Chapter 1(POV Lyra):
I was in the training hall again, where hours fed into a single purpose: make sure the king would fall. Make sure Asher Ironheart paid for what he’d done. The thought was a low heat behind my ribs that never went out. It made my hands clench and my kicks harder. I spun and struck the wooden dummy until the frame groaned and toppled. Wood splintered across the floor. “Slow down, Lyra!” Jarek called from the doorway, amusement riding his voice. I wiped my knuckles on my sleeve without looking at him. “What do you want, Jarek?” I said too sharp. He shrugged, stepping inside. “Nothing. Just admiring your strength.” His grin said otherwise. I’ve never liked this guy. He’s been annoying ever since I joined the rebellion, always toying with people as if everything were a game. I still remember our first encounter. I’d been training alone, still awkward with a sword too heavy for me, when he walked in with that same smirk. “You hold it like you’re afraid it’ll bite,” he’d said. I’d nearly thrown the blade at his head. He just laughed, of course he did and from that day on, Jarek Volaris made it his mission to get under my skin. Everywhere I went he was there trying to make my life as miserable as possible. He would throw my food on the ground, laugh at every mistake I made. Moments like that, and the night my parents were murdered, forged me into this, hard edges, no room for softness. They gave me the stimulation to keep on training. To keep on fighting. “Just fuck off Jarek and let me train before I cut off your tongue so you can’t call out bullshit anymore” He’s about to answer me when I cutt him off: “Be quit someone’s coming” Footsteps hammered through the base, then closer, urgent. A man in rebellion armor cut across the hall. “Lyra,” he said, breathless. “You need to come with me. “Jake’s waiting.” I followed him through damp corridors, my thoughts a spool of questions: a mission? Why me? I was still nineteen days from eighteen. I wasn’t supposed to be on the field. Not yet. Not until I’m eighteen. And even then they do not send us out as much as the older trained soldiers. The council room smelled of ink and stale coffee. A round oak table dominated the space, maps folded into rough peaks, pins holding a dozen blue thread routes. Papers crowded around a chipped goblet, its coffee spilled and cooling, evidence of long argument. They were all there: Blaise, older than the rest with a dark mustache and hair like raven wings, Jake and two other leaders I only knew by the set of decisions they made. Faces turned toward me when I walked in. The air tightened. “Lyra,” Blaise said. His voice was quieter than I expected, as if the words could wake people. “We’ve called you here because we need to tell you something that cannot leave this room.” I felt my heart speed. “What is it?” I asked. Jake took a breath. “Do you know the king’s plan?”, he asked: “About the dragons.” Of course I knew. The rumors had teeth: experiments, tampering with the dragons’ land, anything to bend them to his will. “He’s trying to change the dragons’ earth,” I said. “To control them.” Jake’s jaw tightened. “It’s worse and faster than we thought.” “How fast?” I demanded. They hesitated. Blaise’s fingers found the map and hovered. “One year,” he said finally. The words landed like a fist in my stomach. “One year?” My voice surprised me with its thinness. One year to stop a king with resources and cruelty. One year before the dragon’s land could change and whole kingdoms might fall to iron and flame. “Yes.” Jake’s eyes were steady. “And we need someone inside Ironheart Castle.” My mouth went dry. The castle. The name tasted like ash. “Me?” I laughed. It sounded raw. “I’m not even eighteen.” Blaise leaned forward. “You’re the most trained we have. You’re young enough to pass as a visiting princess, and you’ve already survived more than most.” He placed a finger on the map, tracing a route none of them had said aloud. “We want you to pose as a foreign princess, arrive under the pretense of marriage talks, politics. Blend. Learn. Send information back.” Heat rose in my throat. My parents had worked with these people once. Had died for this, part of the reason I breathed the rebellion’s air now. “Why me?” I asked, though I knew the answer. I knew why. “Because you can move where others can’t.” Jake’s voice was flat. “Because you can lie and look sincere. And because you have the best chance of surviving”, I swallowed. Survival had never been my first measure. Revenge had. “So, are you asking me to go into the lion’s den?” Blaise’s mouth was hard as old wood. “We are asking you to spy. To keep your mouth shut above all else. Can we trust you, Lyra?” I tasted iron on my tongue, rage or blood, I didn’t know. I looked at them all: the tired lines on Blaise’s face, Jake’s set jaw, the maps that pretended to be maps but were other people’s lives.
