Chapter 21

  We left Markus' room and sat down at a table in the lounge.

  “I could prepare a mana cage,” Maira offered, her voice measured, yet already weary at the thought. “It’ll drain me—especially to maintain it for any length of time—but it should be strong enough to trap the Crytomancers once they step inside. I’ll set it up right in the center of the common room.”

  Her tone held the weight of experience. She wasn’t making a casual suggestion—this was real magic, the kind that left a toll.

  “I can help sustain it,” Simon added calmly, stepping forward. “Between the two of us, it’ll hold long enough.”

  Maira turned to him with a grateful nod. A subtle connection passed between them—not warmth, not friendship, but a quiet trust forged in desperation and blood.

  “Then someone will have to keep an eye on Markus,” I said, glancing toward the man in question.

  Markus scoffed, as though the notion offended him more than his impending execution.

  “I can take care of myself,” he said, lifting his chin. “Once the trap is sprung, I won’t need a babysitter.” Then, with that same insufferable grin he wore far too often, he added, “After all… I’m a dragonsmith, remember?”

  Bastard. The word flared in my mind. It danced on the edge of my tongue, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. None of us did. His provocation hung heavy in the air—and was met only with silence.

  Thankfully, Vin turned the conversation back toward strategy.

  “I’ll be in the common room,” she said, her voice more serious now. “Hidden in the rafters or behind the barrels. When they arrive, I’ll strike. My vines will wrap around them before they know what hit them.”

  That concerned me. “You shouldn’t be alone when they arrive,” I told her firmly.

  She looked down, her posture faltering ever so slightly, like a flickering flame in the wind. Maybe she had wanted to prove herself. Or protect us. Or maybe she thought this was her burden to bear.

  Before she could retreat into guilt, I continued, gentler now:

  “We still don’t know how powerful the Crytomancers truly are. Better to be cautious than regretful.” I rested a hand briefly on the hilt of my sword.

  “I’ll be there too. Close. Blade drawn. If the cage fails, they won’t leave that room alive.”

  Vin met my eyes and gave a small, resolute nod. There was no defiance—only agreement. She understood. This wasn’t about pride anymore.

  Then, of course, the man who made every moment more complicated had to speak again.

  “And where,” Markus said slowly, formally, as if dictating to a royal court, “shall my person be situated during this climactic encounter?”

  There was a theatrical arrogance in his tone. The kind of voice that once commanded armies, lands, and people too afraid to question him. But we weren’t people like that. Not anymore.

  Simon answered him, his voice sharp, cool, and utterly unbothered.

  “You’ll stand within the bounds of the cage.”

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  There was no malice in his tone, no vengeance—just the blunt necessity of war.

  It was Vin who broke the silence, her voice cautious yet laced with concern.

  “Isn’t it dangerous for him?” she asked, her eyes flicking toward Markus as if she already knew the answer. “I mean… I agree with Luken. We still don’t know how powerful the Crytomancers really are. What if they kill him inside the cage? What if they trap his soul before we even realize it’s happening?”

  Maira shook her head at once. “No. He shouldn’t be in immediate danger. They need to perform the ritual properly—on the altar. That’s when the sacrifice takes place. Not before.”

  Markus turned slowly to glance at her, one eyebrow raised with bemused skepticism.

  But Maira didn’t flinch. She pressed on, her voice suddenly laced with thorns.

  “Of course,” she added, tilting her head mockingly, “we won’t let it come to that… your majesty.”

  A breathless second passed.

  Then—he smiled. That same cursed, insufferable grin.

  “At last,” Markus replied, his voice velvet-wrapped arrogance, “someone is showing me the respect I deserve.” He gave a small, mocking bow of the head, as though expecting applause.

  My fingernails dug into the rough wooden table at the center of the common room. The grain splintered beneath my grip, but I barely noticed. My blood was heating again, same as before. That darkness stirring deep within me—anger, sharper than any blade. A craving. A need.

  “Maira is wrong,” I said, low and cold. My voice was soft, but heavy enough to fill the entire room. The kind of voice that made flames flicker and tempers tighten.

  Vin looked at me, startled. There was fear in her eyes—not of me, but of what she heard rising in my voice.

  Simon, however, met my gaze and gave a small nod. Maira as well. They understood. They knew the depth of what I meant.

  “He is always in danger,” I continued, barely more than a whisper now. “As long as they live… as long as they know his name… his soul is already under threat. The cage won’t protect him. The ritual might be the method—but death doesn’t wait politely.”

  And still, Markus did not move.

  He stood there—chest puffed, head high, like some ancient king carved in arrogant stone. He hadn’t blinked once. Not even when I’d spoken with a voice so soaked in restrained fury it could have scorched the air.

  He didn’t tremble.

  Didn’t protest.

  Didn’t plead.

  And for that, gods help me, I hated him even more.

  Every breath he took felt like an insult. Every second he remained untouched, unbroken—was a challenge.

  To fulfill this challenge, I closed my eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Slow and steady. I had to center myself—keep my anger in check. The fate of everyone here, maybe even the surrounding lands, would depend on our precision.

  It was Vin who broke the silence, a thoughtful crease on her brow.

  "But... why does he need to be inside the cage with them?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and lingering concern.

  Simon turned his head slightly toward her. His voice was calm, as always—measured, almost professorial.

  "He needs to be inside the boundaries of the cage so the Crytomancers will approach him directly. If they sense he’s close, physically present, they’ll come to retrieve him. We want them walking right into the trap, without suspicion."

  Vin nodded slowly, still looking unconvinced but understanding the logic.

  That was when I spoke. My voice low and serious, a weight settling on the room with every word.

  "Let’s make sure we’re all on the same page." I glanced around the circle, locking eyes with each of them in turn.

  "Maira will prepare a containment field—a mana cage. Simon will assist in keeping it stable. The two of them will remain hidden from sight but close enough to maintain the spell. Vin and I will be stationed nearby in the common room. Once the Crytomancers arrive, Vin will ensnare them with her vines."

  I paused, then let my hand rest on the hilt of my blade.

  "And if that’s not enough… I’ll intervene. Personally."

  Then I turned to face Markus, narrowing my eyes. My voice dropped lower, more intense.

  "You’ll be standing inside the trap, at the center. Not because we trust you—but because your presence is bait. If they see you, they’ll come. If they touch you, they’ll believe they’re in control. That’s when we spring it."

  Markus gave no reaction, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Not fear. Never fear. But maybe—just maybe—respect. Or calculation.

  I looked around once more, letting the silence draw itself out until the tension hummed in the air.

  "This plan has to work. No mistakes. No second chances. We stop the Crytomancers. We end the ritual. And we bring that gods-damned blizzard to its knees.

  Two days from now, everything ends. Are we agreed?"

  One by one, they nodded.

  Vin.

  Maira.

  Simon.

  And, finally—even Markus. He gave a single, solemn nod.

  "Well," I said, now more motivated and in joyful expectation, "Two days. We hold. We kill. We end this."