Dorian is trying to find out who started the sect,Zander added.And what their connection is to the Blood Fae.
Is that why he’s always away?
There was a pause again, longer this time.It’s one of the reasons,he said, but there was something heavier behind the words. Something he wasn’t saying.
I didn’t press. It wasn’t my place to dig into his brother’s secrets, at least not yet.I trust him to handle it,I said instead.
So do I,Zander replied.
But that silence lingered between us like a shadow in the back of my mind. Because deep down, I knew Zander was leaving something out.
And that meant whatever Dorian had discovered… it wasn’t just about the Blood Fae.
The thud of wings outside the dining hall made every fork freeze midair. Dragon talons scraped against stone, heavy and deliberate. Teren was already on his feet, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, though we all knew it was out of reflex rather than fear.
“They’re not supposed to be here,” he said, before striding for the doors.
We followed, the air thick with tension as we stepped onto the Ascension grounds. Two dragons stood where there had been none moments ago, one a sleek brown Swift, the other a dark-green Clubtail with battle-worn scales and the faint scent of soot still clinging to them. Their riders dismounted with practiced ease, their armor dulled from weather and wear, not polished pageantry. These were not fresh recruits.
“I don’t recognize them,” I murmured to Teren as he moved up beside me.
“Technically, they’re Warborn,” he replied, his voice tight. “But they rarely return to the castle. They’ve spent the last three years guarding the middle kingdoms.”
“Like you used to.”
He nodded once, his eyes locked on the man Luthias was already striding toward. His armor bore the Warborn crest but was overlaid with strange markings. Not Varnari. Not Crimson Sigil. Something I didn’t recognize.
“They patrolled the same territory as you?” I asked quietly.
“No. Comrone’s patrol was between Brosha and Moustal. Rough land. High cliffs. Smuggling routes.” Teren’s eyes narrowed. “And not somewhere you abandon without cause.”
“Then why are they back?” My words were more suspicion than question.
Teren’s jaw ticked. “I think Luthias is asking that exact question right now.”
I glanced at Luthias, who stood face-to-face with Comrone. No greetings. No smiles. Just two men trading questions.
Something was off.
And whatever it was, it had the air of a storm building on the horizon.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Luthias stormed toward us, his jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking just below his temple. He looked every bit the warrior he was, but the rage in his eyes made him appear ready to cleave a mountain in two.
Teren stepped into his path. “What is going on? Why are they here?”
Luthias dragged a hand over his bald head, as if trying to smooth out the anger before it boiled over. “The patrols are being recalled,” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “Soon, every dragon in the kingdom will be in Warriath.”
“What?” Teren snapped. His posture stiffened like someone had yanked a cord through his spine. “That’s impossible. Who gave that order?”
“Guess,” Luthias muttered. “It came through the chain of command. All signed by the regent’s hand.”
My pulse kicked harder. “Then who is protecting the outer kingdoms?” I asked, eyes darting between them. “The commoners have no defense against the Blood Fae’s dragons. Not without the riders.”
Luthias stared at me grimly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Silence stretched between us, the kind that curled with dread.
