I took the lead, boots barely making a sound on the stone steps spiraling down into the dark. Torchlight flickered below, painting the brick walls gold and crimson.
When we reached the base, the door to Cyran’s office was already ajar.
He was pacing.
His silhouette cut hard shadows against the back wall, but the moment I stepped into the room, he stopped—eyes locking with mine like a man preparing for trial.
“I did not order that assassination,” he said flatly. Not a greeting. Not a defense. A statement of fact.
And that was when I knew—he wasn’t sure if I believed him.
Cyran’s eyes were blazing now, his usual mask of court politeness torn clean away. “This is a damn frame job,” he snapped, pacing behind his desk like a caged predator. “Sloppy. Loud. Public.Wedon’t kill like that.”
His fist slammed against the edge of the table, hard enough that the inkpot wobbled and spilled a trail of black across a half-unrolled map. “And yet the crown wants my head on a pike because it’s convenient.”
Zander stayed by the door, watchful, silent. I stepped closer, my pulse steady now. “I believe you.”
Cyran stilled. His gaze cut to me. “Good,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I’d have to waste time convincing you instead of hunting the bastard who did this.”
“We’ll find the real killer,” I said. “And we’ll bring proof. Not just to Theron, but to every damn guild who thinks you put the blade in Lady Belana’s back.”
Cyran’s lip curled. “The Assassin’s Guild always takes responsibility for its kills. Always. It’s what keeps the balance.” He leaned forward, eyes hard. “This was not one of ours.”
I nodded. “I know. I was trained in the Order. I’ve seen your contracts. There’s always a mark. Always a seal. This? This was staged to look like chaos.”
“Exactly,” Cyran muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “And it was meant to point right at me. They didn’t just want Belana dead—they wanted the Order dismantled and me removed from play.”
And let’s be honest, I thought grimly. Framing my father wasn’t exactly a reach. He’d done worse with less reason.
But this wasn’t his crime.
I could feel it in my bones.
“We’ll dig,” Zander said finally, his voice low and resolute. “And we’ll clear this.”
Cyran’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. Then, with a bitter breath, he turned away and waved us off. “Then go before someone sees you down here and I have another lie to spin.”
We left the tavern by the side alley, slipping into shadow just as the clouds began to roll in—thick and heavy with rain.
The Order hadn’t done it.
But someone wanted us to believe they had.
And whoever it was… was about to learn just how dangerous it was to make my father look like the villain. Because this time, he wasn’t.
Chapter
Three
Iwoke to Riven shaking my shoulder, her red hair damp with morning dew and her eyes sharp with alarm.
“Something’s happened,” she said, voice low but urgent. “Get up.”
My mind snapped into clarity before my body did.Zander and I—We’d returned late last night, slipping back into the Ascension Grounds under the cover of dying moonlight. The combat trials had ended, the adrenaline spent. We ate in silence with the others, exhaustion clinging to our bones. No questions. No suspicion.
Just wariness.
We’d barely spoken a word when we reached the barracks. Everyone had collapsed into bed like corpses.
