My gut twisted. “Then who? Who would have that kind of power? That kind of network?”
Solei didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned and fixed her gaze on Zander.
Deadly quiet.
“Where exactly is your oldest brother?” she asked.
Zander went very still.
And the room suddenly felt a whole lot colder.
ChapterEighteen
Solei stood abruptly, brushing her hands on her tunic. “Come on,” she said, her voice leaving no room for debate. “We’ve got a few things to check out before you two disappear into shadows and safehouses.”
Zander raised a brow, but I didn’t hesitate. I followed Solei through the winding back alleys of the city, the scent of smoke and iron thickening with each step. The sun had begun to rise, casting gold across the rooftops, but it didn’t warm the tension settling in my gut.
She brought us to a squat stone building tucked between a tannery and an old apothecary. The blacksmith’s forge.
I’d been here before.
“Let me do the talking,” I murmured to Zander as Solei pushed the door open. “He knows me.”
The air inside was thick with heat and steel, glowing coals bathing the room in an amber light. The blacksmith stood at the anvil, sweat slicking his muscled arms, the hammer stilling when he saw us.
“Jiaran,” I greeted him, stepping forward. “Good to see you.”
The master smith squinted at me through the haze, then smiled behind his soot-streaked beard. “Ah, the Rebec girl. Glad to see you alive. Thought Cyran had lost his mind keepin’ you buried under that compound.”
I gestured to Zander, who stood slightly behind me in a plain cloak. “This is Lockem. My new bodyguard. Courtesy of my father’s lingering paranoia.”
Zander gave a small nod, playing the role with unsettling ease.
Jiaran chuckled. “Smart man, your father. Dangerous times.”
Solei stepped forward, all business. “We need information. About the Crimson Sigil and their alliance with the Varnari.”
Jiaran didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a glowing blade from the forge and plunged it into the quenching trough.
The steel hissed as it met the water, steam erupting in a cloud that swallowed the space around us.
“They’re fools,” he finally said, straightening. His eyes glinted in the haze. “The Sigil. Trustin’ the Varnari’s like sleepin’ beside a snake and expectin’ it not to bite.”
“What do you mean?” Solei asked, her voice cutting through the hiss and crackle.
Jiaran leaned his elbows on the anvil. “The Sigil want power, plain and simple. Think they can break the world and rebuild it with commoners on top. Magic for all.” He spat to the side. “The Varnari don’t want to share power—they want to control the crown.”
He looked at each of us in turn, his gaze hard.
“They’ve struck a temporary truce because they’ve got a shared enemy.The riders. The guild. Anyone who controls the dragons. But mark my word. As soon as the riders fall, they’ll turn on each other like wolves over a fresh kill.”
Silence hung between us, broken only by the pop of coals in the forge.
“All will betray us,” he said again, quieter now. “Because that’s what desperate people do when they think the throne’s up for grabs.”
Solei didn’t argue.
Neither did I.
