Chapter 4: The Shadow in the Courtyard
The dawn arrived not with a golden sun, but with a bruised, purple sky that weighed heavily on the Astra estate. In the courtyard, the steam from the horses' breath rose like ghostly spirits in the cold morning air.
Seraphina stood on the damp cobblestones, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Beside her, Eveline was on her knees, her eyes closed in deep concentration as she whispered a prayer for a safe journey. The faint, warm hum of holy magic radiated from the Saintess, a sensation that usually brought Seraphina peace but now felt like a flickering candle in a hurricane.
"Sera, you're trembling," Eveline whispered, her eyes fluttering open with concern.
Seraphina didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on Killian, who was checking the harness of his warhorse just a few paces away. As the wind whipped through the courtyard, it caught a brief flash of color at the hilt of his heavy blade.
Seraphina's breath hitched. Wrapped tightly around the crossguard, half-hidden by his dark, leather-gloved hand, was a faded, frayed blue ribbon. It was the token she had given him at his knighting ceremony—a moment she had recorded in her mind as a pathetic failure, believing he'd discarded it. To see it now, worn and darkened by a decade of war but still there, made her feel as though the ground were shifting beneath her feet.
He kept it, she thought, a sharp, jagged pang of hope fighting through her armor. He carried it into the very world that broke me.
But the warmth died in an instant. Her eyes shifted to the baggage handlers tossing the last of the crates onto the carts. One man, dressed in rough linen, reached up to secure a heavy rope. As he pulled the knot tight, his sleeve slipped back, exposing his hand.
On his middle finger sat a ring. A dull, blackened iron in the shape of a coiled viper with a violet stone for an eye.
The world seemed to tilt. The memory of the Temple dungeon crashed back with the force of a physical blow: the cold floor, the sound of heavy leather boots, and that same violet eye glinting in the torchlight as a hand reached out to tighten the chain around her neck.
"He's here," she breathed, her voice a ghost of a sound.
Evelina looked up, confused. "Sera? Who—"
"He's here!" Seraphine screamed, her voice tearing through the quiet morning.
Killian jerked his head toward her, his instincts reacting to her terror before he even saw the threat. He saw her face—pale, wide-eyed, and looking directly at the baggage line. He didn't hesitate. He vaulted toward her, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword bound by that scrap of blue silk.
"Alaric! Perimeter!" Killian roared.
Alaric drew his blade in a blur of motion, leaping in front of the Duke. Eveline, realizing the danger, didn't stand up; she stayed on her knees, her prayer turning into a desperate command as a shimmering barrier of holy light slammed down, locking the courtyard in a translucent dome.
The servant with the viper ring didn't flee; he turned toward Seraphina and smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had found his prey again. He mouthed a single word:
"Reunion."
Before Killian could reach them, the man shattered a vial of violet glass at his feet. A thick, acrid smoke exploded outward, smelling of ozone and rotted lilies—the unmistakable scent of the Shadow Order.
"Father!" Seraphine cried out, but she was suddenly pulled back by Evelina as the violet mist began to swallow the courtyard.
Through the fog, she saw the three of them move with a desperate, unified ferocity. Alaric was a wall of steel in front of the Duke, and Killian—the ribbon on his sword a tiny, flickering spark of her past—dived headlong into the heart of the smoke to hunt the man who had once had a hand in ending her life.