POV: Soraya
I stop sleeping fully after the market.
Rest comes in fragments—too many faces in my memory, too many words branded beneath my skin. Cursed. Stray. Broken thing.
On the fourth night, the fortress feels restless too.
Torchlight flickers strangely along the hall outside my room. Voices drift up from below, sharper than usual. I toss on my pallet, then give up and pull on my boots.
Ashra at night is a different beast.
I wander toward one of the inner balconies overlooking the council hall.
I don’t mean to eavesdrop.
But I hear Raevan’s name, and my feet freeze.
The balcony rail hides me from sight; the space below opens into a long chamber lined with carved pillars. Torches burn low. Around a central table, three figures stand: Raevan, Kaide, and an elder with a thin, hawk-like face.
“…came by courier this evening,” the elder is saying, tapping a parchment. “Straight from Saren’s capital. Sealed with Darron’s crest.”
The name hits me like a slap.
My father.
Kaide snorts. “King or not, he still sends messages like a child throwing rocks.”
Raevan’s jaw works. “Read it again.”
Kaide obliges, scanning the parchment. His voice is flat, but the words are anything but.
“Notice to all border empires,” he recites, “concerning one Soraya of Saren, daughter of Darron. Wanted for high treason and matricide. Accused of murdering Lysara, favored wife of Saren’s lord, by Zehrael manipulation. Bounty offered for her capture alive.” He looks up. “Generous bounty, too. Enough to tempt every rogue pack between here and the northern sea.”
For a moment, I don’t breathe.
Matricide. Murder.
My stomach lurches. I grip the balcony rail so hard my knuckles burn.
The memory of that night floods up—my mother’s eyes wide with shock, my father’s sword dripping, salt floor slick with blood. My scream. The way Darron’s gaze slid to me, found a perfect scapegoat already glowing with Zehrael light.
“This is a lie,” Raevan says.
“Is it?” the elder counters.
Raevan’s head snaps toward him.
The elder lifts both hands. “I don’t mean the crime itself,” he says. “I mean the details. Treason? Convenient word. Matricide? Convenient charge. But we didn’t witness what happened in that palace. All we know is she arrived here half-dead and glowing with forbidden power.”
“She also woke up from exile with no idea she was Zehrael,” Kaide says. “That doesn’t scream mastermind to me.”
“Intent doesn’t change the bounty,” the elder replies. “Every rogue band in the dunes will be sniffing for her scent now. Every border patrol will have to choose whether they honor Saren’s notice or Raevan’s protection.”
Kaide exhales. “This is exactly what Darron wants. He can’t reach her himself without provoking war, so he lets the wilds do the work.”
My hands shake.
I knew my father wanted me gone.
I didn’t realize he wanted me hunted.
Below, Raevan grips the table edge. The wood creaks. “He framed his own daughter,” he says slowly. “Killed his wife and pinned it on a girl who couldn’t even control her first shift.”
The elder’s mouth tightens. “Saren politics are not our concern.”
“They are when they put targets on people in my halls,” Raevan snaps.
Silence pulses in the chamber.
Kaide breaks it. “What do we do?” he asks. “Apart from tearing the notice into strips, which I already did once.”
“We seal our borders tighter,” Raevan says. “Post more patrols along the outer dunes. Any bounty hunter we meet will be told politely to turn back.”
“And if they don’t?” Kaide asks.
A hard, humorless smile curves Raevan’s mouth. “Then they learn why Ashra doesn’t host other men’s executions.”
Kaide rubs his temples. “What if we go to the root?” he says. “Send someone to Saren quietly. Find out what really happened in that hall. If we expose Darron’s lie, the bounty rots.”
“And if it’s not a lie?” the elder asks.
My breath stops.
Raevan’s answer is a growl. “Then I’ll decide what to do with the truth when I’m holding it, not when it’s been dressed in Darron’s version of it.”
He straightens, resolve chilling the air. “Send a message to our contacts in the north,” he tells Kaide. “Discreet. I want whatever they can find on Lysara’s death.”
Kaide nods. “Consider it done.”
The elder shakes his head, murmuring something about reckless kings and their doomed projects.
I back away from the balcony on unsteady legs, the words echoing in my skull.
Wanted.
Matricide.
Murdered her own mother.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear hits my wrist, leaving a clean track in the dust.
Guilt doesn’t care about logic.
If I hadn’t been Zehrael—
If I hadn’t shifted wrong—
If I hadn’t glowed—
Would he have killed her?
Would he have needed a scapegoat?
My back hits a cool stone wall. I slide down it, knees giving out, breath coming in small, sharp bursts. My wolf whines, pressing against the inside of my ribs, confused and hurting.
They think I murdered her.
My own province. My own blood.
Footsteps approach.
I scrub furiously at my face, but it’s too late. Raevan rounds the corner, Kaide a step behind him. They both stop when they see me.
“Soraya,” Raevan says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” I whisper.
He swears under his breath.
Kaide looks away, giving me a sliver of privacy that feels suddenly precious.
“I didn’t kill her,” I say, staring at my hands. “I didn’t. I saw him do it. I tried to stop the blood. That’s all.”
“I believe you,” Raevan says immediately.
“You don’t know me,” I snap, the words breaking. “You know a girl you dragged out of a dungeon.”
“I know the way you shook,” he replies. “I know the way you look when someone mentions your mother. I know what guilt looks like on the innocent. I’ve worn it enough.”
My throat tightens.
“If I stay,” I say, “I bring hunters to your gates. I divide your council. I paint a target on everything around me. Maybe your elder’s right. Maybe you should send me away.”
Something flares in his eyes—anger, fierce and protective.
He kneels, bringing his face level with mine.
“I will find out what truly happened in that hall,” he says. “Not Saren’s version. Not yours shattered by grief. The truth. And until then, you stay here. With guards, with glares, with all the politics we can throw at you—but alive. Under my protection.”
His words land heavy. My chest feels too full.
“You can’t promise that,” I whisper. “Not when there’s a bounty on my head.”
He holds my gaze. “Watch me.”
For the first time since the dunes, I let myself lean into someone else’s vow. Just a little. It’s terrifying. It’s also the only thing keeping me from crumbling completely.