Page 11 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

“Some kind of fae artifact,” Cordelle said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s linked to a powerful and destructive magic. Older than the kingdom. Older than the Unification. It says it wassealed away by light,but the location was lost during the Blood Fae war.”

Riven pushed off her cot and crossed to him. “You think it’s the weapon the king’s looking for?”

“I think itisthe weapon. Or maybe the source of one.” He looked at me then. “And if the Blood Fae want you because of your blood?—”

“—then maybe they think I can unseal it,” I finished, a knot tightening in my gut.

Before anyone could say more, a knock echoed sharply on the door.

We all froze.

Jax rose and moved toward it, cautious but unafraid. He cracked the door open and exchanged quiet words with someone outside before accepting two missives.

He turned and walked back toward me, brow furrowed.

“A courier,” he said, handing it over. “One is for you.”

I stared down at the envelope as Jax opened the other.

Thick parchment. Heavy. The wax seal a deep-crimson stamped with the unmistakable image of the crown entwined with three dragons.

My throat went dry.

“It’s sealed with the king’s crest,” I murmured, fingers curling tighter around it.

No one spoke.

I dressed quickly but meticulously, hands sure despite the unease tightening in my chest. The envelope with the royal crest sat on my bunk, already opened and reread twice. The summons inside had been short, impersonal, and terrifyingly direct.

“What was the other letter?” I asked Jax.

“Naia and I pooled our money to bring our mother to Warriath. We can support her here and see her often once we secure privileges.”

“I’m glad.” Jax had been orphaned too. But he had found Naia and her brother. How I envied him.

I buckled my flight leathers and pulled my coat tight, fingers pausing at the clasp before I shoved the letter into my pocket. Kaelith stirred faintly in the back of my mind, her presence like heat against a winter wind, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She knew.

As soon as I stepped out of the barracks and onto the Ascension Grounds, the courier was there.

Waiting.

He wore the same simple gray and crimson uniform as before, expression perfectly neutral as he turned on his heel and motioned for me to follow.

No words. Just purpose.

We crossed the grounds in silence, the towers of the castle rising ahead like watchful gods. The castle guards at the gatedidn’t spare me a glance. They were clearly used to the courier ushering people inside without question.

The interior was a different world altogether, elegance woven into every breath. Polished marble floors reflected the glow of enchanted lanterns overhead. Crimson and gold tapestries hung in long swathes, bearing the royal crest and the three-headed dragon of the crown. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment.

We passed through two long halls before the courier stopped outside a carved wooden door, opened it, and gestured me in.

The room inside was warm with firelight and excess. Gilded trim lined the walls, and a crystal decanter sat untouched on a sideboard beside two glasses. The chairs were deep velvet, the carpets thick enough to swallow your footsteps. And at the far end, flanked by silent carved dragons in the stonework, the king sat in a high-backed chair, its arms and headrest carved in the likeness of dragons mid-flight, crimson-velvet cushions softening the throne’s edge.

He didn’t rise. He only studied me with eyes sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.

“Sit,” he said.

The courier bowed and left, the door clicking shut behind him.