Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

CASSIAN

C assian saw them before he smelled the iron.

Dark shapes cresting the hill above Skyforged. Not Hollowborn—too clean. Too organized. He ducked lower in the trees, heart hammering in his chest. Then he saw the sigils.

Drakar.

His pulse turned to ice.

They moved in tight formation, steel gleaming in the early light.

At the front rode a smug Captain Varros, his silver cloak dragging like shadowfire.

The man smiled like someone who’d already won.

Cassian knew him purley based on reputation and as someone who had not been able to capture Cassian each time he had been ordered to.

But still, he was good. And by good, he meant lethal.

Cassian’s gut sank.

He was halfway through turning back to warn her when the first scream echoed—muffled but distinct. Female. Angry.

Seraphine.

He didn't think. Didn’t breathe. He just moved.

By the time he reached the edge of camp, it was already too late.

They had her.

Shackles. Veil-silk blindfold. Suppression cuffs at her wrists, inked with sigils meant to mute fireborn magic.

She stood tall anyway.

Cassian could see her mouth moving as they dragged her. Defiant. Proud. Probably cursing them six ways to the moon. But her fists trembled. And it broke something in him.

He knew better than to charge in. Not now. Not like this. So he fell back into the trees. Waited. Tracked them through shadow.

As he followed them, he saw that the makeshift prison was little more than a sealed tent warded with blood runes and silence glyphs. But glyphs couldn’t hide the pulse of magic. Couldn’t hide her.

Cassian stayed out of sight, memorizing every patrol rotation. Every lapse. Every weakness. Then, when the moons shifted and the guards grew sluggish, he moved.

No sound. Just shadow and grit and the icy calm of a man with something to lose.

He slit the back flap of the tent with his dagger and slipped inside.

Seraphine sat cross-legged on the ground, chin lifted, eyes closed behind the blindfold. Her cuffs glowed faintly. She didn’t flinch as he approached. But her voice was a rasp of relief.

“Took you long enough.”

Cassian grinned, crouching before her. “What, no ‘thank you for risking life and limb’?”

She turned her head toward him. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“And you’re welcome.”

He sliced the cuffs with a whisper of Stormfire, careful not to scorch her skin.

The sigils fizzled out with a hiss. Her flame ignited instantly—white and seething beneath her skin.

He tugged the blindfold off and met her eyes.

She looked like a star ready to explode. She surged forward—and he thought, for a second, she might hit him. Instead, she grabbed his face and kissed him, hard.

When she pulled back, breath ragged, she muttered, “Next time you leave without a word, I’ll kill you.”

“Deal.”

They snuck out through the same tear he’d made, and it wasn’t until they’d cleared two hills and a ridge that she turned to him.

“You’re insane.”

He glanced sideways. “You say that like it’s news.”

She snorted, then sobered.

“Varros won’t let this slide.”

“I know.”

“The Court will?—”

“I don’t care.”

He stopped walking.

She did too.

He looked at her—really looked at her.

“I’m not going back to the Citadel,” he said. “And neither are you.”

She raised a brow. “You planning to kidnap me?”

“No,” he said. “I’m giving you the choice.”

Her gaze softened. “I already made it.”

He took her through the slit he made but not out the way he came. He knew of the tunnels and they led to where they needed to go for the next shard. Below the camp.

They didn’t reunite with the others. Not this time.

When she asked where the others were, his answer was low, regretful.

“They’re heading back to the Citadel,” he said. “Varros let them go, under the condition they report to the Court.”

“And you didn’t stop them?”

“I couldn’t. We were outnumbered. Outranked. The mission would’ve been over if I did.”

Seraphine had gone quiet at that. Not angry, but something close. Something worse.

Cassian led them deeper into the lava tunnels. Not from memory. Not this time.

From the map.

They’d cross-referenced the etched circles from Malrik’s vision against the leyline distortions. And the next shard—if the gods had a shred of mercy—was buried beneath the oldest temple in the region, deep in the Hollow’s edge right underneath where they had tried to hold Seraphine.

Seraphine walked close behind him, eyes scanning every flicker of light, every hiss of sulfur. Her armor stuck to her skin, her braid soaked with sweat. But she didn’t complain. Not once.

Cassian’s respect for her had been forged in fire long before now. But it deepened every time she didn’t flinch.

They reached the hollow chamber just before dusk.

A massive dome of blackened stone stretched before them, rimmed with four shattered spires that jutted like the teeth of a dead god. Lava seeped in streams along the walls, illuminating runes half-lost to time.

Cassian stopped just inside, jaw tight.

“This is it,” he said. “The shard should be somewhere near the central altar.”

He stepped forward. And that’s when the shadows shifted.

A woman with platinum hair and cold blue eyes stepped out from behind the furthest spire, wrapped in crimson silk, her smile all venom and certainty.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Seraphine’s hand went instantly to her blade. “Vaela. You followed us.”

“No,” Vaela purred. “I anticipated you.”

She tapped the edge of her boot against the carved stone.

“You should’ve been more careful with those map fragments, cousin. Sablewing ink leaves a trace if you know what to look for.”

Cassian stepped in front of Seraphine, his own blade half-drawn.

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Vaela said, eyes glinting with cruel delight. “You’re trespassing on Drakar excavation grounds. Which makes you enemies of the state.”

Seraphine took a step forward, whitefire coiling beneath her skin. “Try and stop us.”

Vaela’s smile sharpened.

The ground beneath their feet began to crack.