Zaiden's office was a battlefield of parchment and shadows, the Spire's growl vibrating through the stone floors like a restless hound. Moonlight had long since surrendered to dawn's amber bleed, staining the celestial maps on the walls with hues of fire and rust. The stolen rifle lay disassembled on Zaiden's desk, its Celestaviel wyvern emblem glinting mockingly beside Cora's notes: Dungeon-crafted. Mana-fueled. Unregistered.
Collan Doran slouched in a velvet armchair, boots propped on a stack of trade ledgers, his Glowmarks flickering faintly on his vambraces. "So," he drawled, tossing a dagger at a hanging map of the Midnight Trench. The blade quivered in the heart of Celestaviel's coastline. "Your fiancée's family's been busy."
Zander leaned against the balcony door, sharpening his daggers with a whetstone. The rhythmic scritch-scritch underscored his silence—a man more comfortable with blood than words.
Cedric Winifred hovered by the tea cart, his gloved hands arranging porcelain cups. "Your father's council convenes at noon, Your Highness," he murmured. "Shall I… adjust the agenda to include this… development?"
Zaiden ignored him, tracing the rifle's stock—cold, blackened steel etched with wyverns mid-flight. The metal hummed faintly, a dissonant chord that made his Echohold scars ache. "These aren't Cassis's designs," he said finally. "She'd sooner strangle a buccaneer than arm one."
Collan snorted. "And you'd know? How many midnight strolls have you taken with her? Two? Three?"
"Enough to know she's as subtle as a goblin in a ballgown." Zaiden's thumb brushed the silver wolf pendant beneath his collar—Cassis's betrothal token. It felt heavier tonight. "If Celestaviel's forging dungeon tech, it's not by her hand."
Zander's whetstone paused. "Drystan."
"Or her fanatic aunt," Collan added, grinning as Cedric flinched at the clatter of a misplaced spoon. "Relax, Winifred. We're all treasonous here."
Cedric adjusted his cravat, cheeks pink. "With respect, Commander, the king—"
"—would declare war before breakfast if he saw this." Zaiden snapped the rifle's barrel back into place. "Which is why he won't see it. Not yet."
Sunlight speared through the balcony window, gilding the dust motes into a thousand tiny spies. Zaiden winced, his head throbbing from a night without sleep—or truth. He yanked open a drawer, retrieving a communication crystal veined with dormant starlight. "Cedric. When's Cassis's next envoy due?"
Cedric consulted a ledger bound in wyvern hide. "Princess Voclain visits in two days to finalize the betrothal accords. Though, given the… tensions—"
"Reschedule. Earlier. Somewhere discreet." Zaiden tossed him the crystal. "Tell her I'll meet her at the Skygrave Cliffs. Old family tradition."
Collan raised an eyebrow. "The cliffs where your great-grandmother assassinated hers?"
"Sentimentality," Zaiden said flatly.
Zander sheathed his dagger. "I'll sweep the perimeter."
"No. Cassis hates shadows." And I need her to trust me.
Collan stood, stretching until his spine cracked. "Then I'll go. Interrogations are waiting."
"Out."
The door shut behind them, leaving Zaiden alone with the rifle and the Spire's ceaseless growl. Cedric lingered, his reflection fractured in the crystal's facets. "Your mother will ask where you've gone."
Zaiden smiled thinly. "Tell her I'm courting."
As Cedric retreated, the crystal flared to life in Zaiden's palm, its light catching the wolf pendant's eyes. Somewhere beyond Lismore's borders, Cassis Voclain would be stirring, her own secrets clutched tight.
*****
The storm swallowed the sky, its thunder a growl that rivaled Valor's wings. Cassis clung to her wyvern's silver-scaled neck, the wind whipping her braid into a frayed rope. Beside her, Vadim's obsidian wyvern, Nyx, banked sharply to avoid a rogue gust, his cousin's curses lost to the howling tempest.
"Do you even know where we're going?!" Vadim shouted, his voice frayed at the edges.
Cris's eyes stayed fixed on the pulsing crystal strapped to her wrist—a starstone shard attuned to Astris's bracelet. It blazed now, hotter than Valor's breath. "The signal's close!" she yelled back, though doubt clawed at her throat.
The clouds tore open suddenly, revealing jagged cliffs that speared the heavens like broken teeth—the Nimbus Ridge, a breeding ground for flying creatures. Valor shrieked, recoiling as a primal screech rent the air. A shadow dove from the crags, wingspan blotting out the storm.
"Gryphon!" Vadim snarled, drawing his shadow-forged blade.
The beast was a nightmare of muscle and malice, its lion's body streaked with dungeon moss, eagle talons glinting with venom. But it was the glint around its feathered neck that froze Cassis's blood—a silver-and-bone wyvern bracelet, her bracelet, the twin to Cassis's.
