Chapter 15
brYNN
Isink onto a fallen log, my legs burning from hours of trudging through the underbrush.
“Chad!” I call out for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice hoarse.
The only response is the mocking caw of a crow somewhere in the canopy above.
Better than the response of the incubus twins who tried to seduce me by ambush two hours ago.
I’d answered with a reflex flare of binding glyphs and a sprint in the opposite direction.
Chad’s not here. Shit. I’d basically known that before I started, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t check anyway.
“Damn demon. Could’ve at least left a clue,” I mutter.
The Ide inside me stirs at my frustration, pressing against the mental barriers I've constructed. I can feel it testing the edges of my consciousness, like fingers probing for a weakness.
“Let me help you find him,” it suddenly whispers, and I gasp. It’s the first time it’s spoken to me. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, only that it sounds ancient and extremely not human. “I can extend your senses beyond mortal limits.”
“No thanks,” I reply, violently reinforcing my mental shelves. The presence recedes with what feels like a sulky huff. Keep your extra senses to yourself. You ain’t getting admin rights in here.
I check my watch—6:00 PM. I've missed all my classes.
Professors are going to have my head, but honestly, I couldn't care less right now.
Chad is out there somewhere, alone and..
. changed. The image of him transforming flashes again before my eyes—his skin darkening, horns erupting from his skull, those glowing red lines spreading across his body.
What did Rothmere do to him? And more importantly, where did he go?
With a sigh, I push myself up. The sun is starting to sink behind the mountains, casting long shadows through the trees. I've searched every quadrant of the woods that I could safely access. If Chad doesn't want to be found, I'm not going to find him.
I trudge back toward the academy, my mind racing. The world feels like it's been turned inside out in the span of forty-eight hours. Dragons reduced to ash. Every darkblood housing an ancient passenger. My sister gone. My brother resurrected. And Chad...
The Ide stirs again, more insistently this time. “You could be so much more,” it purrs. “Why do you resist what is inevitable?”
“Because nothing is inevitable,” I mutter. “Now shut up.”
I emerge from the tree line to find the academy still in the early stages of reconstruction.
Teams of darkbloods are clearing rubble and rebuilding walls.
The air hums with magic—more concentrated and potent than I've ever felt before.
It's like walking through an electrical storm, the hairs on my arms standing on end.
As I pass through what's left of the eastern courtyard, I spot Amelie directing a group of necromancers. They're twisting their skills into a more… unconventional use: animating chunks of stone, making the debris float into neat piles. Her eyes gleam with that now-familiar Ide shadow.
“Brynn!” she calls out when she spots me. “Where have you been? Burr was looking for you. There’s been special training for all of us.”
“I was busy,” I say, not breaking stride.
“Busy doing what? Looking for Chad?” She jogs to catch up with me. “He's gone, Brynn. You need to accept that.”
“I accept what I have proof of.”
Amelie sighs. “Look, I get it. He was your friend. But you saw what he became. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe he's safer out there, away from all of us.”
A flare of anger hits me, tangled with the memory of Chad’s voice, low and awkward, admitting why he’d never told Darkbirch about his demon blood: because he didn’t want people looking at him differently.
I stop and turn to face her. “Would you say that if it was Joseph? Or Ridge? Or any full darkblood? Would you just give up on them?”
She bites her lip, looking away. “That's different.”
“No, it's not.” I start walking again, anger still buzzing under my skin. “He hid the first time because he thought we’d treat him differently.” My voice comes out rough. “I’m not proving him right.”
Before she can respond, I duck through a side entrance and head toward the guest quarters. An idea has been forming in my mind all day. I want to speak to Nyssa.
Her guest block is in the western wing, largely untouched by the battle. It's a series of comfortable but secure rooms where we typically house diplomatic visitors or... well, prisoners we don't want to admit are prisoners.
When I reach Nyssa's door, I find it guarded by a young darkblood soldier I vaguely recognize from House Valthera. His name escapes me, but his rigid posture and narrowed eyes tell me everything I need to know about his current disposition.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his tone suggesting he'd rather do anything but.
“I'm here to see the dragoness.”
He shakes his head. “Not authorized. She's under restricted access.”
