Page 37 of A Court of Darkness and Dragons

The words seemed to echo across the Ascension Grounds, carried on the sound of dragon wings overhead. And for the first time, it wasn’t just a title.

Chapter

Twelve

Zander’s voice carried across the Ascension Grounds, cutting clean through the wind and restless rumble of dragons. “We search the castle and the village. No one is above suspicion. Severeth can appear as anyone.”

He was already mapping assignments in his head, rattling them off with the precision of a battlefield commander. “Small, four-man teams. Sweep every quadrant—houses, markets, alleyways. I want no person left unchecked.”

The squads broke apart in quick order, moving to their new partners. When his gaze landed on me, there was no hesitation. “You’re with Ferrula, Jax, and Naia. Southeast quadrant of the village.”

I nodded, catching the slightest flicker of something in his eyes—a mix of trust and the weight of knowing we might not all return.

“I have to stay here to coordinate the castle search,” he continued, his attention already pulling toward a knot of Iron Fang riders. “And I need to deploy the Iron Fang to reinforce the outer watchtowers. Go. And stay alert.”

Ferrula adjusted her weapons belt with a curt nod, Jax simply rolled his shoulders, and Naia brushed a hand across the Zantha root tattoo on her wrist before falling into step.

By the time we reached the main gates, the last of the Iron Fang riders were mounting up, Zander in the center giving rapid-fire orders. We slipped through the open gates into the afternoon light, the clatter of hooves and dragon wings overhead fading as the village spread before us.

The southeast quadrant was a mix of cobbled streets and narrow dirt lanes, the smell of hearth smoke and baking bread almost at odds with the tension curling through my stomach. Kaelith’s voice coiled in my mind before we’d gone a dozen paces. We can scan them, she said, her tone a low growl. All of us. We’ll feel the taint of dark magic if it’s there.

I glanced upward, catching sight of her circling above with the other dragons, their massive shadows sliding over rooftops. The sight alone made the villagers pause and look up, some in awe, others in clear unease.

The deeper we moved into our assigned sector, the quieter the streets became. A child darted into a doorway. A shopkeeper closed her shutters. And beneath it all, the dragons scanned, each slow wingbeat laced with a subtle ripple of magic that sifted through the crowd like a fine net.

The four of us stood at the end of a narrow, crooked lane, staring up at the skeletal remains of what had once been an inn. The roofline sagged like a tired spine, with windows either boarded or hanging crooked on rusted hinges. No sign marked the door—hadn’t in years—and the air smelled of mildew, ash, and unwashed bodies.

It wasn’t a business anymore, not even close. Just a crumbling shelter for those with nowhere else to go.

Jax stepped up beside me, scanning the facade with that soldier’s squint of his. “Ferrula and I will take the upper two floors,” he said, already adjusting the strap on his axe.

I nodded. “I’ll check the main floor.”

Naia glanced toward the narrow alleys to the left and right. “I’ll sweep the surrounding area. If there’s a back way out of here, I’ll find it.”

We split without another word.

The moment I pushed open the warped front door, the smell hit me—stale ale from decades past, rot, damp stone, and something sharp underneath, like old smoke. The dim light from the street barely reached inside, casting long, narrow shadows down the hallway.

The main floor was a graveyard of broken furniture and collapsed beams. Dingy rooms branched off from the hall, each one littered with discarded blankets, scraps of clothing, and piles of garbage that crunched under my boots.

A few ragged figures glanced up when they saw the uniform, eyes going wide. Without a word, they scrambled for the exits, some through the hall, others vanishing into hidden gaps in the walls I hadn’t noticed before.

I crossed into what must have once been the kitchen. The long prep table was warped and split down the middle; the iron stove in the corner was caked with rust. Shards of glass littered the floor where a cupboard had been shattered, and dull black scorch marks stained the stone walls.

The air here was colder; the shadows thicker. And for the first time since stepping inside, I was completely alone.

A scuffling echoed from the far corner, just beyond the broken doorway to the pantry. I turned toward it, thinking maybe one of the inn’s residents had slipped back in after the others fled.

Then I heard a rush of air slicing past my ear.

Instinct screamed. I dropped low, the dagger flashing overhead so close I felt the wind of its passing against my cheek. It buried itself in the warped wood behind me with a solid thunk.

I rolled, boots skidding over the debris-strewn floor, and came up in a crouch with my blade drawn.

My attacker stepped into the light spilling through the jagged window. Head to toe in black, his form was lean but solid, every line of him built for speed. The hood shrouded his features, a narrow slit revealing only his eyes, cold, and unsettlingly familiar.

I didn’t have time to place them.