Page 56

The smell of ash was thick in the air.

I woke to an intense heat pressing against the walls of the hostel, radiating through the floor and rising fast. Smoke slipped in beneath the door, thick and suffocating.

“Archer,” I rasped, panic catching hard in my throat. “There’s a fire.”

He stirred with a groggy groan, dragging a hand across his bare chest. “A fire?”

I was already on my feet, heart pounding hard against my ribs. I grabbed his shirt from the floor and shoved it over my head, then threw his pants at him.

“Get dressed. We need to move.”

The room pulsed with fractured light, streaks of crimson, gold, and violet bleeding through the stained glass. This wasn’t sunrise. It was a fire.

“Shit,” Archer muttered, grabbing my hand.

He yanked open the door, but the hallway was already lost. Flames leapt toward us, wild and unrelenting.

“We need another way out,” he said.

I turned toward the window, lifted my elbow, and slammed it into the glass. Nothing .

Archer didn’t hesitate. He drew his dagger and struck the pane once. Then twice. On the third blow, the glass exploded, shards crashing to the ground in a rain of jagged light.

“Go,” he said, gripping my waist and lifting me through the opening.

I hit the ground hard, skidding across stone as glass scraped down my arms. Smoke poured from the window above, choking the air around me. I coughed, lungs burning, but I was out.

I spun back just in time to see him still inside.

“I can’t fit,” Archer called, his voice hoarse and nearly swallowed by the roar of flame. “Severyn, go!”

“Archer!” I crawled toward the ledge, throat burning. “Just run! Use the door! Please!”

He lifted his arm to shield his mouth, eyes red and watering from the smoke. “You’ll burn if you stay. Run.”

“No.” I reached for him, fingers curled tightly over the edge of the frame. “I’m not leaving you!”

He dropped to his knees, coughing violently until his whole body pitched forward. Above him, the ceiling groaned with a deep, fractured sound, like a bone about to snap.

Then the beam gave way.

“Archer!” I screamed, my voice tearing raw from my throat. I lunged for him, but the fire surged between us, devouring the space where he had been. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t even see him.

Then, all at once, the flames recoiled.

A wall of water burst through the hostel, slamming into the blaze with a roar and a searing hiss. Steam exploded around me, blinding and suffocating. I staggered backward, soaked and coughing, my vision spinning in the thick fog.

Through the haze, a figure stepped forward—arm raised, focus sharp, every line of his body coiled in concentration.

Victor.

Water spiraled from his hands in powerful, relentless waves, drowning the fire room by room. Windows burst outward. Ash and soot rose in the air like black snow, drifting through the ruin.

“Get out!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “I can’t hold it much longer!”

Archer stumbled through the smoke and fell against me. I caught him, arms locking around his body, trembling from the weight and the shock.

“You’re safe,” I whispered, fingers brushing his face. His skin was cold, soaked to the bone, but he was alive. He was breathing.

“How many?” he rasped, turning toward Victor.

“Five,” Victor said, his voice grim. “One’s been captured. Three escaped into the streets. We don’t have long.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, blinking through the haze.

Archer’s jaw tightened. “The Forgotten have attacked Wrathi.”

I stared at him, the words barely registering. “What? Why?”

But there was no time for answers.

Figures emerged through the drifting smoke.

Charles stood at the front, his silver armor was streaked with soot.

Hadrian stood beside him, his expression unreadable, as if weighing every piece of the ruin around us.

Just behind them, Caius stepped through the remains of the hostel, his gaze sweeping the wreckage like he was searching for something.

A fireball streaked across the sky overhead, breaking apart into glowing embers before crashing into a distant building. The ground trembled beneath our feet, and a deep boom rolled through the courtyard.

“They’ll burn this realm to ash,” I whispered, throat tight. “Why would they do this? ”

“They don’t need a reason,” Archer said, his voice low and frayed. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Allow me,” Victor said without hesitation. He lifted his hands, and water erupted from the ground, rising around us in a spiraling vortex. It spun faster and tighter, a cyclone of pressure and sound that swallowed everything around us.

Then the world blurred.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Saltwater rushed into my mouth and nose. My chest seized, vision blackening as if the ocean itself had swallowed me whole. The world twisted, time bent—and then we hit the hot sand.

I rolled onto my side, coughing as saltwater poured from my mouth. The roar of the sea filled my ears. Brine stung my eyes. Smoke and ash clung to the wind, mixing with the ocean air until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“We’re in Ravensla,” I said, my voice raw as I struggled to sit upright. “He portaled us.”

