FORTY-EIGHT #2
My fingers hover over the hilt again, the metal cool beneath my skin. The sensation lands before the thought does. Like smoke clearing, the memory finally comes into focus.
The flame woven into the crest.
The sketch in Valen’s notes.
The family name written beside it.
Vhael.
My eyes snap open.
The ledger.
Could Kieran’s ancestors have been the ones who stood with General Sylas Veyne? The ones who hid the ledger and carried its secret across generations? Did they know the truth about the Shadow Wars?
Thane feels the realization the moment it lands. His hand closes around my knee, firm and grounding. I meet his gaze and send the memory through the bond—Valen’s notes, the family names, the crest sketched in the margins. The subtle flame. The hidden signature.
Thane’s nostrils flare.
“Could it be?” I ask through the bond. “Could Kieran’s family be the ones who protected it?”
His fingers tighten slightly. “It’s possible.”
I take a breath, my mind racing.
Could it really be this simple? Could we finally have a real lead on the ledger?
“It has to be. The records listed the family name as Vhael. Kieran’s last name is Vael.”
The connection feels too close to dismiss.
“Do you think they still have it? Do they even know?”
Thane’s thumb brushes once across my knee before he leans back. “I don’t know. But it’s worth exploring. And Valen needs to know.”
Before I can respond, Kieran’s voice cuts through the space between us.
“What’s happening over there?”
Lyra doesn’t even look up as she steals a piece of fruit from Garrick’s plate.
“Oh, they do that. Talking in each other’s heads. We’re used to it by now.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Still rude, though.”
Kieran rests his forearms on the table. “I don’t know. Seems convenient.”
His eyes move between me and Thane, interest plain on his face.
“Private conversations no one else can hear? I’d take that.”
Jarek scoffs. “Right. As if you don’t already talk enough.”
Kieran lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug. “And yet, people still listen. Clearly, I’m fascinating.”
Garrick huffs a laugh. “You’re definitely something.”
I take a sip from my cup, listening to the easy back-and-forth while my thoughts continue to race. The pieces are beginning to fit together.
Beside me, Thane feels it. His presence through the bond remains quiet and patient. I glance his way, barely tipping my head. He gives the smallest nod.
Across the table, Kieran grins at something Jarek says.
Does he know? Does he carry that family history without ever feeling the weight of it?
I set down my cup, doing my best to keep my tone light.
“Your family crest,” I say, glancing at him. “I didn’t know you had one.”
Thane stays silent, but his focus sharpens beside me. I feel it like the shift in wind before a storm.
Kieran follows my gaze to the blade, then back to me. One brow lifts. “Really?”
“You’re not noble, are you?” I ask.
“Are you serious?” Jarek cuts in. “No way this guy is noble.” He jabs his thumb in Kieran’s direction, laughing.
“You got me.” Kieran looks at Jarek, unruffled. He turns back to face me. “My family comes from one of the founding Air Clan bloodlines. We go way back.”
He slices a hand through the air dramatically.
“Most of my family are historians and still work in the archives.”
“So why did you join the service?” Lyra asks. “Why not join the family business?”
Kieran looks at her disbelievingly. “I belong in the wind on a dragon, not underground amongst books, of course.”
“Says the man without a dragon,” Garrick mocks.
“All in good time, my friend,” Kieran replies with confidence.
“I didn’t know your family went that far back,” Rian says. “That’s an incredible history. Descending from one of the founding Air Clan bloodlines isn’t exactly something you hear every day.”
The bond between Thane and me is taut with bated breath as we listen. No one else at this table understands the possible significance of this connection.
I sip the tea, studying Kieran.
“The book and quill—that’s very Air Clan.” I pause, keeping my tone casual. “But the flame?” My smile tilts. “That’s not as common, is it?”
“Old history. My ancestors were scholars, but they had ties to fire. Alliances, maybe. It’s nothing dramatic.”
He waves it away like a story he’s told a hundred times. Like it doesn’t matter.
I nod as though the answer satisfies me. But beside me, Thane has gone very still.
Kieran has no idea.
Breakfast winds down. Plates scraped clean. Mugs drained. Around us, riders stretch and start to rise, shifting back toward routine.
Lyra throws her head back dramatically. “Ugh. Back to training.”
Garrick pushes his chair back with a grunt. “And because you’re so lovely, you get to complain to the general.”
“Oh? You’re the general now?”
Garrick shoots Lyra a sideways look but doesn’t dignify the comment with an answer.
Jarek and Rian are already on their feet, slinging their gear over their shoulders.
“Come on,” Jarek says. “Drills won’t run themselves.”
