บททั้งหมดของ The Slave Who Owned The Moon: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

AmayaThe shout reached me before the bells did.A sharp, metallic cry that tore through the packhouse like a blade.“The scroll—where is it?”I froze halfway down the servants’ passage. The words echoed again, closer this time, followed by the sound of boots striking stone. Papers fluttered, chairs scraped, someone cursed loud enough to shake the silence that usually wrapped the council wing.They had noticed.I pressed myself against the wall, heart hammering. Through the narrow gap in the doorframe I could see the hall beyond—lamplight flashing off armor, the glint of the Council’s silver insignia. Evelara stood at the center of the chaos, elegant even in anger, her cloak spilling across the floor like ice melting in reverse.“Find it!” she snapped. “Seal the eastern quarters until we recover every name.”Theron’s voice followed, slow and poisonous. “There is no error. A thief among slaves, nothing more. I warned you she was trouble.”I could almost see his thin smile when he said

AmayaDawn came gray and hollow, like the world hadn’t decided yet whether to live or die.I’d been awake through every hour of the night, crouched beneath the ridge where the eastern wall met the old woods. My hands were numb from cold, my cloak damp with dew and smoke. Each breath burned. But I was alive.That should have been enough.Below, the compound stretched in silence. From this distance, the packhouse looked peaceful again—no fires, no shouting, only the faint movement of guards changing shift. They’d smothered the flames Lucian set. They thought the chaos was over.It wasn’t.Trish hadn’t made it to the gate before the lockdown bells. I waited until the third one, the one that was supposed to be our signal, but she never appeared. Maybe she hid. Maybe she was caught. I didn’t know. The uncertainty gnawed at me worse than fear.The air smelled of ash and iron. Wolves had been through the grounds before dawn—tracking, searching. The scent was everywhere. If they came this way

AmayaThe forest is never silent after a storm. It creaks and sighs, like something that has been holding its breath too long. The sky is heavy with ash and morning light. My hands still smell of smoke from the fire Lucian set to confuse the trackers.We spent the night in the old watchtower, a ruin swallowed by ivy and memory. Its stones bleed moss and moonlight, the kind of place the pack forgot existed. Trish’s absence presses on me harder than the damp air. Her laughter used to cut through silence like a knife. Now the quiet feels like an accusation.Lucian kneels near the window, sharpening his blade even though we both know steel won’t stop what hunts us. “They’ve started the tests,” he murmurs. “Theron’s men were moving toward the eastern quarter before dawn. They’re sniffing every servant, every stable hand.”I close my eyes. “And the council?”“Darian tried to stall them,” he says. “But he’s losing ground. Evelara’s pulling strings while pretending to hold them together.”Her

AmayaBy the time the first howl rolls through the valley, Lucian and I are already halfway down the ridge. The moon hangs pale and cruel above the treetops, painting the forest in silver and shadow. The cold air bites at my face, sharp with the scent of smoke and iron.Below us, the Grayhide compound glows faintly through the mist. Watchfires burn in a perfect ring—Theron’s net. I can feel it even from here, that heavy pulse of order he casts like a curse. Every torch is a trap. Every gap is a mouth waiting to close.Lucian’s hand signals for silence. We crouch beside a fallen oak. Its bark is scarred black from lightning, hollow enough to hide us if the patrols sweep close. He looks back at me, his voice a whisper. “They’ve started the purge.”My stomach tightens. “How do you know?”He points toward the northern barracks. A column of light flickers there, followed by the faint echo of shouts. “They’re testing the servants. Blood sigils. I saw one burn from here.”The air between us

AmayaThe tunnel wanted to swallow us whole. Every step felt like stepping deeper into a throat—stone closing, breath shortening, the air growing older and thicker until my lungs protested. Trish’s grip on my sleeve was the only anchor I had; without it I would have slid off into panic and the dark and never found my way back. We moved on hands and knees where the drain forced us to, water licking our calves, the metal taste of damp and old iron on my tongue.I thought about Lucian the way you think of a wound you can’t touch. He was behind us, fighting bone and torchlight, giving us the only path that might yet bend toward escape. That thought turned my feet faster. If he bled for me, then the rest of me would be worth the saving.The hum started low, a vibration under the soles of my feet first, then a tone that threaded behind my teeth. It made the mark at my throat prickle like an insect. My fingers went to it without conscious thought, to the place where the old blood lay simmeri