Chapter 241
The peace didn’t last. It never did.
We returned from the cabin just after dawn. The packhouse stood still under the pale light of morning, the scent of ash faint but unmistakable in the breeze. I knew before I saw them—we’d been touched again.
A series of claw marks carved through the gatepost.
Three slashes. Vertical. Deliberate.
Roman tensed beside me. "Territorial signal."
"From the Ashborn?"
He nodded once. "They were here."
Inside, the council chamber buzzed with restrained panic. Ella had called an emergency session before we even set foot inside. Wyatt paced the floor, a crumpled map in his hand, while Nessa scowled at a parchment she’d just decoded.
"What happened?" I asked.
Wyatt looked up. "Surveillance team spotted movement near the southern border. We sent scouts. They didn’t come back."
Nessa held out the parchment. "And we found this tied to one of our signal stones."
I took it. The handwriting was different. Sharper. Not Maeven.
Come see what you missed. Bring your crown. Leave your army.
Roman read over my shoulder. "They want you alone."
"They’re trying to separate us," Nessa growled.
"Of course they are," I said. "And it’s working."
A silence followed. Heavy. Tense.
"So what’s the plan?" Ella asked, breaking it.
I folded the note. "We don’t answer. Not yet. We strengthen borders, move patrols to the fallback routes, and prep the civilians for evac drills. We don’t react like we’re scared. We act like we’re ready."
Roman stepped closer, his voice low. "And what about you?"
"I wait," I said. "Until we have something better than a baited letter."
It took less than a day.
Maeven came to us. Not in the woods. Not in secret.
She walked into the packhouse gates alone, her hood down, her hands up.
The guards surrounded her instantly. But she didn’t flinch. She stood there, calm as dawn.
"Tell your Luna I’m here to talk," she said.
I met her in the open yard. No weapons. Just the two of us.
"You’re bold today," I said.
"Today is different," she replied.
I studied her. She looked the same—ashen cloak, frostburn eyes, calm that felt too practiced. But something was off. Her hands trembled slightly. Just slightly.
"You came to warn me," I said.
She nodded. "They plan to detonate the first ring tonight."
"Where?"
"The east ridge. You have a scout outpost there. Three sentries. You won’t reach them in time."
"Then why tell me?"
Maeven met my eyes. "Because I’m done watching them destroy people who never wronged us. I joined the Ashborn to end the Council’s legacy. Not to murder innocents."
I believed her.
I also knew better than to trust her.
"Walk with me," I said.
We moved toward the ridge.
Roman joined us at the treeline. One glance exchanged, and he fell into step without asking.
Maeven hesitated but kept pace.
"If you’re sure about this," Roman said, "you’ll help us disarm it."
Maeven nodded. "It’s not just explosives. They’ve laced the magic with memory triggers. Old blood. Names of the dead. It binds to the land like roots."
"How do we stop it?" I asked.
"You don’t," she said. "You uproot it. Or it spreads."
The east ridge was quiet when we arrived.
Too quiet.
Roman signaled for the others to fan out. Nessa took Wyatt and two sentries along the outer trees. Ella stayed near the southern edge.
Maeven led us forward.
And then we saw it.
Beneath the roots of an old sycamore, the earth had been split. Not dug—split. Like something had clawed its way up from the inside.
At the center, a glowing sigil pulsed against stone.
The crate was buried here.
And it was active.
"How long?" I asked.
Maeven crouched beside it. "Thirty minutes. Maybe less."
Roman swore. "If this thing goes off, it takes the ridge and the three surrounding sectors with it."
I crouched beside Maeven. "Can you disarm it?"
She hesitated. "No. But I can weaken it. You’ll need to finish it. Together."
She took my hand.
The magic rushed in fast and brutal.
Flashes of fire. Screams. Names I didn’t recognize burning through my veins. I felt the weight of every soul this land had buried. Every lie the Council had left behind.
And then Roman's hand touched my shoulder.
Grounding me.
Together, we reached in. Magic met will, will met pain. And we ripped it loose.
The sigil flared—then shattered.
The light collapsed inward. Silence followed.
The crate went still.
It was over.
For now.
Back at the packhouse, no one spoke as Maeven was escorted to the lower hall. Not as a prisoner. Not exactly. But not free, either.
Ella watched her go, then turned to me. "You trust her now?"
"I believe she wants something different than the rest of them," I said. "But I don’t trust anyone who walks between lines and doesn’t choose one."
That night, I found Roman on the balcony again, watching the trees.
He didn't look at me when he spoke. "That could’ve gone wrong."
"It didn’t," I replied.
He turned finally. "Because we were lucky. Or because she didn’t lie. Either way, that kind of luck doesn’t last."
I stepped into his arms without a word.
He held me like he needed to feel I was real.
"I don’t want to lose this," he whispered.
"You won’t."
"This peace—"
"Isn’t peace. It’s a breath between blows. But we’ll make it last as long as we can."
He kissed the top of my head.
"One of these days, we should build something," he said. "After the war. After all this. Something real."
I looked up at him. "We already did."
And in that moment, under the stars, even with a war looming—it felt true.
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