Chapter 30 #2
“I’m not playing a game,” I growled. “Not for you. Not for anyone.” I turned for the door.
“You’re wrong,” Cyran called after me. “Whether you like it or not, you’ve always been a piece on this board.”
I turned back toward Cyran, my boots scuffing against the stone floor. My voice shook with barely restrained fury.
“I’m out,” I said, meeting his cold, calculating gaze. “I will either become a fully-bonded rider, or I’ll die trying. Either way, I won’t be your pawn.”
Cyran huffed, the sound bitter and sharp. “You were always a pawn. But now,” he sneered, “you’re being an idiot. I didn’t realize you’d be swayed by a little power and a fancy title.”
“A fancy title?” I scoffed, my voice rising. “I almost die on the daily! It would have been safer to become an assassin. Being a rider isn’t all sweet treats and puppy dogs!”
His lip curled. “You’re young and immature. You can’t see the full picture. It was too soon to send you in, but the damage is done. You’ll report to me, or?—”
“Or what?” I shot back, my fists trembling at my sides. “Let me make this simple for you— I QUIT! ”
Cyran’s face twisted with rage, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if he’d draw the blade hidden beneath his desk. His eyes burned with that cold, ruthless calculation I’d seen too many times—the look he wore just before deciding who lived and who died.
“You think walking away is that easy?” he hissed. “You think you can just wash your hands of your family?”
“I don’t think anything,” I said tightly. “I know. I’m done with you, done with your games, and done being manipulated.”
“You’re a fool,” he growled. “You’re playing right into their hands. The royals will use you just like I did.”
“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “But at least they won’t sell me off to the highest bidder like livestock.”
I spun on my heel, ignoring the way his chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood. My heart pounded, but I forced my steps to stay steady.
“You’ll regret this,” Cyran called after me. “When they come for you—when you realize you’ve thrown away the only people willing to protect you—you’ll regret this.”
I paused in the doorway, gripping the frame tight enough that my knuckles went white. But I glanced back at him.
“I’d rather face the world alone,” I said, “than ever feel like I owe you anything again.”
The air around me thickened, crackling with the weight of something dangerous—something unstable. My pulse thundered in my ears, and before I could stop it, my magic surged. It wasn’t controlled or measured; it erupted from me like a storm breaking free from the sky.
The surrounding air darkened, static crackling through the room. The wooden walls groaned as if they might splinter, and the single lantern above me flickered wildly. Sparks danced across my fingertips, snapping like serpents as the lightning coiled around my arms.
Cyran stumbled back, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to fear. His hand went to his blade, but he didn’t draw it—maybe he knew better than to provoke me further. Or maybe he was finally realizing what I was capable of.
“You,” he spat, “are a fucking menace. I should never have sent you to the castle.”
I laughed, but the sound was hollow. Bitter.
“I hope you didn’t spend all that money in one place.” My voice shook, but not from fear—from the raw power that coiled in my veins, begging to be let loose.
A surge of energy crackled from my hands and slammed into his desk, sending papers and glass shattering across the room.
The air smelled like burnt metal, sharp and acrid.
My father flinched— flinched —and for the briefest second, I saw something else flicker across his face. Not just anger. Not just frustration.
Fear.
The realization snapped me back to myself. My breathing hitched, my magic flickering and stuttering before finally ebbing away.
I bolted.
I didn’t wait to hear whatever threat or insult he was preparing.
I tore through the tunnels, up the stairs and past the tables of startled patrons, my boots pounding the stone until I was outside in the cool night air.
The wind lashed at my face, sharp and cold, but it couldn’t burn away the heat still curling inside me.
I didn’t stop running until I reached the barracks. My chest heaved, and my hands still trembled as I shoved the door open.
The squad was there—all of them. They’d been talking, but the moment I entered, the room fell silent. All eyes locked on me.
“What the hell happened?” Jax asked, his gaze sharp and assessing.
“You look like you’re ready to explode,” Naia added, her voice softer but no less concerned.
Riven stepped forward. “Ashe…?” Her tone was cautious, like she wasn’t sure if she needed to comfort me or tackle me.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, but the words didn’t sound convincing—even to me.
“You’re not,” Cordelle said quietly, eyeing the faint glow still pulsing beneath my skin. “You’re amped up.”
I flexed my fingers, watching the flickers of power dance over my knuckles. “I just... need a minute.”
Jax snorted. “Yeah? Well, try not to burn the place down while you’re at it.”
I shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it.
“I mean it,” Riven said, stepping closer. “Whatever this is—whatever’s happening—you’re not alone, Ashe.”