I step closer and notice the runes etched around the doorframe—binding sigils, detection wards, and something nastier that looks like it might trigger a pain response if tampered with. I could probably dismantle them given enough time, but that would cause more problems than it would solve.
“Says who?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“New protocol from the top. Any dragon visitors are to be contained until further notice.”
“She's not a visitor. She's our ally.”
He snorts. “Tell that to the fifty-three darkbloods who died in the attack.”
The number lands heavy in my chest. Fifty-three. People I knew. Training partners. Hallway nods. Lives that are just… gone. I hope at least they stuck around our spirit grid, so I can say goodbye… and thank you.
I bite back my retort. Arguing with this guy won’t change anything. I need to go higher up the chain.
“Fine,” I say, turning away. “I'll take it up with Dominic himself.”
The guard's eyes widen slightly at the name, but he says nothing as I walk away.
Finding Dominic Merlin isn't difficult. The academy might be in shambles, but power has a way of being easy to find.
I just follow the flow of darkbloods until I reach what used to be the Council Chamber.
It's been repurposed into a command center, with maps spread across tables and groups of senior wardens huddled in intense discussion.
Dominic stands at the center of it all, Elliott Crane’s body held in an effortless stillness that draws the eye.
Darkblood robes fall in clean lines from his shoulders, the high collar framing his throat.
As I approach, he turns before I speak, his awareness sliding over me with the ease of someone accustomed to being the axis of a room.
“Brynn Salem,” he says, and my name sounds unexpectedly deliberate in his mouth. “You’ve been keeping a low profile.”
For a moment I’m struck by the absurdity of it—speaking to an Ide like he’s just another administrator.
We’d all assumed anything trapped that long in the Ide veil would come back fractured, feral.
Dominic Merlin sounds perfectly sane. And I’m not sure why that’s somehow more unsettling.
After all that time, how is his mind this clear?
I force a smile. “Just busy trying to make sense of our new world.”
“And how is that going?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow him to a quieter corner of the room. He doesn’t look back to check if I obey; he simply assumes I will.
“It's... an adjustment,” I say carefully.
“Your Ide is still restless,” he observes, his gaze settling fully on me now. “I can feel it straining against your walls.”
I resist the urge to step back. “I prefer to maintain my boundaries.”
“Boundaries,” he repeats, the word touched with faint amusement rather than dismissal. “A comforting fiction, when one considers the true nature of consciousness. But I understand the instinct. It will soften with time.”
“Actually,” I say, steering the conversation, “I came to talk about Nyssa.”
His brows lift slightly. “The dragoness? What about her?”
“She's being kept locked up. I think that's a mistake.”
“Do you? Tell me why.”
I straighten my shoulders. “Yes. She has valuable information. She knows the dragons—their strengths, their weaknesses, their power structures. We could use that, especially now.”
“To what end?” he asks. “The dragons who attacked us are ash.”
“Not all dragons attacked us,” I counter. “And not all dragons are dead. Dayn took my sister, remember? And King Anees is still out there. They are still adversaries we need to understand. It might even be possible to prevent further bloodshed, with the right negotiation.”
Dominic's eyes narrow slightly. “Negotiation? With the creatures who have hunted us for centuries?”
I sigh, trying to choose my next words carefully.
Seems he’s as biased as all the other elders were.
“I'm just saying that information is power. And right now, Nyssa has information we could use. She was working against Anees before all this happened. She might be willing to help us build a strategy.”
He studies me for a long moment, and the attention feels almost physical—like standing too close to a heat source. Finally, he nods. “Your pragmatism is refreshing, Brynn. Most of your peers are still drunk on their newfound power, but you remain... focused.”
“So you'll let me work with her?”
“I will grant her limited freedom,” he says, “on one condition. She must accept a binding seal, a safeguard to ensure she cannot harm any darkblood.”
I hesitate. “A seal?”
“A refinement of an ancient spell,” he explains, his voice lowering slightly. “She will remain entirely herself, merely incapable of turning her power against us.”
It's about control, of course. Dominic wants to keep Nyssa on a leash. But it's better than her being locked in a room forever.
“I'll talk to her about it,” I say.