Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
The Rider’s Quarters were quieter than I expected, but not peaceful.
Sleep had been hard to come by, wrapped in stiff sheets and thicker tension.
With both Zander and Remy in the same room, every breath felt like it echoed.
I’d chosen to keep my distance, spending the evening tucked between Riven, Cordelle, and Naia, their quiet presence a balm against the storm cloud lingering in my chest.
Jax and Ferrula had gone to explore the town earlier, returning just before nightfall, laughter still clinging to their clothes like perfume. But even their ease hadn’t softened the tension in the room.
I’d felt Remy’s gaze on me. Always.
He didn’t speak much, not to me, not to the others. That was something that had never changed about him. He’d always felt… separate. Even when he held me close, even when he whispered promises I believed back then, he’d felt like a singular creature. A shadow standing in sunlight.
Now I understood why.
He hadn’t belonged to anyone but the mission. Maybe he still didn’t.
Across the room, Zander sat with Tae, the two of them hunched over a roughly drawn map sketched on old parchment. Their voices were low but firm, discussing Horde formations and flanking tactics like it was second nature. Soldiers. Strategists. Leaders.
But my eyes strayed again to Remy, perched by the window, arms crossed, back straight, and expression unreadable as he stared at me.
Always apart.
We rose with the sun, pale gold filtering through the tall windows, catching dust in the beams like suspended magic. One by one, we packed up our gear in silence, bedrolls, weapons, maps, a few ration packs we hadn’t eaten.
No one said much.
We knew what came next.
War was never announced with horns. It crept on booted feet and dragon wings, waiting for the day we’d stop pretending peace was an option.
Outside, the wind carried salt and purpose. We stepped onto the worn stone path that led from the quarters to the landing grounds. My boots felt heavier with each step, my fingers aching from gripping too tight to everything I couldn’t control.
But as we reached the edge of the cliffs, I called for Kaelith.
And her voice lit in my mind like fire answering flame.
I am here.
The skies over Warriath were clearer than when we left, the sharp peaks and jagged towers of the stronghold rising like a crown from the cliffs below. It was strange how familiar the sight had become, like something from a dream I couldn’t escape, and maybe didn’t want to.
We descended in tight formation, dragons casting massive shadows across the Ascension Grounds as they landed in practiced silence. The ground trembled beneath Kaelith’s claws as she touched down, wings folding with regal grace as the others followed.
I slid from the saddle with a soft grunt, muscles tight and sore from the long flight. The leather of my seat creaked beneath me as I unclipped it from Kaelith’s back. Remy stepped beside me without a word, helping unbuckle the damaged strap he’d repaired during our mission.
“It’ll hold,” he muttered, “but not for long.”
“I know.” I gave him a small nod. “Thank you… for fixing it. Zander is getting me a new one.”
His eyes flicked to mine for a moment, but whatever he might’ve said next was swallowed by the wind as Zander approached, his usual purposeful stride slowed just enough to make it feel intentional. He walked away as Zander stopped beside me.
“We need to see Alahathrial,” he said, voice low. “I’m heading there in an hour.”
I straightened, pulse skipping. “I want to go.”
“I figured,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “But I can’t get you approved. You’ll have to meet me at the dungeon entrance. I can dismiss the guards, but I have no reason to bring a prospect to see a prisoner.”
“He’s not really a prisoner,” I replied, keeping my voice hushed even as we walked toward the gear rails. I lifted the saddle with effort and slid it into place alongside the others.
“He is,” Zander said with a small shake of his head, “as far as my family is concerned. His… leaves are always authorized. Or so I’m told.”
I blinked. “Why don’t you know more about him? You’re royalty. Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d be briefed on?”
Zander exhaled slowly. “I’ve never met him before this. My father asked me to stay away from that wing. And until now, I had no reason to disobey.”
“That’s… odd.”
He didn’t answer.
I could see it in his eyes, he thought so too.
“I’ll meet you in an hour,” I said, tightening the last strap on my pack.
He nodded once, then turned without another word.
I slipped through the wide barracks doors, the familiar scent of oiled leather, sweat, and faint herbs grounding me for a moment.
The others were unpacking in small, tired clusters, too worn from the journey to talk much.
I moved toward my bunk, unstrapping my weapons and setting the gear bag at the foot of my bed.
Riven sat cross-legged on her own cot, polishing one of her throwing knives. Cordelle lounged nearby, a book half open on his lap though he hadn’t turned the page in some time. They both looked up as I approached.
