All Chapters of FATASS FATED VENGEANCE: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The snap of Dorian’s staff still seemed to ring off the stone arches of the Great Hall.Nobody moved. The fire in the hearth popped, sending a shower of orange sparks up the chimney, but the crackle only made the sudden silence feel heavier.Cassian kept his hand planted flat on the ancient parchment. Maren’s fingers lingered near her belt, her eyes darting between the broken wood in Dorian’s hand and the pale, ghost-like mask of his face."Say it again," Kian said.He didn't move away from me. His arm remained anchored around my waist, his broad chest rising and falling against my shoulder in a heavy, rhythmic cadence. His voice had dropped into that flat, lethal register he used when the air grew dangerous."The Wardens of the Old Moon," Dorian whispered, his voice thin as dry paper. He dropped the shattered pieces of his staff onto the floorboards with a hollow clack. "It isn't a crown name. It’s an order.""An order?" Cassian frowned, stepping around the table, his boots heavy aga

The smell of bitter willow bark and dried mint hung thick in the infirmary, almost cutting through the iron stench of blood that lingered in the lower halls of Thorneheart.It was late, past the third watch. The snow had stopped blowing sideways against the high narrow glass, settling into a heavy, suffocating silence that made every small sound echo through the stone arches.I sat on the edge of a low wooden cot, my boots pulled off, my bare feet tucked beneath the wool blanket Kian had draped over my legs before he left to inspect the gatehouse guards.On the opposite bed, Selene sat up against three oversized pillows.She looked small. Without the boned corsets, the layered silk skirts, and the intricate gold wire pins our mother used to weave into her hair every morning before morning tea, Selene looked like a child playing dress-up in an oversized linen tunic. Her bruised face was smeared with yellow salve, her lower lip split down the center where a guard’s signet ring had caug

Cassian blinked, a sudden, bright flash of hope lighting up his tired face. "She's... she's working?""She's trying," I said. "Go help her. She doesn't know how to sharpen the pencils properly."Cassian let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. He stood up from the bench, his long legs taking two quick steps toward the infirmary doors before he paused and looked back at me over his shoulder."Thank you, Ivy," he said quietly."Don't thank me," I said, leaning back against the wooden wall of the stable. "Just don't let her work past midnight. Her eyes are still bruised."Cassian nodded once, a gesture of deep, unshakeable respect, before turning and briskly walking toward the light of the infirmary door.I watched him go, feeling a strange, quiet closure settle into my chest. The ghost of our failed marriage was finally dead, buried beneath the snow of the northern crags, leaving behind something clean and honest in its place.A heavy, warm cloak dropped around my shoulders.I didn

The heavy iron door didn't move when Kian slammed his shoulder against it.The impact boomed through the narrow stone pass, sending a shower of razor-sharp icicles crashing onto the frozen ledge. He hit it again, his leather-clad body throwing every ounce of his weight into the reinforced oak behind the iron plate."Open the door!" Kian roared, his voice tearing through the howling wind. His golden eyes were wide, wild, and blazing with a primal, lethal heat. "Open it before I tear this mountain down around your head!""Kian, stop," I gasped, my hands reaching out to grab his forearm. My fingers could barely close around his thick muscle, but the second my palm touched his coat, he went rigid.He turned to me, his chest heaving, white steam billowing from his mouth in the freezing twilight. His jaw flexed tightly, a thick vein pulsing along his neck. He looked down at me, his large hands immediately coming up to frame my face, his bare thumb brushing over my frozen cheekbone."She ca

The floor of the inner cavern wasn't smooth flagstone. It was jagged slate, pitted with ancient grooves that smelled faintly of copper and scorched bone.Isolde stood at the center of the ring, a heavy iron rod in her right hand. The tip was capped with a unpolished lump of dark sulfur ore that hummed with a low, sickening vibration."Shoes off," Isolde commanded. Her raspy voice bounced off the damp stone walls. "The slate needs bare skin. If you can't feel the cold coming up through your heels, you won't feel the fire rising before it hits your lungs."I unbuckled my boots, stepping onto the slate.The shock was instant. It felt like standing on two slabs of river ice. The cold bit straight through my thin wool socks into my soles, making my toes curl inward. I pulled off my socks, setting them near the wooden bench, standing bare-foot against the dark rock."Hands out," Isolde rasped. "Palms up."I lifted my hands. My knuckles were pale, the thin silver veins beneath my skin gleam