The morning after the Hollow Garden felt different.
The palace walls hadn't changed, but the air had. Sharper. Charged. Like even the stones underfoot sensed the shift in balance—like they remembered her.
Eira kept her cloak high and her footsteps quiet as she descended into the lower halls, where whispers clung to the walls and servants walked with downcast eyes. She didn't know who she could trust anymore. But she did know one thing—
If the Queen was starting to tighten her grip, she needed to start slipping through the cracks.
Which was why she wasn't heading toward the council chambers, or the archives, or even her private quarters.
She was going underground.
To him.
---
The access tunnel to the rebel's den wasn't marked on any map. It twisted behind the old catacombs beneath the Hall of Masks, buried under centuries of discarded history. Corren had first shown her the entrance months ago, just in case.
"In case of what?" she'd asked.
"In case you ever decided to stop dancing and start fighting."
She had. And she was.
Her boots struck stone, echoing as she walked through the shadows.
Then, at the edge of a crumbling archway, she saw the sigil burned into the wall: a phoenix, wings folded, beak open like it was screaming.
The rebel's mark.
She pressed her hand to it.
A mechanism clicked. Stone ground against stone. The archway split open.
A torchlight flared within—and then Corren appeared, holding a blade at the ready until he saw her.
"About time," he said, motioning her in.
Eira followed him through the passage and into the heart of the rebel's sanctuary.
---
The chamber was deeper than she remembered. It had grown—new tunnels, new recruits, new strategies etched across glowing maps pinned to the walls. Tables lined with blades, cloaks, forged documents. A full-scale operation now, not just a whisper in the dark.
And at its center stood him.
Dare Valen.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes the color of storm-touched steel. His cloak was sleeveless, revealing the war runes inked into his arms. Rebel general. Exiled noble. And traitor to the Queen.
He looked up as she entered, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.
"I was wondering when the firebird would fly down to the pit," he said.
"I don't have time for riddles," Eira said. "You sent the message, didn't you?"
Dare's smile vanished. "No. But I heard about it. That garden hasn't been opened in years."
Eira's heart skipped. "Then who—"
"There are factions within factions," he interrupted. "Not every rebel works for me, and not every enemy works for the Queen."
She stepped forward. "I don't care who's pulling the strings. I care about burning them down."
That caught his attention.
He approached, studying her face. "You've changed."
"I woke up."
"No," Dare said. "You remembered."
He pulled something from his belt—a shard of obsidian, laced with ember lines that pulsed faintly.
"This came from the Ember Vault," he said. "The last vault before the Queen ordered them all destroyed."
Eira reached out.
The moment her fingers touched it, it flared.
The sigil on her wrist burned in response.
Dare watched, fascinated. "That's not normal."
"Nothing about me is."
"You're more than the Emberborn girl hiding behind a silk mask. You're blood-legacy."
"You knew?"
"I guessed. I also knew if I told you too soon, you'd run."
She turned away, fire simmering under her skin. "You brought me here for a reason. What do you want?"
He didn't hesitate.
"I want to make a deal."
---
They sat across from each other at a long table littered with blueprints, stolen correspondences, and sigil fragments. Corren stood nearby, silent but watching like a hawk.
Dare laid it all out.
"There's a shipment moving in three nights—enchanted relics seized from the South Borderline Temple. One of them is marked with your sigil."
"My sigil?"
"Your family's," he said. "Before the Queen erased them."
Eira's hand clenched around the locket at her neck.
"I want your help stealing it," he continued. "You can get us past the wards. I'll get it out."
"And in exchange?"
Dare's eyes locked onto hers.
"I'll give you access to our network. Messengers. Spies. Even the underground archives."
Eira didn't speak for a moment.
This was dangerous. If the Queen even suspected she was working with rebels, she wouldn't just be exiled—she'd be erased.
But if the item really was part of her legacy…
"I want the artifact."
"It's yours."
"And I want your loyalty."
He arched a brow. "You're not my queen."
"No," Eira said quietly. "But I may be your only chance at surviving what's coming."
That earned her a slow nod.
"Deal."
They shook hands.
A pact forged in flame.
---
Later, as the sun dipped and dusk crept in, Eira slipped back into the palace. The Masquerade loomed closer—another night of dancing and watching, pretending she didn't know what the walls whispered after dark.
She sat at her vanity, removing the day's mask, when a knock came.
This time, it wasn't Corren or Cassian.
It was Queen Lyra.
Eira froze, every instinct screaming.
The door opened before she could answer.
The Queen entered in a gown of ice and diamonds, her crown more thorn than gold. Her eyes swept the room, then settled on Eira.
"Good evening, child," she said, voice like silk soaked in poison.
Eira stood. "Your Majesty."
The Queen's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I trust you're enjoying your time among my court."
"Of course."
"Then you'll be pleased to know you've been selected to join the Moonlight Delegation next week."
Eira blinked. "The delegation to Velruin?"
The Queen nodded. "A diplomatic gesture. You'll represent our court."
Eira felt her stomach tighten.
Velruin was the last neutral territory in the north. If the Queen was sending her there… it wasn't diplomacy. It was a threat. Or worse—a trap.
"I'm honored."
"I thought you might be," the Queen said. She turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh," she added, "do avoid those old gardens. Some roots are best left buried."
She was gone before Eira could respond.
---
Eira sat alone in the silence.
The Queen knew.
Maybe not everything—but enough.
She stared at her reflection, at the white flame curling under her skin.
Everything was accelerating. The rebels. The relic. The Queen's games.
And now, the world was about to open wider.
Velruin.
A place of hidden magic, political tension—and rumors of a faction even the Queen feared.
She reached for the fused locket, now warm to the touch.
The Ember Sigil pulsed once.
Then again.
This wasn't just a request anymore.
This was war.