Page 26

Chapter

Twenty-Six

When I arrive at our camp outside Courtsview, I find Vash waiting for me alone. It takes a few minutes to find the note telling me to ride him to Mirendel.

My stomach plummets. Ride him alone?

His beautiful, emerald eyes widened slowly as if to let me know he’ll be gentle.

That doesn’t stop my heart from nearly exploding out of my chest. I’ve only ever been a passenger on the beasts. Now I have to be the main rider?

No. It’s too risky. I’ll be better off walking to my father’s city, even if it takes a week.

Vash nudges me with his nose then gives a soft snort.

I fold my arms and shake my head. “It isn’t safe.”

He makes a gentle rumbling noise, sending a puff of air that nearly knocks me off my feet.

After regaining my footing, I give the beast a knowing look. “You’re only proving my point.”

Vash snorts again, then scoots so his long back is in front of me, the saddle practically touching me.

This is a bad idea.

He scoots again, this time actually knocking me off my feet.

I land with a hard thud, and a plume of dust makes me sneeze. “I’m not doing this.”

The dragon nudges me.

I nearly land flat on my back but catch myself. Glare at him.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s laughing at me. Who am I kidding? I don’t know better, and he probably is.

“Fine.” I leap to my feet and dust myself off. “Let’s do this.”

Vash makes a snuffing sound, clearly glad I’ve gotten with the program.

My hands and legs shake as I climb on. I can’t believe I’m doing this by myself. If I fall to my death while up in the air, I’m going to haunt my father for the rest of his days for making me do this.

Somehow, I manage to climb on without injuring myself, settle into the saddle as securely as possible, then grab the reins.

The dragon snorts, brushes his feet against the ground, then bursts into a run.

I yelp, clutching for dear life what feels like the flimsiest leather strap until I can cling onto his enormous neck. The wind pushes back my hair and dries my eyes. I close them and bury my face into Vash’s surprisingly smooth skin. Some dragon rider I am. Hopefully he knows better than to crash.

This is actually happening. I always wondered how I’d die, and now I know.

At least I’m not leaving the world without a hunter.

Einar can continue on. He’ll even regain his strength.

And if he never has another child, there won’t be another fight to the death and the hunter curse won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is all for the best.

Or I’m being overly dramatic.

Probably.

It’s time to take this seriously. My father wouldn’t have left me the instructions to ride Vash if he thought I wouldn’t survive it. Dragons fly, that’s what they do. Not much could realistically go wrong unless I do something foolish. And even if I did, he would likely swoop down and catch me.

I saw what the dragons are capable of when we were attacked before arriving at Courtsview. Vash basically protected Harek. There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t do the same for me.

Hopefully we don’t come under attack this time around.

I really should consider becoming more optimistic. But first, I need to pull my face from the shimmery dragon neck and look around.

Not down, but around.

The sky is growing lighter, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. That’s good, at least. We’re soaring through the air, gliding like we’re going through water in a lake instead of air at a ridiculous height.

My muscles relax, and before I know it, I’m actually enjoying the experience. Not enough to let go of the reins like my father does, but enough to relax. A little.

Mirendel rises from the morning mist with spires silvered in the early light. Its city walls gleam faintly with bright colors, but somehow they seem dimmer than I remember. Even from a distance, I feel something is off. Wrong. The air is too still, the sky a breath too dark.

Vash lands hard against the stone terrace of Einar’s home, his claws raking sparks. Sapphire circles above. They’re both uneasy. So am I.

Einar steps out the moment I dismount, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists. “Something’s stirring. I smelled blood on the wind.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Lys appears from the tower stairs, quiet and composed as always, but there’s an edge in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “The wards flared last night. Silent warnings with no breach, but something pressed against them.” His eyes flick to the outer cliffs. “From below.”

A tremor moves through Sapphire’s scales. She snorts, restless.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Lys’s voice drops. “It means they’re going to attack.”

My breath catches. “In Mirendel?”

He nods, his expression tense.

I glance toward the streets in the distance. The townspeople are waking. Merchants. Scouts. Students and teachers. Families with small children and baskets of bread.

They don’t know what’s coming. Or maybe they do.

Because the stillness? It’s not peace. And if I noticed the shift in colors, those who’ve lived here their entire lives would have noticed it more than me.

It’s fear.

I turn back to Einar. “Where’s the council?”

“Scattered. Some left. Others want to hand you over to the movement. I won’t let that happen.”

My mind wrestles with the news. The answer becomes clear. “Then we prepare without them.”

Lys nods. “The wolves are gathering, and they’re not alone.”

I draw my sword. Let them come. We’ll be ready.

Without another word, we head through the house and toward the city.

A warning bell tolls once, twice.

The city erupts.

Howls split the morning calm—raw and inhuman, echoing from the southern cliffs. The wards flare bright white then crack like shattering glass.

“They’re inside!” a voice screams from the lower levels.

I rush to the edge of the nearest building just as the gates burst open in a shower of splinters.

They come like shadows given flesh. Dozens of wolves.

Some monstrous, others barely more than boys in half-shifted form.

All marked with sigils burned into their fur, eyes glowing like coals.

Behind them, cloaked figures weave through the gaps—sages, human conspirators, and things too warped to define.

Dark magic bleeds into the city like smoke along with them.

Rebels and scholars alike scatter into formation. Archers take the walls. Warriors charge to meet the tide. The air fills with the clash of steel, the scream of magic. More fae flood through the gates.

Mirendel’s colors fade even more than before.

“Go!” I shout, my voice already hoarse. “Defend the library! Protect the archives!”

Vash launches into the sky, a black streak of fury. Sapphire follows, unleashing a roar that shakes the stone. Flame roils over the rooftops.

