The fire didn’t touch the retreating riders. It curved around them like it had eyes, a force shaped by will and rage and something ancient.
The Crimson Sigil didn’t even have time to scream.
They were there.
And then they were gone.
Their bodies turned to ash in an instant, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. The air shimmered with heat and the smell of scorched steel.
Silence fell.
Even the dragons in the skies above hovered without a sound, the storm of battle dying as suddenly as it began.
I took a step forward, staring at the scorched ground, the blackened blades, the piles of drifting ash.
Kaelith’s voice returned to my mind, softer now.
They threatened our riders and our young.
I swallowed hard and reached for Zander’s hand.
“They picked the wrong battlefield,” I whispered.
Zander nodded once. “And the wrong dragons.”
I ran.
My breath caught in my throat, legs moving faster than my thoughts, until I was skidding to my knees beside Cordelle. He had Riven cradled gently, her head resting in his lap, blood darkening the dirt beneath her.
Meri knelt at her side, her hands glowing with that soft, golden light that always felt like the first warm day after winter. The wound on Riven’s shoulder was deep, but the bleeding had slowed, and I could already see new skin knitting beneath Meri’s magic.
“She’ll be okay,” Meri whispered without looking up, her voice resolute and fierce.
Riven’s eyes fluttered open.
“Did I at least look cool going down?” she rasped, and winked.
A shaky laugh burst from my throat, too close to a sob. I blinked fast, trying to banish the tears that burned the backs of my eyes.Not now. She’s alive. She’s alive.
“You always look cool,” I whispered, brushing a piece of ash from her cheek. “Even with a hole in your shoulder.”
Cordelle’s fingers tightened protectively around her, his green eyes fierce despite the freckles that made him look far too young to be cradling a wounded warrior.
The castle doors slammed open behind us.
Major Ledor strode out, flanked by a half-dozen guards, not with weapons, but armed with brooms, buckets, and cloths. Ash still drifted on the wind, catching in the folds of their cloaks. One of the guards gagged at the scent of scorched leather and burnt bone.
They didn’t speak. Just fanned out wordlessly and began to sweep what was left of the Crimson Sigil into piles of soot.
Major Ledor didn’t even glance at them.
His boots stopped at the edge of the scorched field where his podium had once stood, now nothing but molten slag and splintered wood.
He stared at the blackened ground, at the place where fire had eaten treachery whole.
Then he turned toward me.
But I didn’t rise. I stayed kneeling at Riven’s side, my hand still on hers, Kaelith’s heat still curling in the air around us like a warning.
