Chapter 10

The fortress didn’t sleep that night.

I stood at the war table with a map stained in blood, ink, and ash. My hands hovered above the southern quadrant where the cursed forest stretched out like a scar.

The walls trembled with the sound of steel. Women cried behind closed doors. Children were ushered through tunnels beneath the stone floor, not knowing if their mothers would follow.

We weren’t ready. But we’d never be.

I didn’t build this war for readiness.

I built it for reckoning.

“Alpha,” Jared muttered as he strode in. “Six more bodies. All ours. They got to the armory. Poisoned the first water tank. Bastards were disguised in our own colors.”

My knuckles cracked. “How many traitors?”

“Too many to count. But most of them are dead now. Damon’s men caught three trying to scale the keep.”

“And?”

He didn’t answer.

Good.

Because if they weren’t skinned, I’d be doing it myself.

I moved back to the stone balcony that overlooked the courtyard. Blood had already stained the stones where we beheaded the last informant.

The air reeked of betrayal. Smoke. Burning oil.

And fear.

Not mine.

Theirs.

I turned as Elias was dragged in, limping, bloodied, one eye swelling shut. Jared threw him to the ground.

“I want names,” I hissed. “Now.”

Elias coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. “You think this matters? You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.”

I squatted low. “Then educate me.”

He laughed, a weak, broken thing. “You think this fortress is your weapon. It’s your tomb.”

I slammed his head against the floor. “Wrong answer.”

Jared didn’t flinch. Damon stood behind him, eyes burning.

“She’s right,” Damon growled. “We were never meant to survive this.”

I turned slowly. “Speak plainly.”

He met my gaze. “There’s more. We didn’t just find spies. We found sigils carved into the inner foundations. Old runes. Blood runes. The kind that summon the Forsaken.”

Jared’s face turned to stone. “That’s impossible. Those creatures haven’t walked the realm since the Burning War.”

“Tell that to the corpse we found in the granary,” Damon replied. “Its heart was missing. And its eyes were sewn shut.”

A long silence followed.

Elias started laughing. “You think Xavier fears your blades? He’s raising the dead, Rhea. And you’re standing in a fortress that’s already cursed. You don’t win this.”

I didn’t speak.

I just drove my dagger into his thigh.

He screamed. I twisted.

“That’s for underestimating me.”

Another twist.

“And that’s for speaking Xavier’s name like he’s above me.”

Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the cracks in the stone.

“I should kill him,” Damon muttered.

“No,” I said coldly. “He’ll be more useful screaming than silent.”

*******

By dawn, we had the walls manned and the northern pass fortified. The children were halfway through the forest tunnel. The scouts returned with scattered news:

Three more battalions had joined Xavier’s army.

One of them carried flame carts—fire-blasters forged in the Deep Iron Mines of Dagonhold.

That meant one thing.

They wanted to burn us alive.

I stood at the gates with Jared as the sun barely broke through the mist. A faint trumpet echoed from the distance, and behind it—hoofbeats. Thousands.

“Rhea…” Jared said slowly. “This won’t be a siege. It’ll be a slaughter.”

“Not if we make it one first.”

I mounted my black warhorse, the one with the burned saddle and blind left eye. Feral, stubborn beast.

Much like me.

I looked down at Jared. “Hold the west. If they breach the cliff path, drown them with the barrels.”

He nodded.

“And the cursed woods?”

I smiled. “Let them in. Lock the exits.”

“You sure?”

“They want ghosts?” I whispered. “We’ll give them monsters.”

Hours passed like centuries.

The sun climbed.

The drums of war thundered in waves.

Then I saw them—Xavier’s army. Silver helms, red crests, spears like a sea of teeth. They covered the hills, stretching into the horizon. Men, beasts, siege towers.

And at the center, riding a black armored stallion…

Him.

Xavier.

My uncle. My betrayer.

The man who murdered my father. My brothers. The man who dragged my mother through the throne room and slit her throat like a pig.

He had aged. His beard was streaked with gray. But his eyes—the same snake-pit shade of cruel.

He raised one hand.

The drums stopped.

