Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
R est, beauty, Siergen’s voice murmured in my mind, carrying an edge of amusement. When you wake, the echoes of the past won’t seem as bad.
I sighed, my body heavy with exhaustion, and closed my eyes, sinking into the quiet pull of sleep.
When I woke, the barracks were silent.
The moonlight filtered in through the small window, casting soft shadows across my squadmates, their breathing deep and even.
It’s time to go, Siergen’s voice purred through my thoughts.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake anyone, and pulled on my full black leathers. Unlike the other squads, our uniform had no identifying stitching, no guild markings.
An advantage.
I moved silently, sliding my belt into place, tucking my daggers into their hidden sheaths, and lacing my boots tight before heading for the side door.
The hall beyond the barracks was cool and dimly lit, the flickering torches along the stone walls casting long, dancing shadows.
I walked beneath the battlements, my steps soundless. The corridor stretched ahead, lined with smaller rooms, each one likely belonging to higher-ranked riders who weren’t forced to share quarters.
After ten minutes, I found him.
Siergen stood at the end of the hall, his scarlet scales gleaming in the faint torchlight, his wings folded neatly against his body. His golden eyes met mine, sharp with knowing amusement.
“Hey, Red,” I greeted.
Hello, beauty, he mused.
“If only I were as gorgeous as you,” I smirked.
His chest puffed slightly, and he narrowed his gaze, as if debating whether to accept the compliment. I will endure your flattery because it is true that I am magnificent.
Were all dragons susceptible to flattery?
I doubted it. Pretty sure mine wasn’t. Kaelith made the word bitch sound like a pet name.
Kaelith’s voice slithered into my mind, her tone mocking and as sharp as steel. I will scorch you just to warm my claws.
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” I replied dryly.
Siergen chuckled. Do not mind her. She has more fire than sense.
I shot him a look. Kaelith could eat him in three gulps.
“Any ideas on how to get into the vault?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Siergen’s tail flicked lazily, his wings shifting slightly. Of course. I have wandered these halls since their construction.
I lifted a brow. “You know where the vault is, then?”
Yes. I helped design this castle and its compound. It’s the only one of its kind.
Without another word, he turned, leading me deeper into the castle’s lower levels.
The air grew cooler as we descended a narrow staircase, the rough walls damp with age, the scent of old parchment, earth, and stone thick in the air.
The corridors down here were different—tighter, older, meant for servants, not nobility. Siergen’s tail flicked once, his sharp gaze scanning the walls as he walked.
Here, he finally said, stopping beside a wall-mounted sconce with an illumination crystal embedded in its iron frame.
I stared at it. “And?”
Turn it.
I reached out, gripping the cool metal, and twisted.
The wall groaned.
A soft click echoed through the corridor, and then—the stone wall shifted, turning on its axis to reveal a dark passageway beyond.
I stared at Siergen, impressed. “You are the best, Red.”
Of course.
He lowered his head, touching his snout to my forehead for half a second, and suddenly?—
An image burst into my mind.
A perfect map—every twist and turn, every hidden corridor, every entry point to the royal vault—along with the precise code sequence to open it.
I staggered slightly, adjusting to the rush of information.
I am too large to follow, Siergen murmured. But you will not lose your way.
I exhaled, steeling myself, and slipped into the dark tunnel.
The corridors were eerily quiet, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, shifting shadows across the walls.
I moved quickly, my boots making no sound against the cold floor, my body tucked into the darkness where the torchlight didn’t quite reach.
A faint murmur vibrated in the air, just at the edge of my hearing.
It wasn’t voices.
No—it was something deeper, something almost primal. A steady, rhythmic pulse that sent a strange sensation crawling down my spine.
I froze, pressing my back against the cool stone, straining my senses.
Heartbeats.
I could hear them. Distant but growing closer.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to shake it off. Now wasn’t the time to unravel whatever that was.
I slipped into the nearest alcove, ducking just as a pair of patrolling guards rounded the corridor.
Their footsteps echoed in the hallway, slow and deliberate, their armor clinking softly with every step. I held my breath, waiting, my body as still as the shadows.
The guards passed, never sparing a glance toward the alcove.
Good.
I exhaled and continued, my mind fixated on the map Siergen had burned into my thoughts.
