His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. Wind whips his coat around him, the fabric struggling like it wants to flee this man as much as I do.
“Do you recall our first meeting?” he asks quietly.
“Hard to forget,” I growl. “You ripped me away from the only home I?—”
“I rescued you,” he cuts in sharply. “Found you sobbing over your darkblood mother's corpse in that filthy trailer. You told me yourself—one of her own kind murdered her.”
“It's what I saw.”
And the image still haunts me to this day, fifteen years later.Blood pooling beneath her body, her eyes still open.
“I took you in,” Rothmere says, his voice softening to that practiced paternal tone. “Protected you when no one else would. Gave you a place among decent people.”
“You dressed me up as a clearblood puppet for your agenda.”
He laughs, turning away. “Ancient history. Remember what I promised that night?”
I nod once, jaw tight.
“To help you avenge her,” he says. “Complete this mission, and I'll deliver on that promise.”
Something stirs beneath my skin—that other part of me, the part that remembers her fingers brushing hair from my forehead, the only gentleness I've ever known. My demon blood heats.
I step closer. “You know who killed her? After fifteen years?”
“I have his name.”
“Tell me.” My voice betrays me, trembling.
Rothmere shakes his head. “After you find the dragon. That's our arrangement.”
“You said that when I infiltrated Darkbirch!” Heat flares behind my eyes. “Six years of your missions and promises. When does it end?”
He raises his hand, displaying the silver ring on his little finger. Tiny rubies form a rune that glints in the light—his insurance policy. One whispered word and I become ash.
“Remember your place,” Rothmere says, voice like steel. “Complete your task, and I'll complete mine. Have I ever failed you?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“It took years, but I found out the real identity of your mother’s killer. I need your help, and then I will release you from your debt. You have my word.”
Something fragile unfurls inside me: a feeling I barely recognize as hope. The binding scars across my back seem to pulse in response. I've played Rothmere's game since that night they pulled me, blood-soaked and screaming, from my mother's trailer. I've seenthe darkness in both factions, watched atrocities committed under different banners but with the same cold calculation.
And somewhere among them walks her killer.
“So I find your dragon, and then I'm free?” The words burn on my tongue.
Rothmere nods once, decisively. “Precisely. After I provide the name you've sought for over a decade.” His voice softens to that practiced paternal tone. “I've always had your interests at heart, Chad. I simply ensured your talents didn't go to waste. You're my most valuable asset.”
I didn’t tell him about Esme Salem's infiltration of Heathborne, though. And he doesn’t know that I knew. The binding spells may control my actions, but they can't force me to volunteer information. Some secrets remain mine alone.
“I'll track down your dragon,” I say finally.
And I'll have safeguards in place when Rothmere inevitably tries to extend my leash. Years of broken promises have taught me to create my own insurance policies.
“Good man,” the Chancellor says, patting my shoulder.
I feel no satisfaction in deceiving Brynn about any of this. Perhaps that's one small reason why I've grown increasingly conflicted about this war. She's complicated everything with her fierce loyalty, her sharp tongue, her… addicting scent. Beneath her defensive posturing lies untapped power that makes my demon blood sing. She insists she's the lesser Salem sister, and I've encouraged that belief to maintain my cover.
