,” I said quietly, watching the direction Dorian had gone, “but Foran looked bad. If it’s the same poison with which the king was afflicted…”
Zander didn’t move for a beat, and then his voice came, low and sharp.
“Then whoever did this… dies. For my father… and for my brother.”
There was no hesitation. No softening. Just conviction. The kind that left scorch marks in its wake.
I turned to face him, the wind tugging at my braid. “And if we can’t stop it? If Dorian doesn’t make it, and you have to ascend the throne?”
His jaw ticked. “That won’t happen.”
“But if it does,” I pressed. “You know no one in that court will accept me. Not as your queen. Not as a commoner. And not with my bloodline.”
His eyes flicked to mine, then away—just for a moment. And in that heartbeat of silence, my chest tightened. He didn’t say I was wrong. He didn’t say I’ll marry you anyway.
He didn’t say anything at all.
I looked away, the silence louder than any answer could’ve been.
My heart cracked open just a little.
Then we heard the footsteps.
Lirane approached, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Regal. Calm. Calculating. She bowed slightly, her icy gaze flicking between us with far too much understanding.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said smoothly.
Zander straightened, his composure falling back into place like armor.
“Not at all,” I murmured, though my voice felt brittle.
Because whatever came next, I already knew it would only push us further into the storm.
Lirane’s gaze lingered on the skies, where Dorian had vanished minutes before. Her black hair rippled with the breeze, but her posture didn’t shift. She was all stillness and steel.
“Where is he going?” she asked without turning, her voice as smooth as ever, but sharper at the edges. “And don’t insult me with a lie, Zander.”
Zander didn’t flinch. But I could feel the way his magic stirred beneath his skin, Dark Fire thrumming just beneath the surface.
“He’s on assignment for the crown,” he said carefully. “He’ll be back.”
Lirane finally turned, her expression unreadable. “Don’t lose faith,” he added.
“In Dorian?” Her lips tilted, just barely. “Never.”
And with that, she turned on her heel, her cloak whispering over stone as she strode back toward the tower.
I watched her go, my heart aching with something I couldn’t quite name. She didn’t ask for proof. She didn’t ask for details. She believed, so deeply it was almost holy.
I envied her conviction.
Because mine was beginning to crack.