CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Morning didn't arrive gently; it arrived with Asher between my thighs.
I woke to the sensation of him trailing slow, wet stripes up my inner thigh, his breath ghosting over my skin in the quiet dimness of the room.
For a few blissful minutes, the images of red-rimmed eyes and Jax's jagged handwriting disappeared.
There was no journal, no Veyari, no looming war—just the rhythmic focus of his mouth and the way my fingers tangled in his dark hair as I arched off the sheets.
By the time he climbed over me, his silver eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
He looked revitalized, while I felt the crushing weight of my secrets settling back onto my chest like lead.
He lingered there, his gaze searching mine, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a precision that made me wonder if he could feel the lies humming under my skin.
"You look burdened, firecracker," he murmured against my lips, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Still thinking about that 'boundling' in the woods?"
"Just tired," I lied, the word tasting like ash.
He didn't look entirely convinced, but he offered his hand and I took it, pulling myself up. His fingers were warm and sure, a grounding force against the chill of the morning.
"I have to head to the fields for Riftball training," he said, his fingers linking with mine. "You coming to the match?"
I blinked, oh yeah fuck.
"Yeah. Of course I'll be there."
"There's an afterparty at the arena," he added, shooting me a wicked grin over his shoulder. "You keen?"
"Oh, I'm keen," I said, rolling my eyes in mock enthusiasm to mask the static in my head.
As he passed me to grab his gear, I couldn't help it—I gave him a firm, playful smack on the ass.
He spun, eyes bright with mischief, and shot me that specific look that promised I'd pay for that later.
"I'll be back by sundown," he warned, his grin widening even as a flicker of concern remained in his silver eyes. "
Don't spend the whole day buried in those dusty books."
I forced a smile and watched him go. The second the door clicked shut behind him, I scrambled out of bed.
I had secrets to uncover before he came back.
···
By the time I reached the Tower of Archives, whatever warmth Asher had left beneath my skin was gone.
Jules wasn’t there.
Her usual desk sat empty, her stack of quills untouched. No papers. No scribbled notes. Just a hollow, echoing silence that made the hair on my arms stand up.
My chest tightened.
I asked one of the older scholars at the front desk if he’d seen her. He blinked behind his spectacles and shook his head, mumbling that he hadn’t seen her since yesterday.
Another apprentice shrugged without looking up from his scroll. "Sometimes she's called away for rituals."
I managed a nod, but my stomach had already dropped through the floor.
Jules never missed a meeting. She would've left a note.
A sign.
Something.
I gripped the edge of the desk, my hands shaking so violently I had to tuck them into my sleeves.
I tried to smother the panic, fighting to keep the edges of my fear from bleeding down the bond to Asher.
He was at training; he didn't need to feel my panic tearing through the bond.
Gods, Jules. Where the fuck are you?
The door to the Archives banged open, and Jules tumbled in.
Her hair was a complete disaster, her cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink, and she was clutching her glasses in her hand instead of wearing them.
"I'm so sorry!" she blurted out, dropping a stack of parchment onto the desk. "I got—uh—caught up this morning."
My relief snapped instantly into sharp irritation. "Gods, Jules, do you enjoy shaving years off my life?"
She winced, shoving her glasses back onto her face. "Not my intention."
I tilted my head, watching her properly now.
The flushed cheeks. The crooked, dazed grin. The way she practically vibrated with secret energy.
Slowly, my own lips curved into a smirk.
"Wait. Where were you last night?"
Her eyes went wide.
"Okay, let's—let's sit down first," she stammered, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward our table.
I let her pull me, a small laugh escaping me. She fumbled with the parchment like a woman possessed.
“So?” I asked, propping my chin on my hand. “You going to tell me or what?”
She groaned, her face turning scarlet. "Fine. Okay. I spent the night with Darcy."
My jaw dropped.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
“I’m not looking at you like anything!”
“AVA!”
"I'm just—well, shocked!" I said, throwing my hands up.
"I knew you two were flirting, but I didn't know it was a thing."
She ducked her head, muttering as she shuffled parchment. I softened, my voice turning gentler. "I just… I don't want her to hurt you, Jules."
That made her pause. She looked at me, her gaze steady behind her lenses, and smiled faintly. "I'm tougher than you think."
"I know," I admitted. "I know you are."
She fussed with her notes again, whispering, "I know I'm not her usual type, but… she just gets me."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, a rare moment of light amidst the gloom. "Well, I'm happy for you. Really."
