No sign of Maxx in the press of bodies though. Convenient.
Serenya's hand brushed mine—brief, grounding. I fixed my eyes on Kaelen.
Whatever this was, I'd face it standing.
The cavern's murmur died before I understood why.
Kaelen stepped onto the raised platform, and the stillness in his body made my back straighten. He was the weighted silence of a hammer poised to fall.
"We have a new asset," he announced, his voice carrying without effort. "One that cost us considerably to acquire. One that will prove... invaluable."
Asset. The word slithered through the crowd, raising hackles. Rebels shifted, exchanging glances.
Kaelen's gaze swept the room. "Some of you will recognize him. Most of you will want him dead." A ghost of a smile. "I'd ask you to restrain that impulse. For now."
The shadows at the far end of the cavern shifted.
And then he stepped into the torchlight.
The Crownforged cuirass gleamed first—dark as obsidian, catching the firelight like a warning. Then the shoulders, the height, the coiled stillness of a predator who didn't need to prove it. His helm was tucked under one arm, revealing the brutal cut of his jaw, the grim line of his mouth. Like he'd walked into an enemy stronghold and expected us to be grateful.
The Crownforged Hunter.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the hiss started. Subtle at first, building—a thousand whispered curses finding their voice at once. Steel scraped leather as blades cleared sheaths. Someone spat. Someone else snarled a word I didn't catch but understood perfectly.
Him. Here. How—
He looked straight at me, and his smile turned predatory.
Kaelen's voice cut through the murmurs. "Meet Eryndor. The Crownforged Hunter came to us two days ago. Walked right up to our outer sentries and surrendered his oaths."
A ripple of disbelief moved through the gathered rebels. My hand found my knife hilt before my brain caught up. Good. At least one part of me was thinking clearly.
"He claims," Kaelen continued, circling Eryndor, "that his conscience has finally outweighed his oath. That he's seen the King's true nature and can no longer serve it."
Eryndor stood at the center of it all, hands loose at his sides—close enough to the sword at his hip to make a point, far enough to make another. His obsidian armor drank the torchlight, gave nothing back.
"I don't believe him," Kaelen said simply. "Neither should you."
Brannick stepped forward. "Then why is he breathing?"
"Because a Crownforged who might be turning is more valuable than a dead one." Kaelen’s mouth slanted upward, but the hardness in his eyes never wavered. "He's given us intelligence. Patrol routes. The King's plans for the southern quarter sweeps. All verified." A pause. "So far."
"He nearly killed her," someone spat. "In the plaza. Hehuntedher."
"And now he claims that's finished." Kaelen's attention moved from the crowd to Eryndor. "He says he found a way to sever the King's hold. That he's no longer bound by his orders."
A murmur rippled through the rebels. I felt Brannick shift beside me, his hand white-knuckling his sword.
"The Crown's leashes aren't subtle," Kaelen continued, circling Eryndor with slow, deliberate steps. Studying him with eagle-eyed attention. "We've all seen what happens when one of the King's creatures strays too far from their orders. The convulsing. The bleeding. The way their bodies turn against them." He stopped directly in front of Eryndor, near enough to share breath.
For a moment, neither moved. When Kaelen's expression sharpened, it was all edge.
"If you've truly broken free, you should be able to prove it."
Eryndor's expression gave nothing away. "How?"