“Where’s the breach?” Einar growls, sword in hand.

Lys’s eyes flick across the skyline, narrowing. “There are too many. This isn’t a raid. It’s an execution.”

My pulse spikes. Then I see something at the western wall. The wolves bypass the main barracks entirely, headed straight for the old quarter.

“Mirendel’s heart.” My father raises his sword. “They’re not just trying to kill us, they’re trying to erase everything.”

“Split the forces,” someone official looking commands. “I’ll take the north. You take the west.”

“I’ll hold the inner circle,” Lys says calmly before vanishing like mist.

I run, my sword and my palm glowing brighter than I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been around so many evil fae. It will be a miracle if I survive this. I don’t know who I’ll face first, or if it matters.

If I could handle climbing onto and flying alone on a dragon, then I can do this. Of course, this is far more dangerous. But I’ve faced countless fears and dangers lately and survived every one of them. I can do this too, even if I don’t know how.

A wave of determination rises through me.

They want a huntress? They’re about to get one.

We march toward the western quarter, which is in chaos. Flames lick rooftops, choking the alleys with smoke. Civilians flee in every direction—including up into the air—some herded by wolves, others lost in the madness.

My palm flares bright, then I cut down a wolf with a single strike. Its eyes stare at me. Those will haunt me. The fae weren’t always evil. Something changed them. But it doesn’t matter. They’re destroying Mirendel, which makes them the enemy.

It’s time to focus, fight, and prevent further destruction.

I push deeper, carving a path toward the inner wall, but I can feel something’s wrong.

The air itself feels evil. My palm and sword both glow, though nobody is actually here.

My father catches up, gasping for air. His sword drips red, and more is splashed on his vest and face.

“What’s going on here?” I ask.

“Their essence.” His voice is grim, and he wipes blood from his jaw.

“I don’t understand. Didn’t our swords capture their souls?” I’d been too busy to notice.

“The evil they’ve taken in spills out.”

“Now you sound like Lys.”

“Hey, now.” Lys appears alongside us like smoke, a long gash down his face. His tunic is scorched at the edges, and his blade is also bathed in crimson.

Too much death.

“Explain it to me in basic terms. What is their essence, and how is it different from their souls?”

They exchange a glance before my father puts the task on Lys by darting down a smoking alley, his palm and sword both glowing brighter with each step. In other words, stepping closer to danger. The realization lands like a blade in my chest.

I turn to Lys. “We have to go with him. You can tell me about the essence later. Or not, I don’t care. Let’s go.”

“First I have to tell you something.”

My stomach knots. “What now?”

“Someone on the inside is working with them.”

“In a city this size? That’s hardly surprising.”

Lys’s face twists up. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me as we catch up with him.” I hurry down the path my father took.

“That’s how they got past the city gate.” Lys is at my side, easily keeping pace despite being wounded. “How they knew the barracks would be empty. How they struck the archives and sanctuary first.”

“The archives?”

“It’s a spy. They couldn’t have gotten near that otherwise.”

“What’s the damage?” I pause, listening for my father’s steps. We’ve already wasted too much time.

“I don’t know,” Lys says. “They’re aiming for the city’s memory. Not just the people. The archives, the sacred grounds, the things that define Mirendel. This isn’t war. It’s erasure.”

I turn toward him, breath ragged. “Who would betray the city like this?”

His expression is unreadable. “That’s the wrong question.”

“Just tell me!” If my patience was wearing thin before, it’s barely holding together now.

He looks at me, eyes dark. “Who benefits if you fall?”

“Only every evil fae in existence. Come on.” I rush down a smoky alley, using my palm as a guide in front of me. Whichever direction it glows brightest, I go.

We come to an inner courtyard as we push through the chaos. I help lift a wounded scout, and she flinches.

“They’re here for you, aren’t they?”

Her words hit harder than her bloodied hands.

She’s not the only one watching. Fae rebels. City officials. Fighters. Their focus flicks from the blackened walls to the ruined gates to me.

“The hunter’s line is behind this,” someone mutters.

“ She’s the reason they’re here.”

I open my mouth, but no words come.

Lys steps forward, voice calm and cutting. “You blame the sword for the wound, not the one who swings it?”

Someone spits blood at the ground.

“She brings the curse.”

“She is the curse!”

Before I can respond, Einar appears. “Enough!”

His voice seems to silence even the wind.

“This city stands because of us. You don’t want a monster? Then stop treating us like we’re it. Our line has been saving you for countless generations.”

“She’s more than a hunter,” says a woman in the crowd.

Her voice is familiar. Realization dawns as Vivvi steps out from the throng, her brightly colored hair and clothes vivid among the drab ash and dark chaos. Her eyes light up, turning almost neon as she takes me in.

My mind struggles to catch up. She’s involved. Is she on our side or not? The look in her face doesn’t tell me anything.

Lys steps toward her. He doesn’t speak with a riddle. Only says one word. “Mother.”

I glance at Einar, and his expression melts from confused to understanding.

The realization is hitting us simultaneously. Lys is Vivvi’s son. I’m not even sure what that means. And there isn’t time to put all the pieces together.

I take a step forward, sword still in hand—not raised, but burning faintly with its steady, pulsing glow. “I never asked for any of this, but I am here. And I’ll fight for this city, whether you trust me or not.”

The ground trembles as a blast shakes the outer walls.

A dragon screams overhead, its flame carving a path through the enemy.

Sapphire.

Vash shadows her flank, silent but with ferocity in his eyes.

Lys leans in close, speaks quietly so the crowd can’t hear. “We hold this city, and you change the story. But if you fall, the story ends here.”

Einar glances at me. “What do you say, huntress?”

I lift my blade. “We won’t fall.”