Chapter 20 – Quinton
QUINTON
The common wing felt different when she walked in. The space itself didn’t change: same fine oak furniture, same expensive upholstery, same pale morning light filtering through the tall windows. But the air changed. Everyone went still. The conversation died mid-sentence.
Azaria stood in the doorway, dressed in a deep blue captain’s uniform, hair pulled back in a simple braid. She looked tired and calm, almost normal. But I could feel her pulse through my blood magic. Elevated and controlled, but here.
Lyra moved first. She launched herself forward, arms already lifting—stopped herself hard. Stumbled. Nearly fell.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean—I just?—”
Azaria smiled. Small but genuine. “It’s all right, Lyra.”
The tension in the room eased. Slightly.
Reyna stepped forward next, arms crossed, but her eyes were warm. “Good to see you, Cap.”
“Good to be seen,” Azaria said.
Kael nodded once from his spot near the window. Thorne stood silent by the far wall. Zephyr flashed a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lirael inclined her head respectfully. Dain was already at the desk—leaning against it like he’d been waiting there all morning. Probably had been.
“Captain,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “Commander.”
Her gaze swept the room, taking us all in, assessing every face. Her eyes fell on the desk. On the envelope sitting there. It bore a council seal on cream parchment. Official. Something shifted in her expression. Went cold.
She moved forward slowly and picked it up. She broke the seal. Pulled out a single sheet and read it in silence. Once. Twice. Her jaw tightened.
Through my blood magic, I felt the change.
Her pulse had been elevated since she walked in: controlled, steady, the careful rhythm of someone holding themselves together.
But the moment her eyes finished that second read, something snapped.
Her heartbeat spiked. Whatever had been simmering in her since the cell, the letter was the thing that burst the dam.
She crumpled it in her fist. The room fell silent. It was Elias who finally broke it.
“Captain... talk to us.”
Brave, as always. My brother had a way of cutting through things the rest of us circled around. He’d been watching her just as closely as I had since day one. Maybe more.
Azaria didn’t answer. She moved past us, stepping behind the desk—Dain still leaning there like a statue—and braced her hands on the wood. Shoulders taut. Head bowed. Without warning, her fist slammed into the desk.
The sound cracked through the room. A drawer jolted open. It echoed in my ribs like a drumbeat of fury. But I’d felt it in my blood first. She stayed like that for a moment, chest heaving in shallow bursts. When she looked up, her gaze was distant. Unfocused.
“Six days,” she said. “Six fucking days.”
We all went still. She never swore. Not once since we’d known her. No matter the loss, the pressure, the grief—Azaria never cursed. She controlled her mouth like she controlled everything else. But not now.
“I didn’t even know how long it was until I was released,” she continued, voice low, controlled, but her blood was screaming—frayed and white-hot. Every word hummed through me like a second pulse. “Six days, Dain told me. Six days I lost in that cell.”
No one dared to interrupt. We just watched. She leaned harder on the desk, knuckles white, bloodied now from the blow.
“The council dragged me in front of the Truthteller every damned day. Asking the same questions over and over. Same bullshit wrapped in different words, trying to tear down everything we’ve built. Trying to trap me in a lie they made up with their fucking treacherous mouths.”
Her voice didn’t shake, but her body was beginning to.
“For six days, they tried to break me. Isolated me. Kept me in the dark. I didn’t know what was happening to any of you. Were you taken, too? Hurt? They let me see no one. Nothing. No sound. Just silence.”
She paused. Straightened. Stepped out from behind the desk. Reyna’s jaw locked. Kael’s hands curled into fists. Lyra looked sick. Zephyr’s usual smirk was gone. Thorne shifted his weight just slightly, but didn’t move. Azaria’s gaze swept over all of them.
“But I didn’t break.” She turned to Lirael. “You asked me once,” she said, “why we never aligned with the Koulan council. Why I never sought their protection, why I refused to work with them the way other captains do. Why I avoid them like the plague.”
Dain shifted. Opened his mouth. Azaria raised her bloodied hand. He closed it. Her voice dropped, cold and lethal as a blade.
“The council took something from me.” She stood there, hands trembling at her sides. “Not once. Not twice. Again and again, they came back to take what mattered. The things I bled to protect. The pieces of myself I fought to hold onto.”
Her voice rose just a fraction, but she caught herself. Pressed her bloodied hand flat against her thigh. Forced her breathing to slow.
“And now, after everything, they took something else.”
What was in her now ran deeper than rage: a kind of grief I didn’t know how to name. Something primal. Thirsting. Bloodlust so deep my magic bristled against it.
I glanced around. Zephyr’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his blade. Kael stared at her like he’d never seen her before. Thorne stood like a mountain about to fall. And Elias? He was watching her like he already understood what she hadn’t said aloud.
“What did they take from you?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Azaria looked at him. “The part of me that thought mercy was strength.”
She let the words hang there.
“I’m done being merciful.”
No one moved. No one breathed. My blood magic hummed—not in warning, but in recognition. This wasn’t grief anymore. This was a vow.
The door opened. A palace runner stood there. Young, couldn’t have been over sixteen. He stepped in slowly, stiffened when he noticed the mood in the room. The bloodied knuckles. The captain standing there like a blade about to fall. Azaria slowly raised her head toward him.
“What?” she barked.
Even my magic flinched at that tone. The kid went white as a sheet. He looked ready to bolt.
“Hi-High Lord Tywin requests your p-presence in the war room, immediately, M-Ma’am.” He swallowed hard. “Your squad too.”
Azaria stared at him. The silence stretched. “Understood.”
The kid nodded frantically, turned, and ran. The door slammed shut behind him. I glanced back at Azaria, something tightening in my chest. Concern, maybe, or a warning. Whatever had just broken open in her, that cold, lethal vow, was still there, humming beneath her skin.
“Something must have happened,” Dain offered quietly.
Azaria nodded once. “Gear up and go to Tywin.”
We moved immediately: Reyna to the weapon rack, Kael checking his blades, Zephyr muttering something dark under his breath.
“Captain.”
Thorne stepped forward, holding something carefully in his large hands. Her gear. The bracer. The belt. The blades. Her white cloak folded precisely on top. She softened just a fraction and looked up at him.
“Thank you, Thorne.”
He nodded once, silent as always, and stepped back. She set the cloak on the sofa beside her and started putting her artifacts back on. One by one, methodical and controlled. Belt buckled. Blades sheathed. Ring adjusted.
She paused at the bracer. The one I’d given her after her old one shattered during the mission. She ran her fingers over it once, slowly. Slid it on and fastened the clasp in one smooth motion, flexed her fingers, testing the fit.
Something tightened in my chest. She still wore it. Even after everything. Even now. She looked up and met my eyes across the room. Held them for a heartbeat. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. She nodded once, picked up the white cloak, and turned to the squad.
“Move out,” she said, voice steady. Captain voice. “Let’s find out what Tywin wants.”
We fell into formation—Dain at her side, the rest of us flanking. Thorne brought up the rear, solid and unmovable as always. Azaria led the way, spine straight, bloodied knuckles still visible, white cloak settling across her shoulders like armor.
Whatever waited in that war room—whatever Tywin was about to throw at us?—
We’d face it together.