Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
Z ander’s voice cut through the smoke like a blade. “Get close!” he barked.
We huddled together, bodies pressed tightly around Jax, who still held Eilvin. Ferrula whispered something in Jax’s ear—I couldn’t hear it, but whatever she said made Jax’s face twist in grief. He released Eilvin, and stood up, his expression murderous.
The air shifted, growing thick and oppressive like the moments before a violent storm.
My lungs tightened, the weight of something unnatural pressing down on my chest. The magical net enclosing us began to ripple, the woven threads of shimmering energy, flickering like dying embers.
Sparks crackled at the edges, tiny bursts of light sputtering out of existence.
Then came the roar.
It wasn’t just a sound—it was a force, a primal surge that shook the ground beneath our feet and made my ribs vibrate.
Dark Fire erupted from Zander’s outstretched hands in a wave of oily black flames, twisting and coiling like a living beast. The tendrils of fire struck the magical net, spreading across its surface in a fast-moving web of destruction.
The net flared once, a final desperate pulse of magic, before it shriveled inward and disintegrated into curling ash.
But the Dark Fire didn’t stop.
It poured outward, hungry and relentless, spiraling along the ground in chaotic ribbons that slithered like serpents.
Flames licked at the trees, turning bark to charred black and branches to brittle skeletons.
The grass ignited in a chain reaction, smoke rising in suffocating waves.
The air shimmered with heat, turning everything hazy and distorted.
Three Blood Fae were too slow to retreat.
The flames coiled around them like living ropes, curling up their legs and along their arms. The air filled with their shrieks—high-pitched and otherworldly—as the fire consumed them from the inside out.
Their skin blackened and peeled, magic unraveling from their bodies in jagged pulses of crimson energy before they collapsed into heaps of scorched bone and ash.
Their dragons fell next—bodies twisting and convulsing, their dying wails almost as haunting as their riders’. The scaled bodies hit the ground like boulders, wings twisted at unnatural angles, and smoke rising from their lifeless forms.
The remaining Blood Fae froze, wide-eyed and stunned by the carnage. Then, as if some unspoken command passed between them, they turned and bolted for the trees. Their surviving dragons stumbled to follow, some limping and dragging torn wings behind them.
The fire snarled, curling and snapping at their heels, but Zander finally relented. The flames recoiled like a predator satisfied with its kill, slithering back toward him before flickering out entirely. Only smoke and scorched earth remained.
The stench of burning hair and charred flesh clung to my throat. The ground was blackened and cracked, a barren patch of earth where life had once thrived.
I turned to Zander, finding him swaying on his feet, his face ashen and slick with sweat. His eyes still glowed, flickering onyx flames swirling in his irises. The power still lingered inside him, restless and volatile.
I let out a shaky breath, my muscles trembling from the residual heat. The air shimmered with the lingering power Zander had summoned—and it wasn’t fading quickly.
“Everybody knows you have Dark Fire,” Teren said, voice tight with disbelief, “but you shouldn’t be that powerful this early in your magical career.”
Zander turned slowly, his eyes still blazing with onyx flames. His face was sharp, carved with tension and power that felt barely contained. “You will not report anything you’ve seen here today regarding my power.”
Teren’s usual smug grin faltered, and his gaze flicked to the scorched ground where the Blood Fae had died. “Understood.”
Zander’s flames dimmed, his eyes returning to their usual sharp lavender. He swayed on his feet, and I reached out to steady him, feeling the heat still radiating from his skin.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice was hoarse.
“You’re not,” I said quietly. “But thanks for saving us.”
His hand brushed over mine—not firm, but deliberate. He didn’t speak, but for a moment, his fingers lingered on mine like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
The air still smelled like smoke, and the scorched ground beneath us radiated heat.
The only sounds were the quiet murmurs of our dragons shifting restlessly and the low, distant roar of waves crashing against the rocky coastline.
The tension between our squads was palpable—no one was quite sure what to say after what had just unfolded.
“This was a godsdamn trap,” Teren muttered, breaking the silence. He stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the burnt remains of the Blood Fae. “I just don’t get it—why send prospects on this mission in the first place?”
Zander sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. His fingers trembled slightly, and I wondered just how much that display of Dark Fire had drained him.
“I had that same argument,” Zander admitted. “I told Major Kaler prospects had no business responding to a threat like this. He told me this was just supposed to be a simple recon mission—no real threat.”
Teren snorted. “Yeah, simple recon.” He gestured to the smoldering battlefield. “Looks like that panned out perfectly.”
“So why are you here?” Teren added, his gaze narrowing on Zander. “You’re a Crownwatch royal. You could have your pick of commands. What the hell are you doing playing babysitter?”
Zander’s eyes flicked toward Kaelith, who stood several feet away, her eyes narrowed as she watched Makor shift uneasily beneath Eilvin’s weight. His pause stretched long enough that everyone else seemed to notice the connection.