Winding through twisting hallways, I followed the unseen path, my steps purposeful, my heartbeat steady.
And then—I reached the vault.
I had expected guards.
At least two. Maybe more.
But the vault entrance stood unguarded, as if daring anyone to try.
That wasn’t right.
I hesitated, my instincts flaring, but then I took a closer look at the iron door, at the runes meticulously etched into the stone surrounding it.
I let out a slow breath.
Siergen was right.
Not even I would have been able to break into this vault.
My father had sacrificed people for less. If he had sent me in blind, I would have died trying.
I would have died for nothing.
Shoving down the bitter thought, I traced my fingers over the ancient symbols, feeling the faint hum of magic beneath my touch.
Ten runes.
That was what Siergen had shown me. Ten specific symbols, pressed in order.
I focused, following the precise sequence burned into my mind.
Press. Press. Press.
Each rune warmed my fingertips as I worked through the sequence, the magic pulsing faintly beneath my skin.
The moment I pressed the last rune, a deep click echoed in the silence.
The vault cracked open down the center, the massive door splitting apart seamlessly, revealing the dimly lit chamber within.
I slipped inside, and the door shut behind me with a finality.
The air here was different.
It smelled of parchment and metal, of aged ink and something faintly electric.
Unlike the torches in the halls, this room was illuminated by massive illumination crystals, much larger than the ones in our barracks. They were embedded in the stone ceiling, casting a bright, cold glow across the chamber.
Rows of shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls, books, and sealed chests. Some bore royal insignias, others had no markings at all.
Then there were the treasures, but I wasn’t here for those.
I scanned the space, my pulse quickening.
“Now, where would a royal hide nefarious correspondence?”
I moved quickly, skimming the spines of the books and ledgers stacked along the shelves, my fingers trailing over their worn bindings. Some were unmarked, some bore the royal insignia, and others…
Noble Bloodlines & Marriages
I pulled the hefty journal free, flipping it open. The entries were dated, but the first thing I noticed was that the journal itself was over fifty years old.
My brow furrowed.
The noble marriages recorded in these pages hadn’t even happened yet when this book was written.
Arranged.
The word settled in my chest like a rock.
I had never heard that all noble marriages were arranged, but if this book was accurate, they had been—carefully plotted and recorded long before the couples had even been born.
A shiver crawled down my spine.
How much of Warriath’s noble bloodline had been designed?
How much of it had been calculated?
I shoved the journal back onto the shelf and reached for another.
Interviews with the Sole Survivor
I flipped it open, and my breath caught.
This wasn’t just any record—this was firsthand knowledge of the Fae Realm before the war with the Blood Fae.
The pages described a world untouched by darkness, where the land thrived in harmony, where the fae lived in peaceful co-existence with nature.
There had been no Dark Fae.
No twisted, monstrous creatures.
The descriptions were so breathtakingly beautiful, it was easy to forget that the Blood Fae were once nature-loving beings—before they turned on us. Before they sought our destruction.
I ran a hand through my hair. How had this survivor escaped? Who had they been?
Time was running out.
I had to leave before sunrise, before anyone discovered I was gone.
But just as I turned toward the exit, something else caught my eye.
A binder, thick with parchment.
I pulled it free and flipped it open, my pulse quickening.
Handwritten letters. Some sealed with wax, others mere loose pages stacked inside.
Orders. Requests. Reports.
Some of it was mundane—logistics about supply chains, movement of goods through the outer kingdoms. But others…
A letter discussing an “unforeseen delay” in troop reinforcements. The response was short, irritated, and simply read?—
If you do not hold the eastern border, I will personally see to it that your command is revoked.
An angry letter about the death of a warder. One that had been murdered in the outer kingdom of Prina.
A heavily redacted report about the loss of a scouting party. It mentioned an “unknown force” but failed to specify what they had encountered.
One letter stood out immediately.
There was no insignia marking which Order had sent it.
Strange.
I scanned the words, trying to make sense of them.
The council must not suspect. Keep the records hidden, and the assets in place. What we fight for is not what we once did. We must be prepared for the shift when it comes. Trust only those already within the fold.
I re-read it twice.
It didn’t say who the Order was corresponding with.
It didn’t say who wrote it.
Nothing identifiable.