I let out a long breath, steadying myself. “We don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “But… in a word, yes.”
I bent to retrieve the lantern where it had fallen, the metal still warm in my grip. As I lifted it, the flame inside leapt—wild and sudden—like it had caught the call of my pulse and wanted to answer. Then I looked up and met their eyes and let them see mine. The golden ring burned steady now, no longer hiding, no longer unsure.
Their faces changed, not in fear, but in slow understanding. In awe. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Daen said, drawing out each word slowly.
I told them quickly – the accident, the temple, the blood, my blood and the truth that bled out with it. The Sisterhood, the treachery. What the Queen had taken. What might yet come to pass if we were too late. I did not dress it in prophecy or theatre; I only gave them what I knew and cut it to fit the urgency of the hour.
“You’re here to kill her,” Astrid said, flatly.
I hesitated. “I haven’t decided.”
She snorted. “Please.”
Daen raised one brow. “You came back to Irongate wielding your own flame, walking like something that can’t be stopped – and you’re unsure?”
“I’m telling you,” I said, “I don’t know what this is yet. What I’m walking into. What might become of things if I finish it.”
Astrid just tapped a finger to her temple, then to mine—a motion so familiar it made my chest ache.Use your head,it used to mean, when we were grunts in rusted chainmail and bruises were badges of progress. Then she tilted her chin. “Well, whatever it is, you won’t do it alone.”
Daen gave a small nod. “We’re with you. Same as before.”
I looked at them both – one of fire, one of stone – and felt the old bonds take their place again, worn but unbroken.
“Then we go,” I said, already turning to the horses. “We move under cover of darkness. I want to be at the North Wall before the moon catches the gate.”
We moved back inside to gather what we could. The air had shifted – charged now, purposeful – like the world had started holding its breath around us. I was strapping the last of the armour back in place when Daen glanced over at Mathias, then at me, then back again.
“Are we sure about him?” he asked, without circling the point. “No offence, twig, but you look like someone who thinks ahilt is the sharp end.”
Mathias didn’t flinch. He straightened, fastened the last buckle on the borrowed greaves, and met Daen’s gaze with a steadiness that made the room feel suddenly still.
“None taken,” he said. “But there’s nothing that can keep me from seeing this to the end.”
Something in the way he spoke – the weight behind it, quiet but absolute – made Daen pause. His brow creased slightly, like some understanding brushed close enough to touch but not speak. He gave a slow nod, said, “Yeah, I definitely like him,” and turned away, the matter closed.
We stood around the remnants of the old waystation table as I laid out the plan. “Astrid and Daen go in from the front. Loud, visible. Make them look at you.”
Astrid grinned, already pulling her cloak tighter. “Always loved a grand entrance.”
“While they’re watching,” I went on, “Mathias and I take the river path to the North Wall. There’s a break behind the old watchpost. I’ve used it before. We’ll be inside before they know what’s shifted.”
The North Wall, and then… The Queen’s Hall. I knew she believed her throne room was the safest place in the Keep – woven through with her strongest wards, anchored deep into the bones of the capital itself. But those protections had been laced with my fire too, when it still burned blindly in service of her will. But now that the flame in me moved with its own purpose, I knew—as sure as the foundations of the earth, though I could not explain why—that those spells would not hold me. That they could not. Not me, nor anyone who walked with me. Whatever she had tried to lock behind her walls, I could reach it. And I would.
“No magic?” Daen asked.
“Not if I can help it.”
From one of their saddlebags, Astrid pulled two bloodstained bladesand pressed them into my hands – they were old, worn, and perfectly balanced. “For you,” she said. “Just in case.” She tossed a third to Mathias. “Try not to stab yourself.”
Mathias caught it clean, weighing it once in his palm before sliding it into his belt.
We readied the horses in near silence, the moon just beginning to rise. It cast a pale sheen over the riverbank, over the old stone of Ironhold, and over the four of us standing still for one last breath before the ride began.
Then, we mounted up.
And turned toward Irongate.
Chapter Thirty-One: Frejara
