But I felt something in our squad fracture.
Just a crack.
But it was there.
Major Ledor gave one final glance over the assembled squads before turning sharply on his heel, his crimson cloak snapping behind him. The named riders followed in silence, boots heavy against stone, expressions varying from stone-faced to quietly shaken.
Ferrula didn’t look back. Not at Jax. Not at us.
That—more than anything—made my chest tighten.
As soon as the castle doors swallowed them, the rest of the Ascension Grounds began to stir. Riders turned to their own squads, murmuring in low, urgent voices. Groups tightened, lines reformed, not just physical but political. The fracture was spreading, and everyone felt it.
Thrall Squad moved closer, instinctively closing ranks.
“No way Ferrula’s a sympathizer,” Teren said, folding his arms, his red-brown hair wind-tossed from the earlier chaos. “She’d sooner gut someone with her bare hands than betray a dragon.”
Naia, standing beside him, frowned. “Then why would anyone think she is? Who gave them the list?”
“The crown never reveals its source,” Cordelle murmured. “That’s the trick. Accusation first, questions later.”
Riven let out a low whistle, scanning the grounds. “This isn’t about proof. This is about fear.”
“She’s Dirian,” Jax finally said, his voice hollow but firm. “She doesn’t bow to anyone. Especially not the Varnari.” He stared at the doors where she’d vanished, his fists clenched. “If they think intimidation will work on her, they’re in for a surprise.”
We all nodded, but the silence that followed was uneasy.
Across the grounds, movement caught my eye.
Zander.
He stood at the edge of the Crownwatch cluster, his posture rigid, his hands cutting through the air as he spoke. Whateverhe was saying wasn’t being received well. The riders around him, three of them older, with polished armor and tired eyes, stood in firm opposition. One of them jabbed a finger toward the castle. Another shook his head.
Beside Zander stood Cade, arms crossed, glaring at the older riders as if he were one breath away from drawing steel.
Zander’s face was flushed, brows drawn low, his mouth tight with fury.
He wasn’t just defending himself.
He was fighting.
And from this distance, even without hearing the words, it was clear?—
Crownwatch had fractured.
We were still talking in hushed tones with Teren pacing like a caged animal, Naia chewing her bottom lip, and Cordelle clutching his pendant like it was the only stable thing left in the realm, when the castle doors creaked open again.
Ferrula emerged alone.
My breath hitched. She was the first.
Her stride was steady, sure. Her chin lifted with the defiant tilt we’d all come to recognize. No guards flanked her. No chains. Just Ferrula, as immovable as ever, walking straight toward us with blood in her posture and fire barely leashed behind her freckled face.
Jax stepped forward the moment she reached us.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.
Ferrula stopped in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest like armor. “I explained to the major,” she said flatly, “that if I ever encountered a Varnari sympathizer, I’d stick a sword in their belly before agreeing to speak with them.”
