Chapter 30 Eleven Years Ago
Warden Voss
The sun had only just begun to rise when I woke. Pale light crept through the narrow windows of the tower as I dressed, drawing my robes over my shoulders with measured care. I allowed myself the quiet, foolish hope that today might be different.
Three days had passed.
Three days, and still there was no sign of Sera Bale.
As if that were not enough, her brother had been taken—carried off by an old woman who had overpowered my guards with humiliating ease. She had worn age like a costume: the stoop, the tremor, the crooked gait.
She was no old woman.
She was powerful, and the disguise had been intentional.
Magnus’ Enforcers had arrived the other day, demanding the boy. I had led them to the tilting shack at the edge of Dust, already assembling my excuses, only to find the place reduced to scorched timber and blackened earth.
Burned. Thoroughly.
I had smiled then, though they had not seen it.
Darrick was quick.
The Enforcers had turned to me, awaiting explanation. I had contorted my face into outrage, stormed into the ruins, and retrieved what remained of a shattered bottle of ale.
“Someone has taken the boy,” I had said, letting fury sharpen my voice.
They had nodded, grim and satisfied. “We will inform the Imperial Advisor.”
I raised a hand. “Tell the Imperial Advisor that I will hunt whoever did this myself.”
“Of course, Warden.”
Once they were gone, the real work began.
I offered a waiver of taxes in exchange for information—anything about Sera Bale’s parents. I summoned those who had known her as a child, those who had watched her grow up in Dust’s narrow streets.
One by one, they spoke. One by one, they knew nothing.
No one knew who her parents were or where they were from.
Or claimed to.
All roads led to the same figure: a fortune-teller near the fountain. Crooked cane. Crooked back. Always whispering to Sera. Always giving her wares for free.
And now—missing.
How very convenient.
It was still morning when I had exhausted all of Sera's neighbours. My list lay empty.
“There is one person you can speak to,” Darrick said, lingering by my desk. He tossed an empty pouch onto the table.
I picked it up. Red velvet. Faintly perfumed.
Not something a Dust scavenger would own.
“Where did you find this?” I asked.
“At Sera’s hut,” he said. “Tucked beneath her pillow. A gift, I reckon. From an old friend—one who no longer lives in Dust, but visits now and then.”
“Spit it out, Darrick,” I snapped. “I haven't the patience for riddles."
“Mira Fisher, Warden. Those two were tight as nails. Mira’s parents were fisherfolk—once. Word is she’s doing some Imperial Mage on the side. Bought them a nice house, right along the edge of Coal and Spark.”
I smiled. “Find out who that Imperial Mage is. I will deal with Mira myself.”
He hesitated. “Spark Prefect Arclight wants a word. He doesn’t want any of us Dust roaming his district. Says we carry disease.”
My eyes narrowed. It meant only one thing.
“Find me a boy and a girl,” I said. “No older than ten.” I opened my drawer and placed two heavy pouches of gold on the desk. “Pay for them if you have to. Make sure they are scrubbed clean and fed before they’re brought to me.”
Darrick frowned. “For what, Warden?”
“Stop asking stupid questions,” I said sharply. “You want access to Spark District, this is the toll we must pay. Now go. My patience wears thin.”
When he left, I closed my fingers around the orb at my throat and let the world bend.
The mines rose around me in smoke and shadow—veins of gold and silver dragged from the earth by exhausted hands.
Coal Overseer Kragen Crowe stood near the mouth of a shaft, bald head gleaming beneath soot that clung to him like a second skin, watching carts of gold-veined stone hauled from the earth. The air was thick and choking, laced with dust and the metallic tang of molten ore. I despised this place—but Crowe never left it.
He did not like me, but many of the Dust-class were his laborers, and he knew precisely how much leverage I held.
“Fine,” he said as mine carts rattled past us. “But do no harm, Elara. Mira is one of my best.”
“Of course,” I replied. “And you will send word to me first if you see who I am searching for. The girl named Sera Bale.”
“The red-haired, green-eyed lass?” he scoffed. “Not many of those left after the Mistress shipped a handful off to Aetheria. If a girl fitting that description comes through Coal, I’ll send her straight to you.” He paused. “Why the interest? Has the Emperor suddenly taken a fancy to girls with red hair?”
“She was last seen with Darrick’s brother,” I said, "who disappeared and is presumed dead. She is wanted for questioning.”
“Your favorite Dust-hound’s brother? Of course." He laughed as if it were a joke. "Whatever happened to him, he had it coming."
I pursed my lips, but I didn't contradict him. “I will expect Mira in my office.”
“Aye,” he shouted as a blast thundered through the mines. “I’ll send her by noon.”
I was in the middle of a meal when Mira arrived at my tower.
She wore her sweeper’s coat, smudged with soot. The same black dust streaked her cheeks and hands, ground deep beneath her nails. Her dark hair was twisted into a careless bun at the nape of her neck, and her boots tracked ash across my threshold.
“Warden Voss,” she said, bowing. “Overseer Crowe said you wished to speak with me.”
