Chapter 12 - The Bloodline of Iron
Nathaniel broke the black seal, scanning the script rapidly as Grace leaned over his arm to read along.
To the Usurper and his Witch,
The true blood of the Realm does not die in a damp cellar. While you played king in your soft velvet chairs, the true heir to the throne was forged in the fires of Iron Ridge. Lady Lyra Pike, daughter of Celeste, carries the blood of the First Founders. We demand the immediate release of all high nobles imprisoned in the capital, the return of all confiscated lands, and the exile of the twenty-three rejects.
Fail to comply by the night of the Blood Moon, and we will burn the eastern granaries to ash. The capital will starve in the dark.
— Lord Malakor Blackthorn
Nathaniel tore the parchment in half, the paper crumbling into dust in his tight fist. "Lyra was supposed to be in a monastery in the Southern Isles. Celeste swore she took holy vows ten years ago."
"Celeste lied about everything else," Grace said coldly. "Why wouldn't she lie about a secret daughter? Lyra was her insurance policy. If Celeste ever lost her grip on the court, Lyra would be raised in secret by Malakor to reclaim the throne."
Nathaniel turned toward the door. "Assemble the High Command. We march on Iron Ridge at midnight."
"No," Grace interjected firmly, catching his arm.
Nathaniel paused, looking down at her in surprise. "Grace, they have cut off our food supply. Winter is coming in three weeks. If we don't crush them immediately, thousands of innocent people in the lower districts will freeze and starve."
"If you march a heavy army up the Iron Ridge in mid-autumn, Malakor will see you coming three days away," Grace reasoned, stepping into the center of the room. "The pass is a bottleneck. Twenty archers at the top can hold off ten thousand men at the bottom. It’s a trap, Nathaniel. He wants you to march on him."
"Then what do you propose?" Nathaniel asked, his wolf growling softly in frustration, demanding action.
Grace looked down at her glowing silver mark. "Malakor thinks I am just an Omega who got lucky because of an ancient prophecy. He thinks the twenty-three women who survived Moon Hall are weak victims sitting in luxury."
She looked Nathaniel straight in the eye. "He doesn't know that three of those twenty-three women were born in Iron Ridge. They know every secret mining tunnel beneath Malakor’s fortress—tunnels that aren't on any royal map."
Nathaniel understood instantly, a mix of admiration and fear surging through his heart. "A stealth strike. A small group infiltrating from beneath the mountain while the main army creates a distraction at the main gate."
"Not a small group," Grace corrected with a fierce, quiet confidence. "An all-Omega strike team. The very women Malakor believes are useless will be the ones who open his fortress doors from the inside."
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Nathaniel stared at her, his protective instinct warring with his respect for her tactical mind. "I won't let you go into that mountain alone, Grace."
"I won't be alone," Grace said softly, placing her hand over his heart. "I have my sisters. And I have you commanding the front lines. Trust me, Nathaniel. We started this revolution together. Let us finish it."
