📍 Chapter 68 – First Blood
It began before sunrise.
A scream tore through the west wing — sharp, sudden, swallowed by the thunder.
Zara sat upright in her chamber, already dressed in a thick, dark robe. She hadn't slept. The letter had said *tomorrow*, and tomorrow had just begun.
Leva burst through the door seconds later, her blade in one hand, her boots slick from running.
"They hit the scribe tower," she said breathlessly. "Set it on fire. Three dead. One missing."
Zara stood slowly.
"Who?"
Leva didn't answer at first.
Zara's stomach twisted.
"Who, Leva?"
"…Elri."
---
Elri.
The mute scribe.
The girl who used to tap Zara's shoulder gently every morning with freshly copied notes. The one who never spoke, but always knew exactly what Zara needed. She had been the first to volunteer for the council. She had given everything — and asked for nothing.
Zara walked through the charred hallway herself.
The fire had been fast. Oil had been poured from the fourth step upward. The guards never stood a chance. Three men were dead. Two bodies were burned beyond recognition. One was missing entirely.
Elri.
Her room was blackened, her bed untouched.
She hadn't been asleep when it happened.
Zara found a small bundle wrapped in cloth beneath Elri's pillow.
Inside were drawings.
Simple lines.
A small child holding a flame.
A woman standing behind them with her hands stretched wide — protecting.
A bird in chains.
Zara held the paper to her chest.
And for the first time since the Raven declared war…
…she cried.
---
By midday, the fire was contained.
Zaire stood in the courtyard, soaked in ash and sweat, barking orders. Tavi was helping organize the servant quarters, moving people to the safer north wing. The mood in the palace was tighter than it had ever been.
Leva brought the body of one of the attackers to Zara's chamber.
"He didn't burn," Leva said. "He was caught before the explosion."
Zara studied the man's uniform — gray leather, no crest, a single black feather tied to his boot string.
"A Raven?"
"Definitely," Leva said.
Zara nodded. "Wake him."
They did.
With cold water.
The man sputtered, groaned, and then jolted upright when he realized where he was — and who was standing in front of him.
Zara sat calmly.
"You killed three of mine," she said. "One was a girl who hadn't spoken a word in ten years, but still found a way to fight for me."
The man didn't speak.
Zara leaned forward.
"What did she die for? Tell me that much."
Still silence.
So she stood.
"Take his tongue," she said.
Leva blinked. "My lady—"
"Take it," Zara repeated. "If he doesn't want to use it, he doesn't need it."
The man flinched.
Then laughed.
"You pretend to be kind," he said.
Zara's eyes narrowed.
"You act like mercy lives in your womb."
Zaire moved, but Zara held a hand up.
The man kept speaking.
"You're no different than the Queen you buried. You just dress it better. Talk softer. But you'll kill us all the same."
Zara stepped closer.
"No," she said. "I'll do worse."
She leaned in.
"I'll survive."
Then she turned to Leva.
"Take him to the dungeons. I want him alive long enough to draw every tunnel he's ever used."
Leva nodded.
The guards dragged the man out, spitting blood.
Zara sat back down.
She felt hollow.
But the rage inside her was no longer fire.
It was stone.
---
That night, she called her council.
Zaire. Leva. Rowen. Marna. Venra.
They gathered in the eastern war room — not the main hall, not the noble court, but the small, quiet space beneath the training yard. It had no windows. Just stone walls and a round table.
"I've lost one already," Zara began. "And I won't lose another."
She unrolled a parchment — a map of the palace.
"We start purging tonight. Every corner. Every blind spot. Every unused stairwell. I want traps. I want watchers. I want silent alarms in every hallway."
Rowen stepped forward. "We'll need more people."
Zara nodded.
"Then we train them. Starting now."
Zaire looked concerned. "You're spreading us too thin."
Zara's voice was calm.
"We're already bleeding. It's time to cauterize."
---
Two hours later, Zara was walking through the hallways personally — checking guards, helping Marna escort pregnant workers to the secured west tower, talking to cooks, even visiting the servants' quarters.
People stared as she passed.
Some bowed.
Most didn't know what to do.
Zara was no longer just the girl who married the Prince.
She was something else now.
Something sharper.
---
At the chapel steps, she saw something strange.
A boy — no more than nine — sitting alone, watching the rain fall from the edge of the roof. His shoes were worn. His tunic was stained.
She paused.
"You shouldn't be out here," she said gently.
He looked up.
Eyes brown. Tired. Hollow.
"I don't have a room anymore," he said. "It burned."
She stepped closer.
"What's your name?"
"Tal."
"Your family?"
"Cook's helper. My mother… didn't make it."
Zara's throat tightened.
She sat beside him.
The rain whispered on the roof above.
"You're not alone, Tal," she said softly. "Not anymore."
He looked at her — small, dirty, scared.
"But the bad people are still inside, right?"
Zara didn't lie.
"Yes."
"Are they going to win?"
Zara reached out and held his small hand.
"Only if we stop fighting."
---
That night, she didn't sleep.
Neither did the guards.
Or the kitchen staff.
Or the soldiers she was turning into watchers.
Because a mother had just declared war.
And this time, she wasn't protecting a crown.
She was protecting **a future**.
---
By dawn, another fire had been stopped.
No deaths.
No injuries.
And the Raven had lost one of their best spies — caught trying to blend in with the candle keepers.
Zara stood at the balcony as the sun broke through gray clouds.
Her hands rested on her belly.
The child kicked, strong.
Alive.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in days…
…she smiled.