A Court of Thralls and Thorns (The Forth Guild #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

M y father was the deadliest man in Warriath. Even more so than the king. While the royals had their army, including the four guilds, Cyran Rebec boasted an entire underground network of assassins, thieves, prostitutes, and couriers.

I was summoned to his hidden sanctum, a subterranean chamber devoid of windows yet immaculate, its expensive furniture arranged with military precision. The polished stone floor and dark, carved wood gave the room an eerie, calculated calm.

“You called for me?” I asked, my voice steady despite the flutter of apprehension in my chest. I couldn’t fathom why he’d sent an enforcer to collect me rather than come to me personally. I had learned long ago that my father’s methods were as ruthless as his reputation.

He sat before me, a man who, though fifty-seven, looked scarcely older than forty. His athletic, tall frame was etched with scars that mapped countless battles. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and his dark-brown eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on me without a hint of warmth.

“Yes, Ashe, I have a job for you,” he said in that low, measured tone that had both commanded respect and instilled dread.

“What kind of job?” I asked before the door was thrown open, and Solei stormed in.

“Don’t you fucking do it!” she snapped, her long blond hair braided tightly against her fierce face. The fitted leather outfit she wore accentuated her every defiant curve as she advanced. Her blue eyes flashed with both anger and warning.

“What is going on?” I asked, glancing between them, my voice firm despite the unease that prickled at my skin.

“The king has opened the guild to commoners, offering a thousand gold coins to the family of any accepted recruit,” she hissed.

My heart pounded; King Rayne was notorious for his stinginess, and his army already boasted an abundance of true halflings.

“Why would he break centuries of tradition now?” I asked.

Cyran’s stare, icy and unyielding, made it clear that affection had never been his forte—even though he had raised me, protected me, and provided for me in his own merciless way.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” he said, his tone void of any real explanation.

“There is no coming back from this,” Solei whispered, the anger in her words sinking into every corner of that impeccably arranged room.

With a nod that sent a chill down my spine, Cyran stared at me.

“Ashlyn Rebec, you are officially called to enlist in the king’s army.” I recoiled, a single step backward, as disbelief and dread coiled in my chest.

“There is no way they know about me...” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Solei exhaled deeply before adding, “The head of the household is to report commoners with… special abilities.”

I stared at my adoptive father, struggling to reconcile his past promises with this betrayal.

“You told the king about me? But you said you wanted me to develop my skills. You trained me as a thief, even as an assassin, knowing I would never be a killer like Solei.”

His response was a dismissive shrug.

“Yes. But you need fae blood to get inside the castle, and you are the only trusted member in the Order of Thorn that has it.”

I ran my fingers through my long white hair, an emblem of my heritage. I always wore a hat when venturing out, though it was rare unless Cyran’s business demanded it. My heart squeezed painfully as I realized the depth of his betrayal.

“You are selling me to the army so I can uncover why the king has allowed commoners into the guilds?” I asked, the words thick with hurt and disbelief.

“It’s more than that, I’m sure. You will be my new castle liaison. Though the royals will never know about this little arrangement.” Cyran’s tone remained implacable as he stared at me.

“How can you do this to me?” I whispered, barely managing to force the words out as my voice cracked. “I’m your daughter…”

He rose to his full imposing height, his eyes narrowing as he delivered his final decree.

“You are a chosen daughter, Ashlyn. You are special, and if circumstances were different, you would have honed your skills for the Order’s sake.

But the war with the Blood Fae is escalating.

The outer kingdoms have suffered multiple attacks, and even the warders are proving inadequate.

Everyone knows the most powerful warders are stationed at Warriath and its neighboring realms. On the continent of Earendall, the weaker members of the guild have always been consigned to defend the outer borders. ”

Solei’s hand moved to the dagger on her belt. “He is right about that. Serena returned from the Order of the Wolf. She was hurt while on assignment and said the healer was weak and could barely mend a dagger wound.”