"No," Cassis breathed.
The gryphon lunged. Valor rolled midair, dodging talons that grazed Cassis's thigh, tearing leather and flesh. Blood seeped into her riding gear, the pain sharp and clarifying.
"Cousin, fall back!" Vadim's wyvern spiraled toward them, Nyx's obsidian scales shedding rain like oil.
But Cassis was already diving, her braid a comet's tail. Valor's wings snapped taut, hurling them into the gryphon's blind spot. She unsheathed her dagger—wyvern talon, etched with Celestaviel's moonrunes—and slashed. The blade bit into the gryphon's flank, drawing a roar that shook loose pebbles from the cliffs.
The bracelet snagged on a talon as the beast twisted. Cassis lunged, fingers closing around cold metal. The gryphon's wing clipped her shoulder, knocking her breathless, but she held firm. With a wrench, the chain snapped.
Valor plunged toward a narrow ledge, Cassis's knees buckling as they landed. The bracelet lay in her palm, smeared with gryphon blood and dungeon filth. Astris would never remove this, she couldn't. Never.
Vadim dropped beside her, his boots scattering shale. "Cris—"
She crumpled, the bracelet pressed to her chest. Valor nosed her hair, his psychic bond flooding her with fragmented worry. Alive. Must find alive.
"She's not gone," Vadim said, hand hovering over her shoulder. "We'll search the lower caves. Maybe—"
"This doesn't come off unless she's dead or—" Cassis choked on the alternative. Captured. Tortured. The storm's chill seeped into her bones.
A screech echoed above. A dozen gryphons circled now, eyes glowing like cursed lanterns.
Vadim yanked her up. "We need to move. Now."
Cris stumbled, the bracelet clutched like a lifeline. But as she turned to Valor, her starstone crystal flared—a harsh, rhythmic pulse. Zaiden's sigil, a wolf's head, flickered in its depths.
"Leclair," Vadim spat. "What does he want?"
Cris stared at the crystal, then the cliffs. Skygrave—where Zaiden's ancestors had slaughtered hers. Where he'd asked to meet. Coincidence?
"Change of plans," she said, mounting Valor. The gryphons dove, but her wyvern surged upward, tearing through the storm. Below, the peaks whispered of betrayal and buried blades.
Somewhere, Astris was running out of time.
As Valor pierced the cloud layer, Cassis glanced back. The gryphons swarmed the cliffs like carrion flies, their cries blending with the Spire's growl—a dirge for secrets not yet dead.
*****
The Royal Legal Office hummed with the manic energy of a beehive on the eve of war. Mana-crystal chandeliers cast fractured rainbows over stacks of scrolls and polished floors as clerks clutched steaming porcelain cups like lifelines. Evelyn Laveau swept through the chaos, her silk skirt—dyed the precise shade of Lismore's royal azure—swishing around legs still trembling from last night's three-hour dungeon-tax debate. The Frostbane Festival loomed like a guillotine, its blood-offering rituals demanding a signed marriage contract that Parliament was doing its damnedest to strangle in red tape.
"Gretchen!" Evelyn barked, slamming a ledger onto the reception desk. A cluster of gossiping begonias in a terracotta pot recoiled, petals shivering. "Where's Astris? The clause on dungeon tithes needs her seal before—"
Gretchen Bloom looked up from her kaleidoscope of color-coded scrolls, her botanical-embroidered sleeves rustling as she pushed a plate of lavender-glazed scones forward. "Breathe, darling. She's not in yet."
"Not in?" Evelyn's cursed quill—a jagged thing that etched laws directly into her mind—twitched in her bun. "It's three days until Frostbane. Three. Days. Did she take a personal day? A sudden vacation?"
"No note, no Farspeak." Gretchen plucked a songbird feather from her hair, tapping it against a whispering daisy. The flower wilted apologetically. "But here—have a validation croissant. The cardamom ones are infused with 'You've Got This!' mantras."
Evelyn stared at the pastry. "I don't need mantras. I need a drafter who doesn't vanish before—"
"Problem?" Seth Guilladot shouldered out of his office, hand in his pockets, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, revealing his forearms.
Evelyn bristled. "Unless you've suddenly mastered contractual drafting, this doesn't concern you."
"It does if Astris is missing." Seth plucked a scone, ignoring Gretchen's indignant squeak. "You lot can't sneeze without her revising the fine print."
Gretchen's charm bracelet tinkled as she flicked a crumb off her ledger. "She's not missing. Just… delayed. Probably negotiating with a particularly stubborn clause."
"Or stuck in pedestrian traffic," Seth muttered, examining a scroll. "Wouldn't be the first time."
