Inside, the barracks were quiet. My squad had returned before me, scattered across the common room in various states of exhaustion. Cordelle was propped against a pillow, reading quietly. Riven and Naia were playing cards on the floor. Ferrula was sharpening her blade. Jax leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them all like the silent protector he was. Tae was stretched out in a chair, half-asleep with one boot off.
When I entered, they all looked up.
I held up my hand.
“I took a blood oath.”
Cordelle sat forward, the book sliding from his lap. “With Cyran?”
“Yes.”
Riven raised a brow. “Why wouldheofferthat?”
“Because he knows someone’s manipulating the Order. And the Crimson Sigil. Possibly the Varnari too.” I moved to sit on the edge of one of the bunks. “And he knows I might be the only one able to get close enough to find out who.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s scared.”
“Yes,” I replied.
Ferrula nodded slowly. “Smart move, though. Keeps the knives off your back, for now.”
“I still don’t trust him,” Naia muttered.
“Neither do I,” I said. “But at least now, if he betrays me, he burns for it.”
That settled over the room like a quiet truth. Not a comfort, but a weapon. And we were learning how to hold it.
One by one, the others drifted to their beds, the exhaustion of the day finally weighing heavier than the questions. I pulled off my boots and sank onto my mattress, still fully clothed, my hand throbbing where the blade had opened me.
Tonight, the blood pact protected me.
Tomorrow?
We’d see.
The blare of sirens ripped through the stillness like a blade through silk, jolting me from the fragile thread of sleep. The room pulsed with red light from the beacon outside, shadows twisting across the stone walls of our barracks.
“Up!” Ferrula shouted, already halfway into her armor.
I rolled out of bed, heart hammering, and grabbed my boots. Around me, the squad scrambled—Jax hauling his tunic over his head, Riven cursing as she shoved a dagger into her belt, Naia and Cordelle moving with clockwork precision.
By the time we stepped outside, the sun had only just begun to stretch across the horizon, the sky still clinging to the last violet shades of night. The Ascension Grounds buzzed with squads falling into formation, banners fluttering in the wind, armor clanking as bodies moved into place.
We lined up beneath our own banner, Kaelith’s deep violet silhouette fierce against the morning breeze.
But my eyes caught immediately on what had changed.
Two new banners had been staked on either side of the podium.
One bore a silver wolf with a crown—Dorian’shouse sigil.
The other, a blood-red phoenix rising from fire—Theron’s.
Tae blew out a breath beside me, tugging at his gauntlet. “Those are the princes’ personal banners.”
“Then where’s Zander’s?” I asked, scanning for a third.
Tae shrugged. “There isn’t one. Because he’snotvying for the throne.”
