Saelith.The name surfaces with the particular quality of a piece clicking into a pattern. Corveth’s deputy, who Corveth briefed on the Ch8 patrol coordination, who would have seen every operation since. Whose access runs exactly as deep as the leak suggests.
I set that aside for now. A conversation for later, with Seravax, where the accusation can be verified before it destroys an innocent man. But the shape of it is there, complete, waiting.
“Then we change our tactics.” Kaelreth’s voice carries the weight of ancient certainty. “Strike the cistern directly. Overwhelm his defenses before?—”
“He’s expecting that too.” I hold the senior dragon’s stare without flinching. “The moment we discovered the pattern, direct assault became the obvious move. The cistern will be fortified. Warded. Filled with Ash Cardinals and blood-bound soldiers. Every approach will be covered.”
“Then what do you suggest?” The skepticism in Kaelreth’s tone could cut glass. “We do nothing while he completes his ritual?”
“No.” I take a breath. “I suggest we give him what he really wants.”
The argumentthat follows is predictable.
Izan erupts first—a snarl of denial that makes the air temperature spike. Kaelreth launches into a strategic objection about risking valuable assets.
I let them rage and reason while I organize my thoughts.
“The Vireth bloodline.” I speak into the first pause, cutting through the objections with precision. “That’s what this has always been about. Every witch of my line who’s been hunted over the past months. He drained them before he killed them—processing their power for the ritual, then eliminating anyone who might use it against him. The last one he kept alive for the working itself, but she died before he could complete it. That’s why I’m the only one left. And that’s why he needs me now.”
“We knew this.” Izan’s control is fraying at the edges. “It’s why you’ve been under protection since?—”
“You knew he wanted to stop me from breaking his oaths.” I meet his burning stare without wavering. “But that’s not the only use for Vireth blood. My line doesn’t only sever bindings—we can anchor them. Complete them. The same power that breaks blood-oaths can make themunbreakable.”
Understanding dawns in Seravax’s expression first. “The city-wide binding. He needs a Vireth component.”
“He needs Vireth blood to complete the ritual.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “Either from a willing participant—which he won’t find—or from a captured witch whose power he can drain. That’s why the cistern is fortified. He’s not just protecting his ritual; he’s waiting for me to come to him.”
“Then you don’t go.” Izan’s voice has dropped into that dangerous register—too much dragon bleeding through. “We find another way. A different approach. Something that doesn’t require?—”
“There is no other approach.” I keep my tone level despite the fear coiling in my stomach. “The ritual needs Vireth blood to complete. It also needs Vireth blood to break. I’m the only one who can sever a working of this scale before it activates. And the only way to reach it is to let the Blood Regent think he’s getting what he wants.”
“You’re suggesting we use you as bait.” Kaelreth’s voice carries an unexpected note—not disapproval, but grudging respect. “Walk into his trap and spring it before he’s ready.”
“I’m suggesting we give him a target he can’t resist.” I turn back to the map, to the pulsing point of the cistern. “If I approach the ritual site, he’ll commit everything to capturing me. His forces will be focused on a single objective. And while they’re focused on me?—”
“We destroy everything else.” Seravax completes the thought. “Strike teams hitting the remaining nodes. Dragons burning the approach routes. Chaos on every front while you move toward the center.”
“No.” Izan’s refusal cuts through the strategic discussion like a blade. He’s moved closer without my noticing, and when I turn, his face is inches from mine. The ember-glow in his eyes has intensified to full volcanic intensity.
“I won’t let you sacrifice yourself.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
Neither of us moves. I watch emotions war across his features—fury and fear and a desperate longing he still won’t name. The dragon he’s been fighting to control surges toward the surface, and for a moment, I think he might transform right here in the strategy chamber.
“The balcony.” Strained to near-breaking. “You stood there and told me you wanted to stay. That you were making a decision for yourself. And now you’re walking into a trap designed specifically to kill you.”
“I’m deciding to end this.” I don’t look away from the volcanic intensity of his stare. “To be more than a bloodline that powerful people fight over. To use my power on my own terms, for my own reasons, in service of what I believe is right.”
“And if those reasons get you killed?”
“Then at least, the choice was mine.”
TWENTY-SIX
ALERIE
We argue for hours.