Lyra groans but follows, stretching her arms overhead. “If I die, someone avenge me. Dramatically.”
Thane pushes back from the table, his presence settling through the bond like weight against my ribs. His gaze lands on mine, attentive as ever.
“Council meeting,” he says with all the enthusiasm one might reserve for a funeral.
“You don’t need me?” I ask, remembering how Thane said the eighth chair is now a permanent part of the council.
“Not today.” His smile softens. “One battle at a time. You’ll have more than enough council meetings in your future.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.
“I’ll find you after your training with Valen. Tell me what you discover.”
I gather my things, rising just as Kieran stands and rolls his shoulders.
“Where are you off to?” he asks, sliding the wind-carver back into its scabbard.
“Meeting Valen for magics practice.”
He nods. “I’m heading that way. I’ll walk with you.”
I hesitate, not visibly, but long enough for the thought to catch.
The blade.
The crest.
The flame hidden in the design.
Smiling casually, I say, “Sure.”
My shields stay low for Thane.
We fall into step, leaving the dining hall behind.
The morning air bites with autumn chill, but heat from the volcanic forges radiates through the stone beneath our boots.
Faint waves shimmer above the paths, warm reminders that the streets of Volcaris never truly cool, even when the air temperature does.
For several minutes, we walk in silence. Kieran moves with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to attention, yet I find myself studying him differently now.
A flicker of flame where it shouldn’t be.
A name rewritten.
A hidden legacy.
We cross the courtyard, basalt towers rising around us, dark stone catching the glow of forgefire even in daylight. Beyond the gates, the city is already awake. Traders haul carts of ore through the streets while voices rise and mingle with the sounds of the morning.
Kieran runs a hand through his tousled golden hair and glances my way. “So, how’s Valen’s magics training going? Burn anything down yet?”
I laugh.
“Not recently.” Then, as though the question has only just occurred to me, I add, “You mentioned your family was full of scholars. Were they historians? Record keepers?”
“Mostly scholars. Some advisors. Why?”
I shrug, keeping my tone light.
“Just thinking about your crest. The book and quill make sense, but the flame caught my attention. It made me wonder if your family was involved in more than scholarship.”
He laughs, shaking his head.
“You sound like Valen. He’s always saying that nothing in history happens by accident.”
His expression turns thoughtful.
“Honestly, I don’t know the full story. The name Vhael used to be ours, but that was generations ago. It changed over time.”
My pulse quickens.
“Changed how?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. Some political shift, I think. Alliance stuff.”
He shoots me a crooked smile.
“You’d have to ask my great-uncle. He’s the one obsessed with all the old records.”
My smile never falters, but inside, everything falls into place. Thane feels it too, his attention settling more heavily through the bond.
We round a corner, and the training fields come into view. Steel clashes in the distance while dragon roars echo overhead.
Kieran glances my way and immediately does a double take.
“You’re glowing,” he says, half amused, half curious. “Bond thing, or are you finally getting enough sleep?”
“I’ve always glowed, Kieran,” I laugh, thinking he’s referring to my magics.
“Yeah, but it’s different now.” He gestures vaguely. “Grounded. More . . . ” He searches for the word before giving up. “It suits you.”
I wave a hand. “Must be the lighting.”
Kieran nods, not entirely convinced.
I raise a brow, grasping at the nearest escape. “Careful. Thane might think you’re flirting.”
“That’s his problem, not mine.”
I roll my eyes, but through the bond, I feel it. Not jealousy exactly. Just a quiet claim, solid as a drawn blade.
Kieran shoves his hands in his pockets. “Heard about the fight with Ardyn yesterday.”
I sigh. “Of course you did.”
“Hard not to. Word is, it was quite the spectacle.”
My fingers curl into a loose fist. “It wasn’t about the fight itself.”
Kieran hums. “No, but that didn’t stop you from putting her on her ass, did it?”
I glare. “I didn’t—”
“I mean, really, Thalor. With an audience?” His expression turns almost thoughtful. “Brutal.”
“It wasn’t—”
“Humiliating, honestly.” He shakes his head. “I almost feel bad for her.”
“You do not.” I laugh despite myself.
“No, but I should. Ardyn, Fire Clan nobility, Thane’s former flame, flattened by a village girl? Tragic.”
“Are you done?”
“Absolutely not. I’m telling this story for years.”
I glance skyward, half begging the gods to let this story die.
Kieran nudges me. “Still, glad to see you holding your own.”
The path splits ahead, training fields to the left and Valen’s chambers to the right. Kieran stops. Sunlight catches in his hair, turning the gold brighter.