I stepped forward, answering for him. “He’s here because Kaelith’s the Sentinel.”
Zander’s sharp gaze met mine, and for a moment I worried I’d said too much. But he didn’t argue.
“That’s part of it,” Zander said carefully. “But not all of it.”
He shifted his weight, glancing at the Lowborn Squad, then back to me. “My father wants updates on your progress,” he added quietly.
I felt my stomach twist. Of course. I knew better than to believe Zander’s presence had been some random assignment. He’d been sent to watch me—maybe to protect me, but certainly to keep tabs on whatever power I was developing.
“Your father,” I muttered bitterly. “Why am I not surprised?”
The others started to mutter among themselves, but my thoughts strayed to the words the Blood Fae leader had spoken before Zander’s Dark Fire had sent them running.
You are the chosen vessel... the instrument of the Blood King... your birth was preordained...
I glanced at Jax as he carefully secured Eilvin onto Makor’s back, tying the lifeless rider into the saddle for the long return trip.
Riven knelt in the dirt, her fingers brushing against a scrap of scorched leather.
Tugging it free, she revealed a half-burned bag—the kind riders used to carry orders and communications.
She flipped it over, inspecting the faded sigil, but it was too damaged to tell which faction it belonged to.
Without a word, she reached inside and withdrew a crumpled piece of parchment.
She unfolded it carefully, her fingers smoothing out the scorched edges. The paper was singed, but the ink remained clear enough to read. Her eyes flicked over the words once, twice, then she turned toward me.
“Ashe... you should see this.”
I crossed the clearing, stepping over broken branches and patches of smoldering earth.
Riven handed me the letter. My gaze moved across the page, the words settling like ice in my chest.
Make sure the supplies make it to our eastern friends. There are enough supplies and weapons to support the next stage of the rebellion. More will be on its way.
I barely registered the words. My focus locked on the symbol stamped at the bottom of the page—a rose with massive thorns curling around a crow.
“It’s the Order of Thorn,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “My father... he’s helping the Blood Fae.”
Zander appeared at my side, his expression darkening as he plucked the letter from my fingers. He scanned the contents and shook his head.
“It’s not specific,” he argued. “This could mean a lot of things.”
“Don’t,” I snapped. My emotions surged—power flickered beneath my skin like sparks ready to ignite. “Don’t try to downplay this. Look at the ground.”
I turned, pointing toward the churned dirt and creased tracks where the wagons had disappeared.
“That’s not a coincidence.” My voice was colder now, edged with something sharp. “My father’s been supplying the Blood Fae directly. He’s been feeding them weapons, resources... gods know what else.”
“It doesn’t prove that,” Zander insisted, but there was doubt in his eyes. “This letter could’ve been intercepted. Anyone could have planted this here.”
“Then why was it hidden in a dispatch bag?” I shot back. “And why would someone go to this much trouble unless they didn’t want anyone finding it?”
Zander didn’t have an answer for that.
“I knew he was ruthless,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. “I knew he would betray anyone to serve his own interests... but this?” I shook my head. “He’s siding with the Blood Fae. That’s not just treason—that’s insanity.”
“It’s worse than that,” Riven added quietly. “The Blood Fae don’t just want land or power. They want access to the hatchling grounds.”
“And my father’s giving them the means to get it,” I finished.
The air felt suffocating, thick with lingering smoke and the weight of realization. Whatever my father was planning, it wasn’t just rebellion. It was annihilation.
“We need to get this letter to my father,” Zander said grimly. “If this is real... who knows how far the corruption goes.”
I nodded, my mind spinning. My father had betrayed me—I knew that. But this? This wasn’t just personal.
This was far worse.
Teren’s gaze settled on me, sharp and calculating as if he were weighing my worth. “You’re Cyran Rebec’s daughter?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was enough edge to make it clear he wasn’t sure what to make of me yet.
“Yes,” I said, my voice low.
He studied me a moment longer, then his brow furrowed. “For some reason, I thought you were blond.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s my sister, Solei. I’m... adopted.” My chest tightened. “But she’s the only person in the Order I still love.”
Teren’s expression softened just a little. He glanced at Elivin’s lifeless body strapped to Makor’s back. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
“Listen... we’ll clean up here and inform the royals in Amdar and Caston what happened.” He hesitated, then added, “You should return with your fallen.”
I stared at Elivin’s still form, at the dried blood and the scorch marks that marred his armor. My stomach twisted, grief gnawing at me like something sharp and relentless. “My father... he participated in this,” I murmured, my voice little more than a whisper. “In our friend’s death.”
I swallowed hard, my gaze hardening. “And he’s going to pay for it.”
Teren’s eyes flicked back to me, assessing, but he didn’t challenge me. Instead, he just nodded.
“Make him bleed,” he said grimly.
I clenched my fists, my heart pounding with the kind of rage that never really fades—the kind that simmers just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to explode.