Chapter 8 Brynn
brYNN
My eyes are fixed on Chad behind the bars. He’s leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, struggling to look at me. Of course he is. Traitors rarely enjoy looking their mistakes in the eye.
A cold, heavy knot sits in my stomach, a tangled mess of fury and a stupid, stubborn ache that feels a lot like grief. He was my partner. My mentor, as much as I resented him. I… trusted him. And every second of it was a lie.
The murmur of the others’ voices becomes just noise, a low hum beneath the roar in my own head.
Esme’s sharp tones, clipped and confident as she recounts what she saw in Draethys.
Dayn’s rumbling bass, a steady counterpoint that seems to command attention without effort.
Corvin’s skepticism, a thread of doubt in every question he asks.
Warden Blythe’s silence is somehow the loudest of all, a judgmental weight in the damp air.
They’re trading pieces of the puzzle: Anees’s coup, the weakness of our own wards, the speed of the dragons’ mobilization.
It’s all vital, world-ending stuff and, stupidly, I struggle to process a word of it.
I tear my eyes away from Chad, forcing my brain to focus.
Esme is arguing for an alliance, or at least a temporary truce. “He’s right about that,” she says, gesturing toward Dayn. “Anees has the support of the military houses. Eventually, they won’t be sending scouts; they’ll be sending legions. We need to know their tactics, their numbers… We need him.”
“Need a dragon?” Blythe finally speaks, her voice laced with hatred. “The last time we ‘needed’ a dragon, half our covens burned.”
“That was generations ago,” Dayn cuts in, his voice dangerously calm.
“And your ancestors struck the first blow. History is rarely as clean as the stories you tell your children. But let me make myself perfectly clear: I’m not here to help you win.
I’m here to engineer a truce, before too many from both our sides die. ”
My eyes flick back to Chad. He shifts his weight, the movement almost imperceptible, and his eyes are on me. There’s… emotion there: resignation? Regret?
“I’m sure you’ll understand,” Corvin says, his gaze sweeping from Dayn to Byzu—whom Dayn has just let out of his cell, too—“that while you are free to provide us with intel and opinions, we must prepare our own contingencies.” He looks at Blythe, and a silent, grim understanding passes between them.
“The Ide Trials must proceed. Immediately.”
The words slice through the fog in my brain.
My stomach plummets. A part of me, the part that still lives in the library stacks, wants to scream that it’s a terrible idea.
Summoning the disembodied consciousness of a long-dead, legendarily powerful ancestor doesn’t feel like a contingency plan. More like a suicide pact.
But another part of me, the part that saw the sheer scale of Draethys, the fervor in the dragons’ eyes as they prepared for war, knows he’s right.
Our wards are failing. Our numbers are thin.
Against an army of dragons, we don’t have a contingency.
We have a prayer—and unless dragon boy can find some solution—the Ides are the only prayer we’ve got.
“The trials?” Dayn asks, his voice dangerously low. “You intend to meddle with forces you can’t possibly comprehend?”
“We comprehend them better than you think, dragon,” Warden Blythe retorts, her eyes glittering. “We have communed with the spirits for generations. This is our magic, our legacy.”
“And it is Esme who will lead them,” Corvin adds, his gaze fixed on my sister. “Her spirit power, her connection to the bloodline, is currently the strongest we have. And now, with her… unique bond… it’s our best chance.”
I look at Esme, my breath held tight in my chest. I’m half-hoping she’ll refuse. Argue. Point out the dangers of what they’re proposing. I see the flicker of it in her eyes—a hesitation that tightens the skin around her mouth.
She glances at Dayn, a silent, unreadable conversation passing between them in a heartbeat. He glowers like he hates the idea. But then her shoulders straighten, the hesitation dissipating behind a mask of grim determination.
“I’ll do it,” she says.
The words tighten my chest, even though, naturally, nobody here is going to pin their survival on a dragon. Even if he wanted to prevent a war, chances are, a universal truce will fail. Which leaves us to our own devices, or… Helena’s words to Esme flicker back to me.
“Only you two together can prevent what comes. Only you and Dayn…You must complete your union.”
What did she actually mean? I try to reach for Helena now, a frantic mental probe into the spirit realm, but there’s nothing. Just a cold, echoing silence where her presence was. Typical. Where is she just when I need her?
Whatever she meant, it sounded like it involved Esme getting tangled up even tighter with Dayn. Which, judging by their whole forced-marriage, smoldering-rage dynamic, I get why she’d want to avoid. If possible. Still… I can’t shake our ancestor’s words.
“There’s a lot more to discuss, obviously,” Corvin says, his tone shifting back to business as he gestures toward the open cells. “We will grant Dayn and his brother guest privileges within Darkbirch, for the time being.” He pauses, his eyes landing on the last occupied cell. “As for him…”
“He stays,” I say, the words ripping from my throat before I can stop them. All eyes turn to me. I square my shoulders, meeting Chad’s gaze through the bars. The anger is still a hot, solid thing inside me, burning away the grief. “He’s a traitor. He works for Rothmere. He stays right where he is.”
Chad doesn’t object. He doesn’t even look surprised.
He just watches me… then finally speaks.
“I’m more than happy to talk about this when you’re actually ready to listen, Brynn,” he says, his voice quiet but clear.
The implication stings a little: that I’m not listening, that I’m just reacting.
Maybe he’s right. But right now I struggle to care.
Dayn’s eyes move to the half-demon, and his lips part as if to speak—but then he closes them again, apparently having second thoughts.
Corvin nods slowly, backing my call, though the disappointment in his eyes is clear. One of his star students, gone.
“Valgrave remains in custody.” He turns, his expression grim.
“Now. We have strategy to plan and a ritual to prepare. We must summon the Council. Esme, Brynn, Dayn, each of you will attend. We meet in the chamber in one hour.” He sweeps out of the dungeon, Blythe at his heels, leaving the five of us in the cold, echoing silence.