With a huff, Cyran continued, “The healers we have access to are useless. If this trend continues, every commoner will be deprived of what little protection we have left.”

“You mean the warders. The weaker they are, the more susceptible the kingdom is to an attack.” I glanced at Solei, whose face had gone pale.

“Yes,” he said.

“You’re really going to do this,” I murmured, feeling a raw sting deep in my bones. Cyran’s eyes, as cold as the stone beneath our feet, bored into mine.

“You had three Order mothers. Only God knows where you actually came from, but I have led this Order since before you were born. You owe me a debt, Ashlyn. This is how you will pay it.”

Inside, a tempest of emotions churned—anger, sorrow, and the searing bite of betrayal.

I shouldn’t be surprised; I had always been aware of what my father was and why he chose me, believing in the potential he saw in my gifts.

Yet now, as he pressed the royal decree into my trembling hands, my stomach turned.

“Let me walk you to the magistrate. We will stop by your room to collect your things,” Solei said softly as she slipped her hand around my waist and led me out.

We made our way down the hallway, but rushed to my room when we heard the rustle from inside.

Bull, one of my father’s enforcers, stood in my cramped room like a silent executioner of my past. His tall, muscular frame was unmistakable even in the dim light, his steel-blue eyes unyielding as he handed me a large rucksack. My clothes, my entire life, had been crammed into that worn bag.

Solei seized the rucksack from Bull with an aggression that bordered on ferocity before passing me the cap from my bedpost. The one Cyran had bought me for my imaginary birthday three years ago. I slid it onto my head, carefully tucking my long white strands beneath the fabric.

“Don’t be like that, Sol. You know I don’t have a choice here,” Bull said. Solei shot Bull a dirty look before flipping her middle finger. Without another word, she led me out of my room, our steps echoing through the underground corridors.

“We have bought a few guards in the castle,” Solei said briskly as we navigated the compound.

“If you need to get me a message or there’s an emergency, talk to Gerane.

He works the gate. He has green eyes and a scar on his right hand.

” Her tone brooked no argument as we left the cool, concrete confines behind us.

We ascended a narrow staircase that spiraled upward until we reached a secret door concealed behind a tapestry.

Beyond the small hallway lay a modest tavern, a business Cyran ran to hide his compound.

Everyone in it was loyal to the Order. Inside, the tavern’s rough-hewn stone walls were softened by the warm glow of sconces.

A barmaid nodded respectfully as she weaved between tables; at one, burly men laughed and clinked glasses, while at another, a lone woman wept softly as her husband murmured comforting words.

Stepping out of the tavern, we merged with the bustling town streets, the chill of the late season air mingling with the chatter of the townspeople.

Our destination was the enlistment room outside the castle gates—a place that, until today, had been the exclusive domain of nobles from distant kingdoms. Yet, the murmur of recognition followed us; Cyran’s legendary name, the longest-reigning Order leader, opened more doors than any title ever could.

The enlistment building was beside the main gate to the massive castle courtyard. Unlike most castles, Warriath housed the largest training area for the four guilds due to it being the only kingdom that trained dragon riders. It was a half-mile walk from the gate to the castle.

Inside the enlistment room, we found ourselves in a tight line. Solei stood beside me, the rucksack slung over her shoulder, as we exchanged swift, secret signs—a language known only to Order members.

You are fast and resilient. Don’t take crap from any of the nobles. Align yourself with the other commoners in the guild, she said with swift gestures of her fingers.

I understand how you feel about nobles. I remember my training, and I’m not helpless. Mine moved as fast as Solei’s in response.

I know you aren’t, but you won’t kill, and that personality flaw could get you dead.

Most people wouldn’t consider that a downside. Besides, we both know I will be joining the healers’ quadrant. It’s reported to be the least deadly.

I don’t care. Don’t let them exploit you.

I won’t. Just remember, I love you.