And then… silence.

“ALPHA RHEA!” His voice rang like thunder. “COME OUT!”

I didn’t move.

“COME OUT AND I’LL MAKE IT QUICK!”

Still, I stayed still.

He snarled. “HIDE IN THAT STONE CAGE AND I’LL RIP IT TO THE GROUND WITH YOU INSIDE!”

I laughed. Not out loud.

But deep. Deep where the rage lived.

Damon stepped beside me. “You want me to shoot him?”

“Not yet,” I whispered.

I grabbed a torch from the brazier. Walked to the edge of the wall. And hurled it down onto the oil-slick trench below.

The flames erupted like the breath of gods.

Xavier’s front line screamed as they burned. Horses bucked. Men scattered.

I raised my blade and pointed it at him.

“My turn.”

The Fireline Screamed.

Men thrashed in burning oil. Arrows flew from our walls, lighting the sky like vengeful stars. Spears crashed against shields, and the first wave of Xavier’s front line was consumed by chaos.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

From behind the flames came the monsters.

Not beasts.

Men.

But twisted.

Twice the size of normal warriors. Eyes white with smoke. Chains wrapped around their chests like they were born in bondage. They didn’t flinch when the flames touched them. They didn’t scream when their flesh sizzled.

“They’re called Hollowborn,” Damon said beside me, voice cold. “Made from dark rites. Blood and bones of traitors. Controlled by soulbinds.”

I turned to him. “You’ve seen them before?”

He nodded once. “When I was a slave in Dagonhold. They don’t bleed like us. And they don’t stop unless you sever the spine.”

“Then we aim for the neck,” I growled. “We won’t let these bastards through the gates.”

He offered me a small nod. “Command me.”

“Flank the left tower. Light the cauldrons. If they reach the wall, drown them in molten pitch.”

He ran.

I stood still as death.

And then leapt from the battlements.

Thirty feet down.

I hit the dirt hard—rolled, drew my sword, and moved like a demon through the smoke.

They didn’t expect me to fight with my soldiers.

That was their mistake.

My blade struck the first Hollowborn through the gut.

Nothing.

He turned, jaw unhinged, black blood dripping from his mouth.

I stepped back. Waited.

Let him charge.

And when he did, I shifted my stance and drove my sword up—through the chin, into the skull. Straight through the spine.

The body shuddered.

Collapsed.

Dead.

“Next,” I whispered.

Two more lunged at me, iron cleavers in hand. I ducked, slashed, carved my way between them like wind through broken bones. Limbs fell. Blood sprayed. The ground was slick with death.

I didn’t stop moving.

Didn’t give them the chance to think.

I was not Rhea the Alpha.

I was death wrapped in skin.

And they finally understood why they feared me.

Jared fought beside me with twin axes. His face was smeared with blood. His left arm hung limp, but he didn’t slow. Behind him, soldiers formed a wall—shields locked, spears braced.

But the Hollowborn kept coming.

And worse… they weren’t alone.

From the eastern ridge came the horn.

Not Xavier’s.

Another force.

Riders.

Dozens. No—hundreds.

My stomach dropped.

Jared turned to me, panting. “Reinforcements?”

I squinted.

“No. That’s not our banner.”

Black flags.

Silver ravens.

No mercy.

I knew that symbol.

I’d grown up fearing it.

The Black Talons.

Mercenaries. Cutthroats. Raiders of the Veil Sea.

They had joined Xavier’s war.

“Pull back!” I shouted. “Now!”

Our front line collapsed inward.

The Talons swept in like a thunderstorm, their leader, a woman in red leather with ash-gray eyes, slaughtering without pause. Her sword curved like a snake. Her lips never moved. Her kills were silent.

Efficient.

I knew her name before Damon whispered it from behind me.

“Kaiya the Widow.”

Xavier had bought the most feared killer on the eastern coast.

And he’d aimed her at me.

We fought for seven hours.

By dusk, the walls still stood, but barely. Fires roared. The eastern tower had crumbled. The infirmary was filled to bursting, and the smell of burnt flesh clung to everything.

