Page 90 of The Last Dragon
“The general accused her of purposefully not lacing the bolts. She’s going to be executed!”
CHAPTER 30
Nothing’s more frustrating than running across the Stronghold with numb legs. But what’s worse is Ilian hauling me up every time I stumble. Adrenaline’s got him jittery—like a cornered rabbit doing more harm than good.
We run through the Hold, past the mess hall, and into the great hall, where banners hang—silent memorials to those lost in the expedition I led. My eyes catch the wooden board withCaspian’s name carved deep,Unit 17etched beside it.
We pass corridors where flickering lights cling to life, cross the training field to the weaponry, then descend into the basement.
Two guards struggle to hold Eryca down, five more ready to intervene. Her knees bleed from constantly scraping against the rough, stony floor.
“I didn’t do this!” she yells. Pain flashes across her face before her eyes dart between me and her brother—silent pleas for help.
Lieutenant Rylan stands with his arms crossed, his eyes burning like he's already sentenced her a dozen times in his mind. “The evidence shows you did,” he says. He crouches before her, locking eyes at her level. “Your actions have been deemed treason by the Third, and for that, you will be sentenced to death.” His voice is cold and practiced. “If your deeds don’t serve humanity’s best interests, then you are the enemy of humanity—a curse on the world, a stain on the Divine’s creation.”
The enemy of humanity.
The guards haul Eryca up and shove her toward the door, wrenching her arms behind her back, and she cries out in pain. I don’t move. Execution is reserved for the worst offenses. Theveryworst. In this world, every life counts—that’s why most are denounced, not killed. Forced to live as ghosts. Exiled. Their ears are clipped, a mark for all of Karalia to see. And anyone caught speaking to one is branded the same. Still, they serve a purpose—burying corpses, cleaning horseshit, serving the rich.
“Make way,” one of the guards says, his jaw clenching with impatience.
“Or you’ll what?” I say, darting my eyes to the other guard. “You’ll execute me for treason?” I know they can’t do anything to me. I’m acommander. And as Rylan likes to put it—I’m in General Grogol’s shadow.
The guards tighten their grip on Eryca’s arms, making her wince as she twists, trying to break free. Then her eyes lock with mine—silent begging to stop before it gets worse. Rylan stands nearby, a slow, cruel grin spreading across his face.
“Move, Aaran,” he hisses, stepping forward with deliberate menace. “Or don’t. I’m sure the general will have plenty of questions about how you missed all the suspicious activity in your unit.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, keeping a straight face. My ribs haven’t fully healed, and my body still trembles from the seizure. I stare at him, frozen—but he doesn’t flinch either. I flick a glance to Eryca, her eyes wide with terror.
“Treason,” the guard snaps, and Rylan raises his hand.
“She didn’t lace the bolts with tranquilizers,” Rylan says in a low, calm voice, like he’s expecting me to flinch. “Her actions” —he points at Eryca— “led to dozens losing their lives when the Redsnout attacked the Stronghold. And made us lose the opportunity to achieve peace.”
The bolts on the general’s desk. They examined them.Shit.
“How can you be certain she made the bolts?” I snap.
With a slight sneer and a raised brow, Rylan says, “What, you think I’m an idiot, Aaran?” his tone laced with mockery. “We found more unlaced bolts by her station..”
I grab Ilian, planting him in front of the door to block the guards as I move toward the shelves. Guards grunt with impatience, but hesitation clouds their faces—no one dares act recklessly. Executing the innocent breeds doubt among the Third. Something neither the general nor a lieutenant can afford.
A stack of bolts on the shelf near Eryca’s station catches my eye—clearly made some time ago—and they aren’t laced. From this angle, it’s easy to assume she never laces her bolts. But on the ground, right by her seat, a few stray bolts lie scattered. I snatch them up and shake them in the air. The sharp, acidic scent burns my lungs.
Laced.
I stride to the guards and hold the bolts up in front of Lieutenant Rylan.
“Eryca didn’t make these,” I say, my voice firm as I hold the two different bolts in front of them. Eryca’s eyes widen, and she stops struggling.
“What?” Rylan says. “Give me that.” He swipes the bolts from me before I even loosen my grip and raises the bolt to the tip of his nose, inhaling the pungent smell. He turns to Eryca, sneering.
His dark onyx eyes flick back to me. “Then how do you explain these?” he says, reaching for the non-laced bolts. I notice a wide gap on the shelf. Eryca’s fresh bolts sit at the front, but the unlaced ones at the far end could easily belong to the neighboring station—they share this shelf. Dust clings thick to them, like they’ve been left to gather for ages.
“It must’ve been someone else,” I say. “Have these examined instead. But I doubt you’ll find this person alive.”
Rylan sneers, giving a quick fake smile in between. “You need to talk to the general about that then.”
I return his fake smile with my own. “You’re a lieutenant,” I say calmly. “Your responsibility is to report on what happens within the Hold. My responsibility is to report what happens on the battlefield.”
