A table of volcanic glass dominates the center of the room—at least fifteen feet long, its surface rippling with enchantment. Maps hover above it, shifting and rotating in response to unseen commands. Pyraeth in miniature, rendered in light and shadow, every district marked, every street visible.
Red points pulse throughout the lower levels—ritual nodes, I realize. Blood-oath anchors. More than I’d mapped myself, dozens more, spreading through the city in patterns I’d only guessed at.
Along the walls, shelving units hold samples I recognize with unease. Blood-stained ash in sealed containers. Fragments of binding materials. Ritual components that make my stomach turn—the physical residue of magic designed to enslave.
And books. Scrolls. Documents stacked in organized chaos, research materials accumulated over what must be months of investigation.
The Flight’s scholars have been thorough. More thorough than I gave them credit for.
“Your intelligence network has been busy.” I approach the table, drawn despite myself to the pulsing map of the city. “This is more comprehensive than anything I’ve seen.”
“And yet we’re still losing ground.” Izan moves to the opposite side of the table, his body creating a barrier of heat across the glass surface. “The network adapts faster than we can respond. Every node we destroy, two more appear. Every binding we break, ten new victims are claimed.”
I study the red points, tracing patterns with my eyes. The cascade structure I’d described in the interrogation is visible here—each node linking to three others, creating redundancy, creating resilience. But there’s another pattern. One I hadn’t seen before with my limited view.
“These nodes.” I point to a cluster in the merchant districts. “They’re not creating redundancy. They’re building toward a specific end. See how they’re positioned?” My finger traces an arc across the glowing map. “It’s a containment structure. Like a net, closing around the upper districts.”
Izan rounds the table. Comes to stand beside me. The temperature in the room rises several degrees.
“Explain.”
“Blood magic needs anchors. Physical points that ground the working.” I gesture toward the pattern I’ve identified, hyper-aware of his proximity, of the heat radiating from his body mere inches from mine. “A single node can bind dozens of people, but the bindings are local. Limited range. But if you position nodes correctly—if you create overlapping fields of influence?—”
“You can bind an entire area at once.” He finishes my thought, his voice dropping low. “Not individuals. Territory.”
“The cascade system isn’t for defense. It’s for expansion.”
“He’s not building a network. He’s building a trap. And when it closes?—”
“Everyone inside the containment zone becomes bound.” His hand flexes at his side. I catch the movement in my peripheral vision—the subtle tell of violence barely restrained. “Including the dragons in the upper districts.”
The implications land with brutal clarity. The Blood Regent isn’t trying to claim Pyraeth citizen by citizen. He’s trying to claim it all at once. Dragons included.
“The stolen dragon blood in his bindings.” I work through the logic aloud, my mind racing. “It doesn’t strengthen the oaths alone. It creates a back door. A way to use draconic authority against dragons themselves.”
“That’s not possible.” But his voice carries doubt. “Dragon authority can’t be turned against its source.”
“True authority can’t. But his isn’t true, is it?” I turn to face him fully, and the motion brings me closer than I intended. Heat presses against my skin—present, demanding, alive. “He’s processing stolen blood through ash-based rituals. Creating a mockery of draconic power. If the binding recognizes that mockery as authentic—even partially?—”
“It could override genuine authority.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Temporarily.”
“Temporarily is long enough, if you’re trying to complete a working that binds an entire city.”
I’m acutely aware of how close we’re standing.
I step back. Create distance. Breathe.
“Show me what samples you have.” I force my attention to the shelving units along the wall. “If I can analyze the binding components, I might be able to identify the central node. The coordination point that will trigger the final working.”
EIGHT
ALERIE
Hours pass.
The work is absorbing in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The Flight’s scholars have been thorough in their collection—blood samples, ash residue, fragments of binding materials from a dozen different nodes. Each sample tells a story. Each variation in composition reveals another piece of the Blood Regent’s methodology.
I lose myself in analysis. It’s been years since I’ve had proper resources, proper space to work, proper materials to examine. My captors wanted results without investment—the benefits of my bloodline without the effort of supporting my research.