Her shoulders loosened, and the smile finally reached her eyes.
"Okay. Enough about me. Let's do this." She shoved the journal between us, her fingers still trembling, but this time from ink-stained adrenaline instead of embarrassment.
"Let's see what your brother was hiding."
I leaned in, my breath shallow as the symbols became sentences. Finally, she exhaled and pushed the paper toward me. "Read."
"The silence is worse than fangs. He doesn't speak often, only watches. Sometimes I think I am a specimen. Sometimes I think I am prey. He called Aelmyra a sanctuary, but the walls feel like bars. He asked questions I did not want to answer, about the Guard, about Father.
I refused, but he only smiled like he already knew.
I fear he does. I keep asking about Solas.
He never answers. Gods, I think he has her.
I think he's keeping her from me—feeding her to something.
Maybe to them. The wyverns. I hear their wings at night.
Their shadows pass across the walls. Sometimes I swear I hear her scream. "
My blood went ice-cold. My fingers shook so hard I almost dropped the paper.
Jules pressed her lips together, then flipped the page of the journal. It was blank.
"What?" she whispered, flipping again. Blank. Her voice climbed, turning frantic. "I was halfway through translating this one last night—I swear it was here!"
She flipped faster and faster. Page after page of the journal was now empty, the ink gone as if it had never existed.
"What the fuck is this?" I snapped, panic clawing through me. "How could this happen?"
Jules leaned closer to the paper, her expression tightening.
“It reeks,” she whispered. “Dark. Metallic. Like ash and old iron.”
"Dark magic?"
“Maybe,” she whispered. “There are old enchantments that can destroy written magic, but I've only ever read about them. Forbidden stuff.”
“Could someone do it from somewhere else?”
Jules stared at the empty pages. “I don't know.”
My mouth went dry. "You had this last night. You didn't see anyone?"
"No one could've touched it," Jules insisted. "Darcy was with me all night.
Void was perched at the window—he would've raised hell if anyone came close. Ava, this was done without anyone stepping foot in the room."
"Someone erased it between last night and now," I said, the thought feeling heavy and impossible. "Someone with old power. Someone who knows how to make words disappear."
Her eyes widened. "You mean—"
“Veyari,” I whispered. “What if whoever Jax found knows we have his journal?”
Jules paled. "If that's true—Gods."
“We need more,” I said. “Every scrap. Banned books, old records, anything that mentions Aelmyra or the monoliths.”
Jules hesitated, then swallowed hard. "There's a place," she breathed. “The royal archives,” she breathed. “The restricted stacks beneath the palace library.”
My chest tightened so hard I couldn't breathe.
Home.
I hadn't been back since the funeral. The thought alone made tears burn behind my eyes.
"You don't have to—" Jules started, reaching for me.
“No.” The word cracked out of me, hard and final. “Yes, I do.”
“If those books tell me why Jax crossed the borders—if they tell me who took him—I'm going. I can't stop now."
Her eyes sharpened. "But how will you get in? You can't exactly walk into the royal archives unnoticed."
I bit my lip.
Jules's face suddenly lit with realization.
“The Flame Festival. Two weeks from now. Everyone goes. The city will be flooded with people, the guards busy with pageants. You'll be expected back. That's your chance."
The Flame Festival. Bonfires. Wine.
Ignis's colors blazing down the streets of Zymarra.
My heart twisted at the memory of the funeral, but Jules was right. It was the perfect cover.
“Two weeks,” I whispered. “Then I'll walk into that library myself.”
···
The cheer uniform still felt like a joke on me, but the Academy requirements were non-negotiable: full spirit gear for the first-years versus second-years match.
The entire student body would be watching. "School spirit," they called it. I called it a costume.
I smoothed the short skirt over my hips, already questioning every decision that had led me here.
Still, I needed the distraction. I was lacing my sneakers, trying to push the image of disappearing ink and red-rimmed eyes out of my head, when I felt the tug on the bond.
"I'm in the uniform, Asher," I projected through the mental link, a flash of mischief coloring the thought.
The response was instantaneous. A growl ripped through the bond, deep enough to vibrate in my bones. The shadows in the corners of my room thickened as his possessiveness surged through me.
"Firecracker," his voice rasped in my mind, dark and dangerous. "If you weren't on the other side of campus, I'd show you exactly what I think of that uniform. Keep it on. I'm coming for you the second the match is over."
I shivered, heat blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Thank the gods no one else was around to witness the ridiculous smile spreading across my face.