“I’m heading out,” I said in a low voice, keeping my tone casual but my eyes sharp.
“Where?” Riven asked, already suspicious, her fingers pausing on the cloth she used to clean her blade.
“To see the fae prisoner,” I replied honestly. “Zander’s going down in an hour. I’m going to meet him.”
Cordelle blinked, sitting up straighter. “You’re going back into the dungeon?” His voice was hushed, but filled with that familiar flicker of curiosity. “Do you think he knows more about the prophecy? Or why the Blood Fae want you?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I need more time with him. I just… feel like we haven’t heard the whole story yet.”
“And you want us to cover for you,” Riven guessed.
I nodded. “If anyone comes looking for me, say I went to check on Kaelith. Or that I needed air. Just… something. Please.”
Riven gave a short nod. “I’ll take care of it.”
Cordelle offered a crooked smile. “Hopefully you will come back with some answers.”
I gave them both a grateful look before slipping out the side door that led to the quieter hallway behind the barracks. The stone beneath my boots was cool and uneven, worn down from centuries of dragon riders passing through.
I moved quickly, ducking beneath torchlight and sticking to shadows, heart pounding in quiet rhythm.
At the corridor’s bend, I paused at a seemingly ordinary iron sconce, a wall-mounted fixture with a crystal nested at its center. I reached up, wrapped my fingers around the cool metal, and twisted.
Click.
The stone wall groaned open with a soft shift, revealing the narrow, dark passage Siergen had shown me.
I haven’t seen you in a while, I thought to the courier dragon, wondering where he’d disappeared to. He’d always had a knack for showing up when he was most needed, and vanishing when you least expected it.
I slipped into the narrow passage, the scent of damp stone and ancient dust filling my lungs. Avoiding the guards was easier through these paths, designed for swift exits and secret entrances, and within minutes I emerged in the low corridor near the dungeon wing.
Zander waited at the entrance, cloaked in his usual quiet command, arms crossed, eyes scanning the shadows as if he’d known exactly which direction I’d come from.
He turned to me as I stepped up beside him.
“You made it,” he said quietly.
“I am a better thief than a rider,” I replied.
He smirked. “That is up for debate. Come on.”
The heavy door creaked open with a low groan, revealing the familiar lavish chamber hidden beneath the castle’s bones.
It was just as luxurious as the last time I visited with lush violet draperies, intricately carved furniture, and a crystal chandelier that glowed softly with fae light.
Alahathrial sat on the velvet couch, legs crossed, a leather-bound book resting open in his lap.
When I stepped inside, his head lifted, a smile already forming. “Ashlyn,” he said warmly. But the moment his gaze shifted past me, that smile faltered.
He stood quickly, the book falling shut in his hands.
“Zander,” he breathed.
Zander inclined his head with slow respect. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alahathrial. I’m sorry I haven’t had the opportunity before now.”
Alahathrial studied him carefully, the air thickening with the weight of old magic and unspoken truths. “I’m sure your father instructed you to avoid me,” he said at last. “With eyes like those…”
Zander didn’t flinch. His lavender eyes, so rare among humans, so unmistakably fae, met Alahathrial’s with a calm intensity.
“Every full-blooded fae has that color,” Alahathrial said softly, “before they turn dark.”
Zander let the silence linger before stepping further into the room. “We don’t have much time. I came here for answers. We both did.” His voice hardened. “Can you tell us about the Virelith Crystal? Do you know how to find it?”
Alahathrial’s expression shifted to something older. Wiser. Heavier.
“It’s in the lost Fae Sanctuary,” he said, voice low, as if the walls themselves might listen. “If it still exists. Every king since the fall of the Light Fae has searched for it. None have found it.”
I stepped closer. “Is there anything you could do to help us?”
Alahathrial turned his gaze to Zander again. But this time, it wasn’t in greeting, it was measuring.
“No one,” he said, slow and deliberate, “since the fall has possessed your power.”
Zander tensed beside me. “What do you mean?”
Alahathrial’s eyes glinted like polished amethyst. “Dark Fire,” he whispered. “It’s an old magic. If anything can create a breach in the sanctuary wards—it’s that.”
The room went deathly quiet.
Even the chandelier’s light seemed to dim.
Zander’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
And for the first time… I realized that unlocking the truth might mean burning through the last safe places left.
“Why is Dark Fire the only way to breach the wards?”