Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Blood
The sun had barely cleared the eastern battlements when Cassian vanished into the labyrinthine administrative wing of the fortress. Sorcha remained in the enclosure, her hands still trembling from the adrenaline of the night before. She sat cross-legged beside Vesper’s massive head, feeding him small handfuls of salted mash mixed with restorative tonics to rebuild his strength.
The dragon swallowed the medicine with surprising gentleness, his amber eyes never leaving her face. Every time she brushed her fingers against the scales of his lower jaw, a low, steady vibration hummed through his chest—a quiet reassurance that he was anchored to the living world once more.
Hours later, the heavy iron door clanked open. Cassian strode in, his boots striking the stone with a purposeful rhythm. He looked exhausted, his cloak stained with ink and dust, but there was a triumphant glint in his sharp eyes. He held a thick stack of parchment tied with a frayed red ribbon.
“Jester’s personal ledger,” Cassian said, dropping the bundle onto a dry crate between them. “He was sloppy. He hid it beneath the floorboards in the quartermaster’s office, thinking no one would search a room reeking of old mutton fat.”
Sorcha scrambled to her feet, leaning over the papers. She untied the ribbon and flipped through the yellowed pages. Names, dates, and coin tallies stared back at her—a precise accounting of corruption.
“Look here,” Sorcha pointed to an entry dated three weeks prior. “Item: Custom-fitted iron restraint harness, reinforced with internal friction-studs. Destination: North Enclosure. Authorization: Lord Ashby.”
Cassian pointed to another line further down the page. “Acquisition of specialized paralytic agents (nightroot distillate) via southern merchant cartel. Paid in full from Ashby House contingency funds.”
“It’s all here,” Sorcha whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. “The harness, the poison, the bribes paid to the junior officers to falsify every single training report. They didn’t just want Vesper out of the way; they engineered every attack to make him look rabid.”
“With this, we can go straight to the Grand Inquisitor,” Cassian said, his jaw tightening. “Lord Ashby’s political career is finished, and the council will have no choice but to drop the culling order.”
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Vesper let out a sudden, sharp huff of air that kicked up a cloud of straw. Both humans turned. The dragon was staring fixedly toward the entrance tunnel, his body instantly tensing into a wall of solid muscle.
Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor—heavy, unhurried, and accompanied by the clinking of elite guard armor.
