The reply came at dawn.
Not with a messenger, not with a seal. It came with fire.
Aria woke to shouting and the smell of smoke. She was on her feet before Darian’s hand even touched her shoulder.
“Stay behind me,” he said, sword already drawn.
Kieran was at the window, cursing. “They didn’t send a letter. They sent a message.”
Aria crossed to him. Below, the lower district was burning.
Not all of it. Not yet. But the market square, the barracks, the houses nearest the gate—all of it was up in flames. Figures moved in the chaos, black cloaks, silver sigils on their shoulders.
High House sigils.
“They’re making an example,” Kieran said. “Burn the people who knelt, burn the place that listened. Make sure no one else gets ideas.”
Mara burst into the room, face streaked with a
