📍 Chapter 82 – The Rider Without a Banner
The warning came on a Monday.
Not from a scout.
Not from a raven.
But from a child.
A barefoot boy with blood on his tunic, mud on his knees, and a letter sewn into his skin.
He stumbled into the city gates at dawn.
Whispered, "For the Queen."
And collapsed.
---
Zara stood over the boy in the healer's ward.
He was no older than eight.
Freckles. Torn lips. Burned fingertips.
A messenger.
A sacrifice.
Leva unstitched the cloth from his chest with shaking hands.
Inside it was a parchment.
Still damp with sweat and dried blood.
Zara unfolded it.
Her hands did not tremble.
Her voice came low.
> "By the time you read this…
> We will already be crossing your borders.
>
> The child was our chance at peace.
> You denied us peace.
>
> So we bring war.
>
> But not with kings.
> Not with flags.
> Not with rules.
>
> The man leading our army rides without a banner.
>
> You know him.
> You thought him dead.
>
> And he has not forgotten you."
---
Zaire crushed the edge of the bed with his fist.
Leva paced.
Cress stared at Zara.
"You know who it is," she said softly.
Zara didn't reply.
Instead, she walked to the boy's side.
Brushed a hand over his forehead.
"Warm soup. Clean blankets. Keep him alive," she told the healer.
Then turned.
"I want all gates sealed. Border scouts doubled. No torch lit without my order."
Zaire nodded.
"And Kaelen?"
Zara hesitated.
Then said, "Move him to the chapel vaults. It's the only place they can't burn."
---
That night, a storm rolled in.
Not rain.
Dust.
The kind of storm that turned the sky red and swallowed sound.
And from within it… horns.
Distant.
Then closer.
Then silent.
Until a single rider appeared on the hill.
No banner.
No color.
Just black armor.
And a face Zara hadn't seen in five years.
---
Malrik.
The general who once swore to protect her mother.
The same man who tried to poison Zara the night of her coronation.
The same man whose body had never been recovered after the ambush at Roth's Gorge.
He was alive.
And he was riding at the head of Venmire's army.
---
Inside the palace, chaos grew.
The council was silent.
The people were not.
Riots broke out at the southern gate.
Torches lit. Barricades built. Some citizens fled, others sharpened swords.
Zara stood at the war table with Cress, Zaire, Leva, and Auren.
"No sign of siege weapons," Zaire said. "But they've brought shadow carts."
Cress tensed. "Assassins. Covered under illusion runes. They won't fight in daylight."
Auren added, "But they'll try to breach the chapel. And once they do…"
He looked at Zara.
Zara touched the side of her ring.
"Kaelen will not fall. Not again."
---
At midnight, the attack began.
Not with catapults.
But with silence.
The Venmire troops approached without sound.
Ropes flew over walls.
Guards screamed.
Zara stood at the tower window, armor laced, blade drawn.
Cress burst in.
"They're targeting the chapel."
---
Zara ran.
Down five flights.
Through firelit corridors.
Past fallen guards and burning curtains.
Leva met her halfway, bleeding from the temple.
"They've breached the vault," she shouted.
Zara didn't stop.
---
Inside the chapel, the air had turned black.
Smoke.
Magic.
And something colder.
Zara stepped through the flames and saw them—
Three shadows standing over the vault gate.
A fourth cradling something wrapped in linen.
Kaelen.
No.
Not again.
Zara screamed and charged.
---
Her blade caught the first assassin in the throat.
The second moved faster — but not fast enough.
Cress appeared from the side, driving her dagger into the third.
Only the fourth remained.
The one holding Kaelen.
Zara froze.
She recognized the stance.
The grip.
The necklace around the figure's neck.
---
It was **Ilra**.
Again.
She was alive.
Again.
Face bruised. Shoulder dislocated. But her eyes burned.
"You'll never keep him," she whispered. "You think you're saving him. You're feeding him to the wolves."
Zara raised her blade.
Ilra didn't fight.
Didn't plead.
Just whispered to Kaelen,
> "Run far, little Crownborn.
> One day… you'll thank us for trying."
And Zara struck.
---
Silence followed.
Then crying.
Not loud.
Just the soft, confused cry of a baby waking.
Zara fell to her knees, holding Kaelen tight.
Rocking him.
Breathing him.
Alive.
He was **alive**.
---
Outside, the tide turned.
The city had awakened.
Men who once sold bread were now archers on rooftops.
Women who once wove silk were now nurses and scouts.
Zaire led a charge through the southern alley.
Leva loosed arrows from tower to tower.
Auren broke two shadow carts with fire runes older than the kingdom itself.
By dawn…
The enemy was fleeing.
And Malrik?
Gone.
Again.
Like smoke.
---
In the aftermath, Zara stood atop the palace walls.
Kaelen in one arm.
The people below chanting her name.
But she didn't smile.
Didn't wave.
She looked to the southern hills.
To the place where the rider without a banner had vanished.
And whispered,
> "You can run, Malrik.
> But I remember what you did.
>
> And I don't forgive."