Blood Fae runes.
They shimmered faintly beneath the ash, carved with such precision that the stone still bled darkness around the edges. Words of domination. Of territory. Of warning.
“They’ve claimed this territory,” I whispered.
Zander nodded, gaze lifting toward the copper-washed sky. “We’re too late.”
We rounded a collapsed building, the smell of smoke and blood thicker here, clinging to the ground like fog. That was when I saw boots, half-buried in ash, sticking out from a scorched doorway.
“Someone’s there.”
We ran.
Zander shoved aside what was left of the frame and dropped to his knees. I followed, kneeling beside the blackened body. His clothes had been reduced to ash in places, but the skin on his chest was relatively untouched.
The tattoos were unmistakable.
Crimson Sigil.
An inked serpent coiled around a sword, the blades slick with stylized blood. I exhaled, my heart thudding.
“He was one of them,” I muttered.
“Look at his hand.” Zander lifted the man’s fingers gently. The charred remains of a ring clung to his middle finger, enough to make out the crest. A rearing horse, crowned with flames.
“The crest of Caston’s royal family.”
“He was a royal?” My voice cracked on the words.
Zander’s expression darkened. “Yes. And a traitor.”
“Why would a royal side with the Sigil?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat back on his heels, eyes distant.
“Because,” he finally said, “the farther you are from Warriath, the more diluted the bloodlines become. Marriages are made for land, for alliances. Not magic. By the third or fourth generation, there’s barely any power left.”
I swallowed hard, the truth settling like stone in my stomach.
“So they turned to the Sigil,” I whispered. “Because they were powerless.”
“Because they wanted to be feared again.”
Zander met my gaze then, and there was something cold behind his eyes. Something I hadn’t seen in him before.
“They weren’t the only ones.”
Remy’s boots crunched over ash and loose stone as he stalked toward us, face unreadable, the light casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. Zander turned to him like he’d been waiting for a fight.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Zander’s voice was sharp, a blade unsheathed. “You were told to scout west.”
Remy didn’t flinch. “I don’t answer to you. I’m here on Theron’s orders.”
Zander took a step forward, his fists clenched so tightly I thought the leather of his gloves might tear. “You don’t answer to me, but you sure as hell don’t get to compromise the mission just to keep playing lapdog to the prince regent.”
“You’re one to talk,” Remy snapped, stepping into Zander’s space. “You think this is about the mission? You’ve made everything personal since the moment she bonded with that dragon.”
“That dragon has a name,” Zander hissed. “And if you touch Ashe again?—”
