Chapter 36 The Turning Of Blades
The fortress held, but its silence grew sharp.
Everywhere Lyra walked, eyes followed her. Some burned with respect, remembering her at the breach. Others shimmered with fear, remembering her claws raised against Cassien. And many carried both a heavy, dangerous mix.
The oath bound them all. But oaths could not erase whispers. And whispers spread faster than fire.
It began in the mess hall.
Two soldiers argued in low voices over their bowls of broth, their words carrying more than they meant.
“She nearly gutted Maris on the wall,” one hissed.
“And saved your neck in the same breath,” the other shot back.
“She’s Lucien’s poison. Every night she grows closer to the beast.”
“She’s the only reason we’re still breathing.”
When Lyra entered, the hall went silent. She felt the weight of their stares as she sat, the whispers dying in their throats. She forced herself to eat, her claws twitching against the bowl.
Ral’s absence gnawed at her. Locked in chains, accused, he could not speak in her defense. And Cassien’s silence his refusal to name her safe, or curse her as dangerous left the soldiers to decide for themselves.
And fear always needed an answer.
The first sign came days later.
A scout found a symbol carved into the trees near the southern path: a clawed circle, a mark Damon’s pack used to claim territory. But beneath it was another symbol, one that chilled Lyra’s blood the crest of Noctara, slashed through.
Ral’s voice echoed in her mind from the cells. They’ll break us, one by one.
This was the first break.
The council argued until their throats were raw.
“They strike too close,” one captain barked. “We must hunt them in the forest.”
“And leave the walls empty? That’s what they want!” another snapped.
“They want her.” The third captain’s gaze flicked to Lyra. “They’ll burn every village, every patrol, until we give her up.”
The chamber stilled.
Lyra’s claws dug into the table. “Say it plainly. You think we should hand me to them.”
The captain did not flinch. “If it spares Noctara from ruin, yes.”
Her chest heaved, her wolf snarling in her blood. “You think they’ll stop with me? You think Damon will kneel because you offer him scraps?”
The captain’s eyes were sharp. “I think he wants you most of all. And if giving you buys us time—”
Cassien’s blade struck the table, splitting wood. His voice thundered. “She is not theirs to take.”
The room fell silent.
But silence was not agreement.
That night, Lyra overheard them.
She was walking the lower halls when she caught voices in the shadows. Soldiers huddled close, their tones urgent, hushed.
“She’s the reason Damon won’t stop.”
“If Cassien won’t see it, we have to.”
“They say he’d spare the fortress if we gave her.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least he takes the curse with him.”
Her claws curled. She could smell their fear, their sweat. They believed what they whispered. And that belief was more dangerous than any claw.
She stepped forward, her eyes burning in the dark.
The soldiers froze, their faces pale. One stammered, “My lady”
Her voice was low, sharp. “Try it. Try and lead me to them. And I will tear you apart before they even reach the walls.”
The soldiers bolted, their fear thick in the air.
But fear did not silence whispers. It sharpened them.
Cassien confronted her later, his voice low and hard. “You threatened them.”
Her claws flexed. “They spoke of handing me over.”
“They are afraid,” Cassien said. “Afraid men do reckless things.”
Lyra’s chest ached, her voice raw. “And what about you? Would you chain me again, if fear demanded it?”
Cassien’s eyes locked on hers, sharp as steel. “I would chain the world before I let it take you.”
Her heart twisted. She hated him for the chains. She wanted him for the fire. She turned away before the storm inside her broke again.
The wolves struck three nights later.
This time, it wasn’t a siege. It was a test. A small pack slipped through the southern paths, torching farms, dragging survivors screaming into the trees.
Lyra led the charge to intercept.
The battle was swift, brutal. Her claws ripped through fur, her spear flashing like fire. But when it ended, when the wolves retreated, she found what they had left behind.
A banner, planted in the snow.
The crest of Noctara, slashed through. And beneath it, words carved in blood:
Give her, and live.
The soldiers stared, their faces pale, their eyes sharp with doubt. Some spat, snarling at the insult. Others looked at Lyra, their gazes heavy, uncertain.
The wolves hadn’t just struck the farms. They had struck the fortress’s heart.
That night, in the barracks, the whispers sharpened into something more.
“We can’t fight them forever.”
“They’ll never stop until she’s gone.”
“Cassien won’t do it, but we could.”
“They’d kill us if we tried.”
“Not if we delivered her ourselves.”
A faction formed in the shadows, bound not by loyalty, but by desperation. They were soldiers, sworn to Noctara, but fear had already eaten their oath.
And Lyra had become their answer.
In the cells, Ral heard the whispers too. A guard muttered when he thought no one listened.
“They’ll hand her over. Cassien can’t stop it forever.”
Ral’s chains rattled as he leaned forward, his voice raw. “If they try, they’ll damn us all.”
The guard smirked faintly. “Maybe damnation is better than dying for her.”
Ral snarled, the chains straining. “She’s the only reason you still draw breath.”
The guard’s smirk faltered. But fear did not vanish.
Far in the forest, Lucien stood beneath the stars, his poisoned blade gleaming faintly.
“They plot,” Maeron said, his voice sharp. “Her own soldiers whisper of handing her to you.”
Lucien’s smile curved, cruel. “Good. Let them believe it was their choice. Chains forged by fear are the strongest of all.”
Damon’s growl rumbled like thunder. “You waste time. We should tear the walls now.”
Lucien’s red eyes glowed, his voice soft as silk. “Not yet. Let them turn on her first. Let them believe she is theirs to sacrifice. And when they do…”
He lifted his blade, the moonlight catching on its poisoned edge.
“…she will come to me in chains of her own making.”