The begonias hissed.
Evelyn's quill flared, etching a migraine behind her eyes. "This isn't a joke. If the marriage contract isn't ratified by Frostbane, the Galli Audit will freeze half the kingdom's assets. Including your budget proposals," she added, stabbing a finger at Seth.
Gretchen stood, her flowy skirts brushing a pot of judgmental rosemary. "I'll Farspeak the palace guards. Maybe she's stuck in the—"
The office doors burst open, wind scattering parchment like panicked doves. A young clerk stumbled in, clutching a shattered mana-lantern. "The Cybele cultists—they're picketing Parliament again! They've got enchanted pickaxes!"
Seth snorted. "Tell them the dungeon beetles are unionizing. That'll scare 'em off."
Evelyn massaged her temples. "Gretchen. The scones."
"Already on it." Gretchen pressed a honeyed croissant into the clerk's shaking hands. "Eat this, sweetling. It's stuffed with 'Bureaucracy-Be-Gone' bergamot."
As the clerk fled, nibbling pastry, Seth leaned against the desk. "Face it, Laveau. Your star drafter's gone AWOL, the cultists are one chant from storming the vaults, and Frostbane's breathing down your pretty silk neck." He grinned, all teeth. "Need a hand?"
Evelyn's quill shivered, inking an involuntary NO into her palm. "What I need," she said through gritted teeth, "is for you to—"
A fern by the window screamed.
Everyone froze.
"Ah." Gretchen patted the plant's fronds. "That means Lucas Laurent is early."
Seth raised an eyebrow. "Your foliage's got a better security system than the royal guard."
"Quiet." Evelyn straightened her jacket, the mana-crystal brooch at her throat pulsing with borrowed resolve. "Gretchen—find Astris. Seth—try not to start a war. And someone get me a gods-damned coffee before I incinerate Clause 17-D myself."
As the office descended into fresh chaos, Gretchen's Farspeak quill glowed. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, a truth-revealing thyme plant unfurled its buds, and the rosemary muttered prophecies no one would hear.
As Evelyn stormed off, a begonia petal drifted onto Astris's empty desk—a crimson smudge on parchment, like a drop of blood waiting to be inked.
*****
The Skygrave Cliffs loomed like a skeletal hand clawing at the heavens, their jagged peaks veiled in mist that reeked of iron and old blood. Zaiden leaned against a weather-worn monolith, its surface carved with the names of long-dead traitors, their curses etched in Celestaviel's forgotten script. Behind him, Zander stood motionless, a shadow among shadows, while Cedric fidgeted with a star-chart ledger, its pages fluttering in the wind like captive moths.
The growl of wyvern wings tore through the silence. Cassis's silver wyvern, Valor, descended first, his talons scattering shale as he landed. Vadim followed on Nyx, his obsidian mount blending with the cliff's gloom until only his wolfish grin was visible.
Zaiden's gaze locked onto Vadim, fingers twitching toward the dagger at his belt. "You brought a chaperone, Princess?"
Cassis dismounted, wincing as her boot hit the ground. A fresh gash marred her leather-clad thigh, the fabric torn and singed. "He's not here for you," she snapped.
Zander's hand drifted to his blade, but Zaiden raised a palm.
Cassis strode forward, her wyvern bracelet glinting under a slit in the clouds. "What. Is. This. About."
Zaiden nodded to Cedric, who unrolled a linen bundle with trembling hands. Inside lay one of the rifles, its wyvern emblem glowing faintly with Celestaviel's moonsteel.
Cassis froze. "What is that?"
"Your family's crest," Zaiden said coldly. "Found on a ship smuggling dungeon-forged weapons into Lismore. Care to explain?"
Vadim stepped beside Cassis, his posture deceptively relaxed. "If we were smuggling, princeling, we'd use a mark that doesn't scream 'Celestaviel.'"
Zaiden's jaw flexed. "Then why—"
"Wait." Cassis bent, tracing the rifle's barrel. The metal hummed, a dissonant vibration that made her jade pendant flare. "This isn't our craft. The alloy's wrong—too much void ore. It's meant to disrupt magic." She straightened, eyes narrowing. "Where did you get this?"
"Kaufmann's leviathan fleet."
"Kaufmann?" Cassis scoffed. "The merchant guildlord? What's his stake in—"
"He's no mere merchant," Zaiden interrupted. "His ships are armed, his allies faceless. And now your crest is on weapons that could paralyze our mages."
Vadim crossed his arms. "If someone's framing us, they're doing a piss-poor job. Moonsteel's quarried in the Starspire Mines. Restricted to Celestaviel's military."
"Exactly." Zaiden's voice dropped. "So either your family's lying, or your mines have a leak."