My head snapped toward Victor. I hadn’t even realized he was with us. He was already on his feet, barely winded, as if the fire and the storm hadn’t touched him at all.

“You had no right to portal us,” Archer growled, rising beside me.

Victor turned to him without flinching. “And if I hadn’t? You’d both be trapped in the middle of a battle.”

I clung to Archer, my balance still fragile. “Please,” I said. “Just tell us what’s going on.”

Victor glanced at me with a sneer. “Your heir is indecently dressed. It seems reputation means little to you if you’re taking her to bed during an elite gathering.”

Only then did I realize what he meant. Archer’s shirt still clung to my soaked skin. My legs were bare. It was all I had on. I’ll admit, it wasn’t my finest moment .

Archer’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Say one more word about her, and it’ll be the last thing you ever say.”

Victor gave a dry smile. “Then I’d better start preparing my will.”

“You’re going to tell us everything,” Archer said, stepping forward. “Start with Fallon Blanche.”

Victor went still. “You mean Fallon Herring.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath me. My balance faltered as the world tilted around that single name.

“You knew?” I whispered. “You called me a mudded blood.”

“It was the truth,” Victor said, his voice flat. “Your mother was a traitor.”

Archer’s fists clenched at his sides. “Then at least give her daughter the truth about who she is.”

He said nothing at first. Then something flickered in his eyes, a glint of pain, like a memory he had spent years trying to bury.

“Fallon betrayed us,” he said quietly. “She led Reina to the Forgotten. She is the reason Reina is dead. The reason your mother is dead.”

“No,” Archer breathed. “You killed her because she tricked you into gifting the sunlight to Demetria.”

“I gifted the sun,” Victor snapped. “But when Fallon killed Veravine, it nearly cost Theodore his life. Your grandfather, Archer. Fallon got to her. Convinced her that the only way to save her father was to force him to sever his bond with Ciaran. She was desperate, and she looked for help in all the wrong places.”

Archer shook his head. “No. I don’t believe a word you say.”

“I didn’t kill her. I loved your mother, Archer.”

Without another word, Archer took my hand and pulled me off the Ravensla beach. “We’re done here.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.

“Then don’t,” he said quietly. “You had nothing to do with your mother. ”

It hurt, but I understood. If Victor was telling the truth, then my family had helped destroy his. I couldn’t help but wonder what had really happened between them to breed such hatred. It couldn’t be just a rivalry over a title.

We walked in silence along the narrow path until the Ravensla Inn came into view, its red door glowing faintly against the darkness.

“Why here?” I asked.

“Lynwood,” Archer said. “He grew up around here. He might have more answers.”

“Answers to what?” I snapped. “Hadrian’s port opened for me. It’s clear he’s my father. What more do we need?”

Archer’s voice turned grim. “Your mother is working with the Forgotten. We were just caught in one of their attacks. There’s still a lot we don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell us anything before,” I murmured, the memory of the Harvest Festival surfacing, and the night Archer and I had shared a bed in this very inn.

“Then we ask again,” Archer said, tightening his grip on my hand. “If we want the truth about your real father, we start with her past. Why she chose Hadrian. Why she told my mother to seek help from the Forgotten. I’m tired of people feeding us half-truths just to protect themselves.”

I stopped him before he could reach for the handle. “I never told you what I heard in Veravine’s port. The day Charles tried to strip me of my quell, it cracked open. And it said Lynwood protected my mother.”

Archer’s jaw tightened. “Then Lynwood knows more than he let on.”

He pushed the door open.

Inside, Lynwood stood behind his desk. A black eyepatch covered one side of his face, the other obscured behind thick, smudged glass.

The inn looked unchanged. Tapestries still hung from the walls, their corners frayed with age.

Shelves of mismatched mugs and worn, leather-spined books gave the waiting room a familiar, dusty charm.

“Archer Lynch,” Lynwood said, dipping his head in a shallow bow. “Didn’t expect you back so soon. Miss Blanche, congratulations on your heirship. The whole town is talking.”

“We’re not here for pleasantries,” Archer replied, his voice sharp as he stepped forward. “Tell us everything you know about Fallon.”

Lynwood froze. His hand faltered mid-reach, and the quill slipped from his fingers, striking the desk with a sharp clatter.

“I already told you what I remembered.”