I had sixteen stitches. Two broken ribs. My blade hand blistered from heat.

But I was still alive.

And Xavier?

Still waiting.

Because this wasn’t just about siege.

It was about torment.

Psychological warfare.

We found notes pinned to the bodies of the fallen.

We’re inside. You will never know who’s loyal. Not even your own blood.

I sat alone in my chamber that night, armor off, staring at the candlelight as if it could give me answers.

My ribs ached. My blade hand trembled. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying every scream, every shadow.

Then came the knock.

Damon entered… quiet, grim.

But he wasn’t alone.

Behind him… stood Freya.

Alive.

Bloodied.

But unmistakably her.

My heart stopped.

I stood slowly, disbelief clawing at my throat.

“Freya…” I whispered.

My sister. The one I buried. The one I wept over.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Rhea…”

I stepped closer. “How…? I saw your body. I carried you to the pyre. I—”

“I wasn’t dead,” she rasped. “Barely breathing. Broken. But not dead.”

I stared.

“Someone dragged me from the river. A Seer. She said she owed Mother a blood debt… and kept me hidden.”

My breath caught.

“I begged to come home,” she said, voice shaking. “But the Seer said Xavier was still searching. That if he knew I lived, he’d use me. So she kept me buried in the woods—told me it was the only way to keep you safe.”

“So… you let us believe you died?”

Freya flinched. “I didn’t know how else to protect you.”

“Protect me?” I echoed.

She hesitated.

Then held something out.

A ring.

Not just any ring.

My father’s signet.

The one we buried with him.

My blood ran cold.

I reached for it.

It was cold. Too cold. And wrong.

“Where did you get this?”

Freya’s eyes dropped to the floor.

And everything went still.

Damon moved fast, ripping the chain from around her neck.

Dangling from it, clear as night, was a symbol burned into silver:

Xavier’s mark.

“You were followed,” I said flatly.

“No… I didn’t know… I swear… he said if I brought you the ring, he’d let me live. That he’d—”

“LIAR!”

The scream ripped from somewhere deep inside me.

I didn’t realize I’d drawn my dagger until Damon stepped between us, hands raised.

Freya dropped to her knees, sobbing. “I didn’t want this! I thought… maybe… maybe I could protect you. Maybe—”

I stepped back like she’d slapped me.

“I’ve mourned you for years,” I said. “Buried you in my heart. Wore your memory like armor. And now you come back… not just alive, but marked by him?”

Freya clutched her chest. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t choose to survive. I woke up in that Seer’s hut half-dead, and everything hurt, and all I wanted was to come home. But the world had moved on without me. You had.”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare put this on me?”

She flinched.

Her breath hitched. “Rhea… please…”

Damon’s voice was low. “We need to question her. Properly. If she’s been in contact with Xavier, she could be compromised.”

“I’m not a spy!” she cried.

“You’re a weapon,” I said. “And you didn’t even know it.”

Her face crumpled. “Please, Rhea. Don’t let them lock me away. I came because I love you.”

“No,” I said. “You came because he sent you. Whether you meant to or not.”

A deep silence settled.

Freya shook her head. “You don’t understand. He’s planning something. He said you’d never see it coming. That the ring was just the beginning.”

I stiffened.

“What else did he say?”

She hesitated.

“Freya.” My voice turned to ice.

Her lips quivered. “He said… the throne was never meant for you. That he let you believe you’d won. But it was always going to end with you broken.”

I turned away before she could see the tremble in my fingers.

Damon approached slowly. “We should move her to the west wing. Reinforce the guards. Ward the room.”

Freya clutched my arm as he stepped forward. “Don’t put me in a cell, Rhea. I’m your sister!”

I looked at her.

Truly looked.

And I realized something terrifying.

I didn’t recognize her anymore.

“You’re already dead,” I said.

Her breath hitched. “Rhea…”

But I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t.

Grief had no room left in me.

Only rage.

The kind that boiled under your skin until it poisoned everything soft.

The kind that came when the dead came back wearing your father’s ring and your enemy’s mark.

I turned away. “Take her.”