Cassis turned abruptly, limping toward Valor. "This'll have to wait."
Zaiden caught her arm. "What's more pressing than war?"
She whirled, shoving a silver-and-bone bracelet under his nose. The wyvern skull was cracked, its chain snapped. "This. Found it on a gryphon at Nimbus Ridge. It doesn't come off unless—"
Zaiden's breath hitched. He knew that bracelet. Had seen it a hundred times on Astris's wrist, catching the light as she drafted contracts, as she laughed, as she—
"Since when?" His voice cracked.
"Last night." Cassis's façade wavered, revealing the panic beneath. "The signal led us to the cliffs. The gryphons were... aggressive. Enhanced."
Vadim edged closer. "We think they're being controlled. Dosed with dungeon venom."
Zaiden's scars burned, his Echohold magic seething. "And you didn't think to lead with this?"
"Would you have believed me?" Cassis shot back. "Or would you have accused me of staging another 'Celestaviel plot'?"
Cedric cleared his throat. "Your Highness, the Spire's growl—it's intensifying. If the gryphons are connected..."
Zaiden stared at the bracelet, then at Cassis's bleeding leg. "You're going after her."
"We are," Vadim corrected.
The wind howled through the Skygrave Cliffs like a chorus of vengeful spirits, carrying with it the metallic tang of distant storms and the Spire's low, grinding growl—a sound that vibrated in Zaiden's molars. Valor, Cassis's silver wyvern, scraped his talons against the shale, his wings twitching as if eager to flee the cliffs' cursed aura. Nyx, Vadim's obsidian mount, remained unnervingly still, her golden eyes tracking Zander as he sharpened his blade with methodical precision.
Zaiden held up the broken bracelet, its wyvern skull catching a sliver of pallid sunlight. "So you're charging back to Nimbus Ridge? The same ridge where your precious signal conveniently led you into a gryphon ambush?" His smirk was razor-edged. "I thought Celestaviel trained its royals to spot traps, not sprint into them."
Cassis's hand flew to her jade pendant, its faint hum drowned by the Spire's drone. "And I thought Lismore's princes knew better than to lecture allies while their cities burn." Her voice was ice, but her leg trembled slightly, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage. "The gryphons were altered. Drugged. That's not a coincidence—it's a trail."
"A trail leading to a corpse," Zaiden shot back. "Those beasts were a distraction. Whoever took her wanted you to waste time scouring cliffs."
Vadim stepped between them, his sea-salt scent cutting through the ozone-tinged air. "Enough. Cassis, he's not wrong."
She whirled on him, her braid lashing like a wounded serpent. "You too?"
Vadim raised his hands, his gryphon-leather gloves creaking. "I'll follow you into a dragon's gullet, cousin. But if this is a ploy to divide us—" he gestured to Zaiden, "—then charging in blind plays their game."
Zaiden's Echohold scars pulsed faintly, casting jagged shadows over the rifle at his feet. "Your enemies want chaos. Right now, that's you." He nodded to the Celestaviel emblem on the weapon. "These rifles, the gryphons—it's a script. And we're the fools reciting it."
Cassis's knuckles whitened around her wyvern bracelet. "Then what's your brilliant plan, Leclair? Draft a treaty? Host a summit?"
"We regroup. My palace has secure vaults, healers, and a library of dungeon maps older than your bloodline." Zaiden's tone softened, though his eyes remained flint. "You're bleeding, your wyvern's half-dead, and whatever's hunting Astris knows you're here."
The Spire's growl surged, shaking pebbles loose from the cliffs. Cedric yelped as his star-chart ledger slipped from his grasp, pages fluttering like wounded birds. Zander caught it midair, his expression unreadable.
Vadim gripped Cassis's shoulder. "He's right. We need allies, not corpses."
For a heartbeat, Cassis looked younger—a girl who'd once hidden in stables to avoid her crown. Then her chin lifted. "Your palace. Then what?"
Zaiden sheathed his dagger, the blade singing softly. "We find who's puppeteering this. And we burn their strings."
Cassis glanced at Valor, the wyvern's scales dull with exhaustion. "If this is a trick—"
"You'll stab me through the heart and blame the gryphons. I've read the ballads." Zaiden mounted his black-coated stallion, its hooves sparking against the shale. "But today, Princess, we share a foe. So ride or rot. Choose."
Vadim nudged Nyx forward, her obsidian wings blotting out the sun. "Lead the way, princeling."
As the group ascended the cliff path, the Spire's growl shifted—a dissonant note, almost like laughter. Behind them, the shadows of the Skygrave Peaks stretched long and skeletal, their whispers lost to the wind. The cliffs' shadows deepened, swallowing their retreating forms—a living darkness that pulsed in time with the Spire's heartbeat.