Page 75 of The First Scar
The earthy scent still clung to my skin when Serenya stirred beside me. I didn't know how much time had passed—underground, you measured the hours in torch-burns and meal bells, and both had gone quiet.
She sat up, found a tear in her cloak's hem, and started stitching without a word.
Her needle dipped and rose, the familiar rhythm stilling my restlessness.
"You smell like a healer's kit," she said without looking up.
I glanced at the clay pot beside my bedroll. "Couldn't sleep."
"Mmm." The needle dipped. Rose. Dipped again. "And the salve appeared by magic, I suppose."
I didn't answer. She didn't push.
That was the thing about Serenya. She always knew when to leave the silence alone.
Chapter 17
AMARIA
The summons came at dusk.
A runner—barely more than a child, all pointy elbows and wary eyes—found me in the training ring and delivered Kaelen's message with the practiced neutrality of someone who'd learned not to ask questions.Private chamber. Now.
I went.
The corridor leading to Kaelen's quarters cut deeper into the rock than I'd ventured before. The air grew colder with eachstep, damper, the torches spaced further apart until I was navigating more by memory than sight. Because of course the leader who wanted blind loyalty held court in the dark.
The chamber itself was smaller than I'd expected. Rougher. There was just a single desk carved from the rock wall, a chair that looked about as comfortable as sitting on a blade, and Kaelen.
He looked up as I entered. Those pale eyes swept over me once, clinical, missing nothing—the lift of my chin, the way I braced myself against the doorframe before stepping fully inside. Calculating what I was worth and what I'd cost.
"Amaria. Your success in the first mission was exemplary. A testament to your potential."
I waited. The compliment sat between us like a baited trap.
"You've proven you can retrieve what we need," he continued, leaning back in his chair. "Now it's time to prove you can do what's necessary to keep it."
He slid a captured image across the desk. It was stuttering and worn, the image faded but clear enough. A male's face stared up at me. Hard eyes. A scar bisecting his left eyebrow like he'd earned it and wanted you to know.
"Jorath," Kaelen said. "Former Crownforged. Specialized in hunting Shadowmarked."
The words hit like ice water down my spine.
"Hunting them," I repeated.
"Children, mostly. The Crown always preferred to catch them young—easier to capture before they come into their power." Kaelen's tone stayed even, clinical. "Jorath was one of their best. Tracked Shadowmarked families through the outer districts for almost a decade. Dozens of children dragged to the Veil Mines because of him. Dozens more dead in the taking."
I thought of the salves I used to smuggle. Securing the tiny buttons on their tunic, all the way to the chin in the swelteringheat to hide the marks before Enforcers could see. The mothers who'd clutched my hands and whisperedthank youlike I'd given them something more precious than coin.
Children. He'd huntedchildren.
"What happened to him?"
"He aged out. Lost his edge." Kaelen shrugged—a small, dismissive motion. "The Crown has no use for dull blades. Now he guards the Shadow Key in the Watcher's Keep. Retirement, of a sort. A loyal dog given a bone to gnaw in his final years."
I looked at it. At the cold stare of a male who'd spent a decade dragging children into the dark.
"Kill him," Kaelen said, "and you're not just retrieving the second key for the codex. You're delivering justice for every child he ever took. Every family he ever destroyed." He leaned forward, pale eyes bright. "This isn't murder, Amaria. It'sreckoning."