“Do you want to burn some energy off in the ring?” Riven’s voice was quiet, but there was no judgment—just concern.
The squads were finished for the night, and the grounds were quiet except for the faint murmur of voices from the dining hall. I knew what she was offering—a chance to release whatever storm was still rolling inside me.
I nodded. “Yeah... yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
We grabbed our gear and headed outside. The air was crisp, cool enough that I could feel the heat still radiating from my skin. The faint glow beneath my fingertips had dulled, but I wasn’t calm—not yet.
The Thrall ring was empty, but as we reached it, I caught movement from the far side of the grounds. A couple of Warborn cadets were sparring in another ring, their movements sharp and precise beneath the torchlight. I ignored them and focused on Riven as we stepped into the circle.
“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked, rolling her shoulders.
“You worried?” I shot back, smirking despite myself.
“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to knock you on your ass.”
We circled each other, feet sliding soundlessly across the dirt. Riven struck first, a quick jab toward my ribs. I twisted away, her fist skimming past me, but she was fast—faster than I expected—and caught my hip with her other hand, shoving me off balance.
I staggered, but recovered quickly. My instincts kicked in, and I lunged, locking my arm around hers and pivoting hard. She twisted with me, spinning away before I could throw her down.
“Not bad,” Riven grinned.
I answered with a punch aimed at her shoulder. She blocked it and retaliated with a swift kick that nearly took my legs out from under me. I barely avoided it, rolling to my feet just in time to catch her next strike. Our forearms collided with a dull thud, and the shock vibrated up my arm.
The tension from earlier—the power curling inside me like a living thing—was slowly unraveling. Each movement, each strike, forced the storm to burn itself out.
Riven grinned, eyes bright with excitement as she pushed me harder. We traded blows, dodges, and grapples, neither of us giving ground. My breath came in sharp bursts, my muscles burned, but I felt lighter—freer.
Finally, Riven hooked her leg behind mine and swept me to the ground. I hit the dirt hard and stared up at the sky, breathless and spent.
“Feel better?” Riven asked, offering me her hand.
I took it, letting her pull me to my feet. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” she said with a smile, draping an arm over my shoulder as we walked back to the barracks.
By the time we returned to our room, the tension in my body was gone. The storm had passed, and for the first time since my run-in with Cyran, I felt like I could breathe again.
“Seriously,” I told her as I grabbed a dry shirt from my trunk. “I needed that.”
Riven grinned as she flopped onto her bunk. “Next time, don’t wait until you’re sparking like a damn lightning rod to ask.”
I chuckled, my muscles aching in the best possible way. “Deal.”
Cordelle sat up abruptly in his bed, book in hand, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“This can’t be right,” he muttered.
I glanced at Riven before pushing off my bunk. “What is it?”
Cordelle stared hard at the page as if the words might change if he blinked enough. “I got the ledger of attacks. It isn’t the one I asked for, but my father sent it, so I’ve been reading through it.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Riven asked, crossing her arms.
Cordelle’s eyes lifted, still wide with disbelief. “The major sent Remand to inspect the damage in Caston, right?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “He and a few Warborn riders left to assist the town and aid with rebuilding and security.”
Cordelle shook his head slowly, tapping the page with one finger. “But according to this ledger… the attack in Caston happened two weeks ago.”
“What?” I moved to sit beside him and peered over his shoulder at the book. The dates were clear—the entry reported the destruction, casualties, and even the supplies needed to help the villagers rebuild. But the date… the date was two weeks ago.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would they send Remy now?”
“Because someone’s manipulating information inside the castle,” Riven said grimly. Her expression was hard, her gaze cold. “They’re feeding the council false timelines.”
I shook my head. “But why? The Blood Fae have been attacking outer villages for months. Why delay sending riders?”
Cordelle exhaled, frustration bleeding into his voice. “Because someone doesn’t want those attacks stopped. Or worse, they want those attacks to be worse before the crown responds.”
“My father was right,” I whispered. “There is a traitor in the castle.”
Riven’s face hardened even more. “It has to be the fae prisoner. He’s manipulating the king.”
Cordelle grimaced. “That would explain a lot. The sudden increase in Blood Fae attacks... the way Major Kaler’s been acting.”
I clenched my fists. “So someone inside the castle is working with the Blood Fae?”
Cordelle’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “It’s more than that. Someone’s feeding the king bad information. If they’re covering up attacks, who knows what else they’re doing.”
Riven’s fingers curled into fists. “Then we need to get into that dungeon—soon. Whatever that prisoner is doing, it’s putting all of us in danger.”