Adam Swift POV The rain had stopped by midnight, replaced by a thin, needle-sharp frost that froze the mud into gray, jagged ridges along the iron-mine trail.I left Ethan and the four hundred men of the Western Reserve four miles back at the stone bridge, tucked deep into the hemlock thickets where the Duke’s scouts couldn't spot their campfires. Ethan had argued—his jaw still bruised black and purple from his fight with Julian at the turnpike, his eyes wide with that desperate, noble panic that comes from being young and carrying a famous name. He wanted to march the whole column straight into the valley. He wanted banners, a line of battle, and a chance to prove his grandfather’s secret army hadn't been built in vain.He didn't understand yet. You don't take four hundred fresh, green reserve troops into an old timber fort built on a sheer cliff. You don't use a hammer when the bolt is rusted tight into the iron frame.You use a chisel.I leaned my back against the frozen pine trun

Adam Swift POV The granite steps leading to the iron-spurred gatehouse of the Keep of Ten Thousand were three feet wide, cut steep into the sheer slate cliff face, and slippery with a treacherous sheen of mid-morning frost.I didn't carry a shield. I didn't wear an iron breastplate or a high officer’s helm. My coat was just torn grey wool, heavy with frozen mud and stiffened around my torso with three layers of boiled leather harness that held my broken left arm pinned flat against my ribs. In my right hand, I carried the short, heavy-bladed infantry sword I’d picked off a dead corporal at the Red Redoubt. The pommel was plain brass, cold as a river stone against my palm, but the edge was thick, ground flat for chopping through iron mail and wooden shield-bosses.Behind me, two miles back in the spruce thickets, Ethan was holding the four hundred men of the Western Reserve on the high ridge, their rifles cocked and waiting. They were watching the road. They were waiting for a miracle

Adam Swift povThe cold didn't bite anymore. That was the first bad sign. When the mountain wind blows straight off the high glaciers and you can't feel the skin on your own ears, your body has stopped trying to keep you alive. It’s just saving what little heat you have left to keep your heart beating for another three minutes.I stood in the red slush near the broken grain wagon, my knees locked tight to keep from swaying.At my feet, Kaelen lay still, his fine gray velvet doublet ruined by the dark pool expanding beneath his ribs. Garrow hung limp against the iron rim of the wagon wheel, his head tilted at an impossible angle where the ash spoke met his neck. The third man—a mercenary sergeant who had tried to jump me from behind while I was pulling my blade out of Garrow— lay six feet away, his jaw split wide by the brass pommel of my short blade.Three down.My breath came in ragged, wet whistles that rattled deep inside my chest. The spear-wound on my left hip wasn't bleeding muc

Adam Swift Pov The marble of the high dais was cold enough to draw the last lingering traces of warmth from my bones.Jackson Carter lay curled at the foot of the stone seat, his breath coming in high, rattling sobs. His fingers were locked around the bronze stem of the quill pen, but he couldn't bring the nib down to the damp parchment of the ledger. His hand shook so violently that ink splattered across his fine velvet sleeves, making dark, ugly freckles over his wrists."I can't sign it," Jackson choked out, his eyes darting toward the grand archway at the back of the hall. "If I sign... the High Council will have my tongue cut out before nightfall. The Chancellor has men in every garrison from here to the coast. You don't know what he is, Swift. You think you're fighting men, but you're fighting the Crown!""I'm not fighting the Crown, Jackson," I rasped, my right hand resting flat over the open page. "The Crown is three hundred miles south, drinking sweet wine in a palace that h

Adam Swift Pov The silence in the ruined hall settled slowly, heavy with the stench of scorched cedar, lime dust, and cold blood.Through the gaping breach in the eastern wall, the midday glare off the high glaciers cut through the haze in a long, brilliant spear of gold light. It hit the marble dais, illuminating the white limestone dust settling over the broken stone like an early autumn snowfall. Gideon lay motionless six feet away, his gray head resting among the dead coals, his five-year contract with the syndicate paid out in full.I didn't stand up. My body couldn't manage the lie anymore.I sat on the cold floor in the shadow of the shattered archway, my back propped against a jagged stump of granite that had once supported the grand gallery. My left leg was stretched out flat in the red slush, completely unfeeling. The boiled leather harness around my chest felt as though it had shrunk in the fire, clamping my broken ribs in a tight, agonizing vise that shortened every breat