Solei gave me a hard stare. I taught you better than that. Never tell someone you love them unless they are about to die. You can’t let anyone hold that kind of power over you.

I trust you, I signed back.

We were third in line when the magistrate, seated behind a scarred desk, called out the name of a tall, thin man. I was close enough to watch the process now and kept my eyes glued to the oval crystal.

“State your name,” the magistrate commanded, his tone cold.

“Olam Acker,” he said.

“Place your hand on the stone,” the magistrate ordered.

Olam’s fingers met the ancient surface of the testing stone. The crystal, dark and inscrutable moments before, erupted in a burst of sickly white light at his touch.

“By the gods—!” Olam gasped, the sound a brittle echo against the heavy silence that followed.

The man’s eyes widened in abject terror as his veins lit up like rivers of lava.

His hand convulsed violently, and his face contorted into a silent scream of unbearable pain.

Smoke began curling from his ears as if the very essence of his life was being scorched away by an unseen fire.

“What in the name of Charrem...?” I murmured, sure the God of Death couldn’t avoid this horror. The air was thick with tension and disbelief as the man staggered, his body betraying him with violent spasms before he fell to the floor.

“Get him out!” barked the magistrate, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Two grim-faced guards swept forward, their grips unyielding as they hoisted the man’s limp form.

As they dragged him away through a side door, his final, ragged breaths were lost amidst the mounting gasps and whispered curses of those who had witnessed the fatal test.

The magistrate simply drew a thick line through his name on a long parchment and curtly motioned, “Next.”

“What just happened?” I asked aloud, my voice trembling with shock.

Solei’s quick, precise signs answered me. Those without any fae blood can’t withstand the testing. It kills them. There was a warning in the royal decree.

Nice to have known that ahead of time.

The magistrate focused on the young man ahead of me. “State your name,” he commanded.

“Quinn Forsythe,” the young man replied.

After scribbling the name, the magistrate gestured to a crystal shaped like an egg. “Place your hand on the crystal.”

Quinn obeyed, and as his hand met the smooth surface, the crystal pulsed and turned blue. A slight smile tugged at the magistrate’s lips.

“Warder. Please report to the Third Guild in the northwest tower.”

Quinn glanced back at me with his rucksack slung over his shoulder, before disappearing through a rear door that led to the main gate.

“State your name,” the magistrate said as his icy gaze fell upon me.

“Ashlyn Rebec,” I whispered. Murmurs stirred behind me as the magistrate’s eyebrows arched imperceptibly.

“Take off your cap,” he instructed.

Reluctantly, I removed it, and my long white hair cascaded down my back in a silvery waterfall. A hushed exclamation of “Holy shit” came from behind me, drawing the magistrate’s attention.

“I have not seen a white hair in fifty years,” he said, leaning toward me slightly.

“I’m a throwback.” I shrugged, offering a wry smile.

“I doubt you will exit through the side door,” he said, his tone measured. “Please place your hand on the crystal.”

I did as instructed, feeling the crystal’s surface pulse beneath my hand. It seemed to recognize me, and its power caressed my skin like a ripple of water. Then it changed color. First gray, then green, before settling into a steady gold. The magistrate’s lips thinned.

“Dragon rider. Please report to the Ascension Grounds. They are on the left. You will be assigned to Thrall Squad.”

Solei’s hand moved to my arm. “There is no such thing as a Thrall Squad.”

The magistrate’s eyes narrowed in undisguised hatred as he retorted, “There is now. Are you taking the test?” Solei shook her head and with quiet finality, he added, “Then you must leave immediately.”

Solei was the kind of woman who could slip into a man’s bed chamber and slit his throat without hesitation, so I took my rucksack from her.

“It’s okay. We will chat soon.”

“Unlikely,” the magistrate said curtly. But I didn’t look back at my Order sister. I exited through the rear door and entered through the main gate.

What kind of dragon bonded with a commoner? And in my case… a criminal.