I gestured to the chair opposite my desk. “Yes. I need information regarding your friend—Sera Bale,” I said. “How long have you known her?”
“Since we were children, Warden,” she replied without hesitation. “She and her brother turned up near the market stalls. Hungry. Crying. Said their parents had died.”
“Do you know who their parents were?” I asked. “How they died?”
“She said they tended horses. Hauled hay,” Mira answered. “Died of the chill. They didn’t have anything with them—only the clothes on their backs. My parents asked around the stables and heard a couple had disappeared. Might’ve been them.”
“And when did they appear?” I asked.
“Eleven years ago,” she said. “The day Sera turned seven.”
I froze.
Eleven years ago.
The last beheading.
Many had flocked to Aetheria to watch—and I was among them. Public executions were rare, spectacles reserved only for those condemned not merely to die, but to be remembered as traitors to the Empire.
I remember the way the crowd hushed when Helena stepped onto the scaffold. Her blonde hair hung limp, then lifted in the wind, pale strands catching the light as though the sun itself refused to look away. Her green eyes—sharp, defiant—burned like emeralds beneath the open sky.
Godwin Valen followed her. Tall. Proud. Impeccably composed.
His red hair blazed like fire against the blue above, and when he mounted the platform, a ripple of gasps swept through the masses.
Godwin Valen—the Emperor’s Chancellor, his right hand—walked as though he were ascending a dais, not approaching death. His spine was straight. His chin lifted. He looked like a man who believed the world had erred, not him.
Helena had once been legend within the Academy. Her beauty, her magic—both unrivalled. The halls still bore relics of her brilliance: plaques, portraits, medals, remnants of when she had been their most prized student.
They were bound to the oak execution block, bodies forced forward, faces thrust toward the waiting crowd.
“Last words,” the executioner intoned, axe poised, its edge glinting.
“You will not get to my children,” Helena screamed, her voice ringing with fury. “I will haunt you, Magnus, till your dying breath.”
Godwin’s voice followed, calm and unwavering.
“And one day, we will receive justice.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Warden Voss?” Mira’s voice cut through the silence, startled. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes—yes,” I said quickly, schooling my expression into a smile. I opened my drawer and placed a small pouch before her. “Thank you, Mira, for your candour. I trust you’ll keep our conversation private. I am trying to help Sera and her brother. I believe she has done nothing wrong.”
Mira took the pouch, weighing it in her palm.
“Warden… may I ask what has happened to Lio? Sera’s brother?”
“He was taken,” I said. “We believe by rebels.”
Her brow creased. “That’s impossible. I would’ve—” She stopped herself, then let out a small, incredulous laugh. “No. It couldn’t have been rebels. Sera isn’t one. She’s a scavenger. Just like I was, back when I lived in Dust.”
She rose, clutching the pouch. “I hope you find them, Warden. Lio is sick. He needs a healer. And Sera…” Her voice softened. “She’s probably out there searching for one.”
I inclined my head. “Then she should have come to me. I am a healer—trained under the Imperial Advisor, Magnus Ironside.”
Mira paused at the door. “None of us knew that, Warden. If Sera had known… she would have come to you first.”
She bowed and left.
I pressed my sigil, and Lloyd—Darrick’s second-in-command—appeared before my desk.
“I need you to follow Mira Fisher of Coal District,” I said, handing him a note sealed with my mark. “Enter through the back gates. Show this to Overseer Crowe if he questions you.”
Lloyd glanced at the seal, then up at me. “Jarek’s girl?”
My brow lifted. “Explain.”
“He’d been courting her,” Lloyd said. “She turned him down more than once. He kept pushing. She slapped him once for touching her.”
“And Jarek? What did he do?” I asked coldly, knowing Jarek's impulsiveness.
Lloyd shifted, colour creeping into his face. “He… taught her a lesson.”
“How?” I said.
A beat. Then—“He fucked her.”
I did not react.
“Follow her,” I said. “Do not be seen. I want to know who she speaks to—and where she goes.”
Lloyd bowed. “Yes, Warden.”
“Go.”
When he left, I stood alone in the quiet tower.
Eleven years.
The Academy still kept records.
And tomorrow, I would return to the place where Helena Valen had once been celebrated—long before the Empire decided to erase her.
If the truth still existed anywhere, it would be there.
A knock broke my thoughts. I turned. “Enter.”
The door swung open, and an Imperial Enforcer stepped inside. He crossed the room and placed a sealed parchment in my hand.
“What is it now?” I asked, breaking the seal.
“Aetheria requires every boy between the ages of thirteen and sixteen,” he said. “There is a need for laborers.”
I read the message and clenched my jaw.
Magnus—that bastard—was going to take every able-bodied boy from the district.
He meant to cripple me for losing Lio.
Still, I remained calm. I smiled. “I—and their families—will require payment.”
The Enforcer set a small chest on my desk. “If it proves insufficient, the Empire is willing to pay more.”
The Empire will indeed pay more.