Page 68 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

We rose with the sun, pale gold filtering through the tall windows, catching dust in the beams like suspended magic. One by one, we packed up our gear in silence, bedrolls, weapons, maps, a few ration packs we hadn’t eaten.

No one said much.

We knew what came next.

War was never announced with horns. It crept on booted feet and dragon wings, waiting for the day we’d stop pretending peace was an option.

Outside, the wind carried salt and purpose. We stepped onto the worn stone path that led from the quarters to the landing grounds. My boots felt heavier with each step, my fingers aching from gripping too tight to everything I couldn’t control.

But as we reached the edge of the cliffs, I called for Kaelith.

And her voice lit in my mind like fire answering flame.

I am here.

The skies over Warriath were clearer than when we left, the sharp peaks and jagged towers of the stronghold rising like a crown from the cliffs below. It was strange how familiar the sight had become, like something from a dream I couldn’t escape, and maybe didn’t want to.

We descended in tight formation, dragons casting massive shadows across the Ascension Grounds as they landed in practiced silence. The ground trembled beneath Kaelith’s clawsas she touched down, wings folding with regal grace as the others followed.

I slid from the saddle with a soft grunt, muscles tight and sore from the long flight. The leather of my seat creaked beneath me as I unclipped it from Kaelith’s back. Remy stepped beside me without a word, helping unbuckle the damaged strap he’d repaired during our mission.

“It’ll hold,” he muttered, “but not for long.”

“I know.” I gave him a small nod. “Thank you… for fixing it. Zander is getting me a new one.”

His eyes flicked to mine for a moment, but whatever he might’ve said next was swallowed by the wind as Zander approached, his usual purposeful stride slowed just enough to make it feel intentional. He walked away as Zander stopped beside me.

“We need to see Alahathrial,” he said, voice low. “I’m heading there in an hour.”

I straightened, pulse skipping. “I want to go.”

“I figured,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “But I can’t get you approved. You’ll have to meet me at the dungeon entrance. I can dismiss the guards, but I have no reason to bring a prospect to see a prisoner.”

“He’s not really a prisoner,” I replied, keeping my voice hushed even as we walked toward the gear rails. I lifted the saddle with effort and slid it into place alongside the others.

“He is,” Zander said with a small shake of his head, “as far as my family is concerned. His…leavesare alwaysauthorized.Or so I’m told.”

I blinked. “Why don’t you know more about him? You’re royalty. Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d be briefed on?”

Zander exhaled slowly. “I’ve never met him before this. My father asked me to stay away from that wing. And until now, I had no reason to disobey.”

“That’s… odd.”

He didn’t answer.

I could see it in his eyes, he thought so too.

“I’ll meet you in an hour,” I said, tightening the last strap on my pack.

He nodded once, then turned without another word.

I slipped through the wide barracks doors, the familiar scent of oiled leather, sweat, and faint herbs grounding me for a moment. The others were unpacking in small, tired clusters, too worn from the journey to talk much. I moved toward my bunk, unstrapping my weapons and setting the gear bag at the foot of my bed.

Riven sat cross-legged on her own cot, polishing one of her throwing knives. Cordelle lounged nearby, a book half open on his lap though he hadn’t turned the page in some time. They both looked up as I approached.

“I’m heading out,” I said in a low voice, keeping my tone casual but my eyes sharp.

“Where?” Riven asked, already suspicious, her fingers pausing on the cloth she used to clean her blade.