“Yeah, no kidding.” Dad used to tell us these creepy bedtime stories about the Ides when we were kids. After he disappeared, I convinced myself he'd somehow joined them. Esme and I had a fight about it—me insisting he was out there trapped in some hellish bubble, her calling me delusional. Gods, we were just desperate for answers back then.
Chad goes full soldier-mode. “I get why Corvin's desperate, but the potential blowback if this goes sideways?—”
“Or maybe they know exactly what could happen and just don't care?” I cut in. “I mean, hello, untapped power source that could flip the tables on the clearbloods in a war?”
“Yup.” Chad nods.
“Doesn’t make it right though,” I mutter.
“Smart move, by the way, not mentioning Draethys to Corvin,” Chad adds, giving me a side-glance. “He'd have shut that down, probably called it a kids’ story.”
I shrug, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. “Let's just say I don't think Darkbirch needs to know everything right now. Not when they're already messing with forces that could blow up in all our faces.”
“Your sister probably would be perfect for this Ides thing, though,” he says.
I nod, my lip curling. That’s exactly her brand of genius:let’s summon ancient death spirits,followed by a shrug andoops,apocalypse.
“You'd probably crush it too,” Chad says, totally straight-faced. “You've got what it takes, Salem.”
I nearly choke. “Wait, rewind. DidtheChad Valgrave just admit I'm not completely useless? I should record this.”
“Don't get used to it,” he replies. “I have something I need to do before we go. I'll meet you back here in an hour.”
“Don't be late. Bonneville awaits.”
My palms are sweating so bad I have to wipe them on my jeans. Like, pick your poison, right? Stay here, do the trials, and probablyget my soul ripped out through my eyeballs. Or go chasing after my sister in some mythical dragon city that might actually be a giant lizard buffet with me as the appetizer. Either way, I'm screwed six ways to Sunday.
But it's Esme. My sister. The one who used to sneak into my room during thunderstorms because she knew I was scared even when I pretended not to be.
Besides, if anyone's got the magical chops to handle those Ides freaks, it's her. Girl could probably summon and bind a death spirit while painting her nails and complaining about the Wi-Fi. Meanwhile, I'd be lucky not to accidentally turn myself inside out.
26
CHAD
My stomach's been a damn black hole since I left Brynn at the library. Every step toward the lake makes it worse. I've always had my doubts about the clearbloods—their methods, their “righteousness”—but what Darkbirch is planning with those Ides? That's next-level insanity.
We're kids playing with nuclear launch codes.
I cut through the southern woods, boots crunching over dead leaves. The common road appears ahead: my exit route. Two werewolves track me from the thornbushes. They recognize my scent but have no clue I'm about to commit high treason. One final glance at the forest before I cross.
The moment I pass beyond Darkbirch's wards, my shoulders drop an inch. First real breath I've taken in days without magic pressing down on my lungs like a vise.
He's waiting at the end of the jetty—lone figure in a brown trench coat, reflection rippling across the water. Storm clouds gathering overhead match my mood. Gray and pissed off.
“The wind rises,” he says, turning to face me.
“Chancellor Rothmere.” I keep my hands in my jacket pockets, sizing up the head of Heathborne’s military academy. Even in thatcivilian getup, that smug face is unmistakable. “Didn't expect the big boss for a simple debrief.”
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. “I prefer the personal touch in critical times. You're one of my premium assets, after all.”
“How's Heathborne holding up?”
Rothmere's face tightens. “Dayn fried our power grid and shredded our wards. We're limping along, patching holes while hunting that overgrown lizard. Your report?”
“No sign of the dragon,” I say, watching a hawk circle overhead. “But Darkbirch is just as crippled. You could hit them now.”
The Chancellor's lips curl into something that's not quite a smile. “Dayn left with Esme Salem. We're... proceeding with caution.”
