Standing over the desk, I see the trellised ivy shattered on the ground, and rage begins to boil inside me. I bend and gather the pieces of broken pottery, placing them in a bin. I reach for one of the discarded mugs from when I first tried to tidy his desk yesterday—an act of kindness so clearly in vain—and nestle the green tendrils and soil within. By the time I have the plant righted, I am seething.
I can feel Soria’s gaze on me. Vale’s too—it would be impossible to miss. They are wise enough not to approach. Not yet.
“That bastard,” I say at last. The closest thing to hate I have ever allowed my heart to hold. When others turned on me, I was hurt—but I knew their minds had turned toxic, that they would have to live with it while I could escape.
But this?—
“I trusted him. He let me trust him. And all the while he clung to the shadows…” I ball my hands into fists. Never have I burned with such fury. I strike the desk with the side of my hand. The room falls quiet. “And just like that, he’s gone,” I spit. “The coward will never face me. Never face what he did.”
It hits me then: I still do not know how he died.
The turmoil I felt when the messenger arrived nearly wrecked me. By the time I’d clawed back even a little, all my thoughts were for Ace—and praying the gods might spare him.
Vale approaches slowly. “He was a coward,” he says. “It’s monstrous that he will never pay as he should for his actions.” His hand settles on my arm, steadying, and then he glances toward Odrin, reaching for the theories they’ve already traded. “We believe he was silenced. Whoever he worked with ensured he couldn’t speak their names. All the more reason no one has touched this room until I could enter it myself.”
A tear falls down my cheek. I wipe it away.
That one was for me. For Ace. For the fact that I will never be able to look Fenloris in the eye and tell him just how sickeningly weak he truly was.
I steel myself. I will not shed another tear for our betrayer.
We spend hours combing through the stacks of paper, sorting them into small, neat defeats. Routine. Harmless. Ordinary. Nothing as damning as the hidden seal press surfaces—only a few vague messages, half-phrases, and signatures that go nowhere. There is little to grasp from them beyond the one line that has begun to haunt my days.
Long live the Ironborne Flame.
Leaning back against the wall, all of us sagging under the weight of diminishing hope, I turn over the only place I haven’t yet searched.
My own mind.
I replay every word Fenloris spoke from the moment he realized he’d been found out. He spoke of power. Gods, he was so entitled. Everyone lost something in the Fade. Even someone like me knows the sting of loss—no one escapes it in their lifetime. He twisted his into hate. An insignificant man fighting in all the wrong ways to matter.
“Real power will rise.”
I don’t realize I’ve said the words aloud until the others look up, grateful and wary at anything new after such a fruitless slog. Their eyes ask the question I’ve been trying not to name aloud.
“That’s what he said,” I tell them, pushing off the wall. “Real power will rise.It wasn’t just his own bitterness turned against us. He was acting in service of something. More than a person.”
I swallow, the truth settling like stone. “A cause.”
“Causes have a way of outliving the fools who serve them,” Soria says. “We may not find answers here—only more questions. None of which will help save Ace.”
Having exhausted our search as best we can, we leave the tragic scene. Daerin stays behind with those appointed to finish the work. His talent for blending in among any assortment of people—and his keen eye for their behavior—will ensure anyone reaching for something we’ve yet to uncover will not do so unseen.
Back in our chambers, we set aside the pile of papers that may relate to the threat ahead, along with Fenloris’ ledgers. If there is anything to decode, we will find a way. But for now, I want to be where it truly matters.
We’ve been told Ace seems slightly improved. He’s more lucid. And I can think of nothing more important than being at his side.
Hoping to offer the same comfort Vale and I found in each other when the night pressed too harshly against us, I grab the crooked leather-bound book from beside the bed. Warmth stirs in my chest at the thought of the stories Ace and I might spin from prophecies long forgotten. My imagination may have its uses, but Ace—his gifts are limitless.
“I must tend to the council,” Vale says. “I know you’ll look after Ace.” He holds me a moment before we part. I cling to him—strong and steady as the mountain itself. “You have a healing way about you, Mira,” he murmurs, that quiet faith of his keeping the flame of hope alive in me. “I will join you soon.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and we separate where the corridor splits.
With the book clutched tightly to my chest, I inhale and tell myself it will all be alright. Sunlight reaches through a nearby window, still high in summer’s late afternoon sky. I let it warm me. Feel the way it touches not only my skin but something in my soul.
The light is softer when I reach the hospital ward, but fresh air still slips past the gossamer curtains. Ace smiles when he sees me, and I nearly run to his side. My skirt lifts behind me with the urgency of my steps.
“You’re awake,” I say, choking back my emotions.
