Chapter 9 The Throne of Smoke

"Sometimes, to take the crown, you have to burn the kingdom."

ELIRA

She didn't want a parade.

She got one anyway.

When Elira and her rebel forces marched into Cindervale, the first city to fall back into her hands, the people lined the streets. Some threw flowers. Some threw curses. Some just stared-silent, stunned.

She understood that look.

They didn't trust her yet.

They were used to crowns meaning chains.

So she didn't give a speech from the palace balcony. She didn't wave.

She walked through the market barefoot.

And into the ruins of the old chapel, where the Queen once hanged dissenters.

She climbed the steps of the broken altar.

Lit a single flame.

And whispered the prayer the Queen outlawed:

"Justice. Mercy. Fire."

KAEL

Cindervale was a city made of ash and old songs. Once proud. Now broken.

Kael didn't care about the parades.

He cared about the snipers hiding in the bell towers. The poisoned grain carts. The three Queen's spies they caught trying to sneak into the city in nursemaid robes.

He killed the third himself.

No hesitation.

Elira didn't flinch when he told her.

They had stopped apologizing for who they needed to become.

THE THRONE

She didn't sit on it.

The throne of Cindervale was carved from volcanic stone, blackened with soot. Her mother's old seal still burned faintly across the backrest.

She ordered it broken.

Cracked down the middle.

"I won't sit where tyrants rot," she told her advisors. "We build something new. Or we don't build at all."

THE WARNING

That night, a letter arrived in a bloodstained satchel.

Sealed with red wax.

No crest.

Inside:

*You think you've won a city.

You've only taken the bait.*

Ask your Ironhand what he left behind.*

-V.*

Elira's breath caught.

She turned to Kael.

"What does she mean?" she asked.

Kael froze.

Because he knew.

KAEL

Before he met Elira-before the rebellion-Kael had another name.

Roan. A name he buried.

He once belonged to a traveling forge caravan in the borderlands-a brotherhood of smiths and soldiers-for-hire who sold their skills to the highest bidder.

And once, years ago, one of those bidders... had been the Queen.

She'd paid them to arm her secret militia. Build weapons in silence. Train boys to kill in shadows.

And when they refused to create what she called "the Hollow Blades"-swords that siphoned pain from a victim, not blood

She burned them.

All of them.

Kael had survived.

He thought she'd forgotten.

But now...

He understood.

"She didn't forget," he whispered. "She was waiting."

ELIRA

She didn't speak.

Not right away.

She just looked at him-at the boy she loved, the man who bled for her, and the weapon the Queen had always intended to forge.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asked.

"Because it was a life I killed," he said quietly. "And I didn't want to see it in your eyes."

She touched his face. "You didn't kill it. You survived it."

Then she turned.

And said the words that would ignite the next battle:

"Send word to the eastern gates. We move at first light."

THE TRAP

That night, Kael found something in the cellar of the old chapel.

A child. Mute. Eyes wide. Holding a scroll tied in royal red.

He read it once.

Then twice.

Then dropped it like it burned.

Your old brothers are alive.

In the Queen's prison north of the Deadwood.

If you leave them there, the girl lives.

If you try to free them... she burns.

Pick your fire.

-Vasha

Kael stood at the edge of the city walls, staring out at the mountains.

Elira came to him.

"What is it?" she asked.

He looked at her like she was made of glass and flame.

"I have to go," he said.

"You're not going without me."

He shook his head.

"I might not come back."

She took his hand. Pressed it to her heart.

"Then I'll burn the whole kingdom to find you."