And that’s when she spoke.
Not yet.
Kaelith’s voice dropped into my mind like a whisper of thunder.
There is much you don’t know. Kass’ rider will heal by morning. Let it be.
She was gone before I could respond, quick as lightning, cold as frost.
A knock sounded at the barracks door, loud and deliberate.
Jax moved to open it, his shoulders squared in case it was another insult sent by the crown.
But it was Remy.
He looked tired. Focused.
“Come to the Ascension Grounds,” he said, voice tight with urgency.
Something was happening.
And I wasn’t sure if it would bring answers, or start a war.
I fell into step beside Remy, my boots crunching softly on the gravel path leading to the Ascension Grounds. The sky above was steel-gray, matching the mood boiling beneath my skin.
“Did you know?” I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
He glanced at me. “Did I know what?”
“That Theron pulled healer support from Thrall Squad,” I snapped. “That we’re on our own. It’s only a matter of time before one of us dies because of it.”
Remy stopped just shy of the open grounds, his brows pulling together sharply.
“He did what?”
“You’re not deaf, Remy,” I said, stepping in front of him. “You just pretend you are when you don’t like what you’re told.”
His jaw flexed, and for a moment I saw the guilt flicker behind his usual calm. “I’ll get this sorted out. No monarch, acting or not, can withdraw healing rights from a squad of bonded cadets. Even criminals are afforded basic medical support.”
“So we’re criminals now?” I asked quietly, the words cutting harder than I intended.
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers raking through the dark strands. “That’s not what I meant.”
But I didn’t get the chance to respond, because shouting erupted ahead of us.
We both turned.
The Ascension Grounds were chaos.
Stormforge and Iron Fang were facing off across the sparring circle, squads split down the center with swords half-drawn and tempers already flaring. The major stood between the two squad leaders, arms raised, his voice lost under the rising heat of the argument.
At the heart of it all stood two figures.
Elordon, Iron Fang’s leader, was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his armor etched with dark crimson and burnished steel. His short blond hair was sweat-damp, and his hand gripped the pommel of his sword like it belonged drawn.
Across from him was Lirane.
Leader of Stormforge.
