Chapter 20 Blades in the Dark
The walls of Noctara still stank of blood.
Snow had covered much of the gore from the siege, but Lyra smelled it beneath the frost iron, ash, and the faint rot of the dead buried too shallow. The fortress moved with weariness in the days that followed. Soldiers limped through the halls, armor dented, bandages stained. Healers burned incense in the chambers, trying to chase away the scent of death, but it lingered like a ghost.
And in the silence left behind by the wolves’ retreat, whispers grew louder.
Maeron’s voice wound through every corridor.
“She’s cursed,” he hissed to anyone who would listen. “She draws the wolves to us. Cassien binds us to her, but do you not see? She is his weakness. Our walls did not fall to Damon but they will fall to her.”
The words spread like smoke. Soldiers who had begun to respect Lyra now watched her with suspicion again. Others muttered when she passed. The victory had steadied the fortress, but it had also sharpened its doubts.
Lyra felt the weight of every stare. She trained harder, bled more, pushed herself until her body screamed but still, it wasn’t enough to silence them.
Cassien did not speak of it. If he heard the whispers, he ignored them. His gaze remained fixed on maps and strategies, his words clipped and sharp.
But Lyra could feel Maeron’s shadow closing.
The attempt came five nights after the siege.
The fortress lay in uneasy sleep. Snow fell thick, muffling sound. Torches burned low in the corridors.
Lyra woke to the faint scrape of metal against her door.
Her wolf stirred instantly, hackles rising. She sat up in the darkness, claws sliding free, her ears straining. The scrape came again then the click of a lock turning.
The door creaked open.
A figure slipped inside, blade glinting faintly in the moonlight. Another followed. Then another. Three shadows, faces hidden, moving silent as snakes.
Lyra’s heart thudded. She waited until the first stepped closer to her bed then moved.
She launched herself forward, claws flashing, teeth bared. Her roar split the silence as she tore into the first assassin’s chest. Blood sprayed hot across the stone.
The second lunged, blade slashing. Lyra twisted, the steel grazing her arm, and drove her knee into his ribs. Bone cracked. She spun, her spear snatched from the wall, and impaled him through the throat.
The third tried to flee.
Lyra caught him at the door, slamming him into the stone, claws digging into his jaw. Her eyes burned red, her fangs glinting inches from his face. “Who sent you?” she hissed.
The man choked, trembling. “The council Maeron”
Her claws sank deeper, rage flooding her veins. She wanted to tear him apart, to rip the truth from his flesh. The hunger howled inside her, demanding blood.
Then another voice cut through the storm.
“Lyra.”
Cassien stood in the doorway, his sword drawn, his gaze sharp as fire.
Lyra froze, her claws still at the man’s throat, her breath ragged.
“Enough,” Cassien said.
She trembled, torn between rage and control. The assassin whimpered, his pulse hammering against her hand.
“Lyra.” Cassien’s voice dropped lower, steadier. “Control it.”
Her chest heaved. She forced her claws to retract, her fangs to retreat. With a snarl, she released the man, shoving him into Cassien’s soldiers as they flooded the corridor.
“Take him,” Cassien ordered. His gaze flicked to the other two corpses on the floor. “And clean this.”
The guards obeyed quickly, dragging the bodies away, leaving only bloodstains behind.
When the hall emptied, Cassien turned to Lyra. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned.
“Are you hurt?”
Lyra shook her head, though her arm still bled from the cut. “I’m fine.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then shifted to the blood smeared on her claws. “You wanted to kill him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Lyra’s throat tightened. “Yes.”
His eyes held hers. “But you didn’t.”
She flinched, her claws curling against her palms. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
Cassien stepped closer, his presence heavy, grounding. “It is. Control is never enough. That is why it matters.”
Her chest ached. She wanted to believe him. But she still felt the hunger gnawing at her bones.
The council met the next morning.
Maeron did not deny it. He sat at the table, his mouth thin, his eyes cold, and said, “Yes. I sent them. I will not apologize for protecting Noctara from her.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
Cassien’s voice was sharp as a blade. “You dare defy me?”
“I dare save us from your weakness,” Maeron spat. “You chain us to a wolf, and for what? She will destroy us all.”
Lyra stood frozen at the edge of the chamber, the elders’ eyes burning into her. For a moment, fear gripped her — fear that Cassien might agree, might cast her aside.
But Cassien rose slowly, his cloak shifting like shadow. His voice cut through the chamber like thunder.
“Maeron, you speak of loyalty, yet you plot murder in the dark. You speak of strength, yet you hide behind assassins. You accuse her of weakness, yet she survived where you would crawl. You are no elder of mine.”
The chamber trembled with silence.
Maeron’s face went pale. “You wouldn’t”
“I strip you of your title,” Cassien declared. “You are no longer council. You are exile. Leave Noctara before nightfall, or die where you stand.”
The soldiers moved instantly, seizing Maeron as he struggled, his curses echoing through the hall.
“This is folly!” he spat. His gaze burned into Lyra’s. “You’ll see. She will burn you all!”
They dragged him away.
Lyra’s knees trembled with relief and fear.
Cassien’s gaze found her. His voice was softer now, but no less steady. “You see, Lyra? Even in the dark, even against their blades, you survived. That is what makes you mine.”
Her chest tightened. She hated the way his words bound her. She hated the way she needed them.
But above all, she hated that Maeron’s parting curse lingered in her mind.
She will burn you all.
Far from the fortress, Maeron stumbled into the snow, stripped of cloak and crest. He shivered in the cold, his face twisted with rage.
The shadows moved around him. Wolves emerged from the trees, their eyes glowing, their breath steaming in the frost.
Lucien stepped forward, smiling faintly.
“Well,” he said softly. “What a fortunate gift.”
Maeron fell to his knees, hatred burning in his eyes. “I will help you bring them down. All of them. Her most of all.”
Lucien’s smile widened. “Good. Then let us begin.”