LYRA POV
The training yard dirt tasted like copper and humiliation.
I spat blood, my vision swimming as I tried to push myself up. My arms shook. Everything hurt—ribs, jaw, pride. Especially pride.
"Get up," Kairan growled above me. The wolf beastman hadn't even broken a sweat while I looked like I'd been trampled by horses. "You've been down eight seconds. In a real fight, you'd be dead seven seconds ago."
"Then kill me," I gasped, "and get it over with."
His boot slammed into the ground beside my head. I flinched.
"Your mother once held off five beast soldiers with one knife," he snarled. "She fought for three hours straight with a broken arm. She never quit. Never begged. Never gave up." He crouched down, his yellow wolf eyes boring into mine. "Let's see if you inherited anything useful besides her pretty face."
Rage burned through my exhaustion.
I swept my leg out, trying to knock his feet from under him like Papa had taught me. Kairan jumped back effortlessly, but his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"Better," he said. "Again."
I staggered to my feet, swaying. We'd been at this for two hours. Two hours of him knocking me down, throwing me, dodging every clumsy attack I attempted. My training clothes stuck to my skin with sweat and blood from a split lip.
Around the yard, other beast soldiers trained—sparring, lifting weights, practicing with weapons. They pretended not to watch, but I felt their eyes. The human girl. The general's pet. The rebel's daughter.
Let them stare. I'd survived worse than judgment.
"Defense position," Kairan commanded.
I raised my fists, trying to remember everything he'd drilled into me. Feet apart. Knees bent. Guard up. Watch his eyes, not his hands.
He attacked.
I blocked the first punch—barely. The second caught my shoulder, spinning me. The third I didn't see coming until I was on the ground again, tasting dirt.
"Pathetic," Kairan said, but there was less bite in it now. "You telegraph every move. Your footwork is sloppy. And you drop your guard every time you get tired."
"I'm human," I spat. "Not a beast. I'll never be as strong or fast as you."
"No, you won't." He hauled me up by my arm. "So you'll have to be smarter. Faster in different ways. Your mother understood that. She won battles using strategy, not strength." He shoved a wooden practice knife into my hand. "Show me what you know."
The knife felt wrong—too light, too blunt. But I gripped it like Papa had taught me. Low. Ready.
Kairan circled me like a predator. "Elira could kill with this in three moves. I watched her do it during the siege of Blackwater Fort. Three moves, and a beast twice my size was bleeding out."
"Stop talking about her!" The words exploded out. "Stop comparing me to a woman I never knew! I'm not her. I'll never be her!"
Kairan stopped circling. "You're right. You're not her."
The words shouldn't have hurt. They did anyway.
"Elira was a hero," he continued quietly. "A legend. A woman who changed the world." He moved closer. "You? You're just a scared girl who watched her village burn and her father die. You're nothing like her."
Tears burned my eyes. "Then why train me?"
"Because being her daughter doesn't make you special." His voice softened. "But choosing to fight anyway? That does."
He lunged.
Instinct took over. I dodged left, bringing the wooden knife up toward his ribs. He blocked, but I'd expected that—I hooked my foot behind his ankle and pushed.
We both went down.
I landed on top, knife pressed to his throat.
We froze.
The yard had gone silent. Every beast soldier stopped to stare.
Kairan grinned—actually grinned. "Now that's Elira's daughter."
He shoved me off gently and stood, offering his hand. I took it, too exhausted to refuse.
"Not bad for a human," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Tomorrow, we'll work on not falling down with your opponent."
Around us, a few soldiers chuckled. It wasn't mocking—more like... respect?
"Go," Kairan said to me. "Rest. Eat. Tomorrow will be worse."
I limped toward the keep, every muscle screaming. But something warm flickered in my chest.
I'd landed a hit. One tiny victory.
Maybe I wasn't completely hopeless.
---
The hot bath in my room felt like heaven and torture combined. Every scrape and bruise burned as I sank into the water. I'd have marks tomorrow—purple and blue souvenirs of my first training.
Worth it, though. I'd knocked Kairan down. Me. A human girl who'd only ever fought off grabby marketplace boys.
Maybe I could survive this.
When I finally dragged myself out and dressed in clean clothes, exhaustion hit like a wall. I could barely keep my eyes open as I stumbled toward bed.
That's when I saw it.
Outside my door, someone had left a tray. Bread, cheese, dried fruit, and a small pot of something that smelled like healing salve. A note sat beside it in sharp, precise handwriting:
*"For the bruises. You fought well today."*
No signature.
But I knew that handwriting. I'd seen it on the documents in Cadeon's study.
The monster had left me food and medicine.
I should throw it away. Should refuse anything from my mother's killer.
Instead, my traitorous stomach growled.
I grabbed the tray and brought it inside, hating myself for being grateful. I ate everything—too hungry to care about pride. Then I opened the salve pot. It smelled like pine and something medicinal.
Carefully, I dabbed it on my split lip, my bruised ribs. The pain faded almost immediately.
Magic. Beast medicine was always partly magic.
Why was he being kind? What did he want from me?
*"I owe your mother,"* he'd said.
But debt wasn't the same as kindness. And kindness from monsters was probably just another kind of trap.
I fell into bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.
---
I dreamed of fire.
Ashveil burning. Papa falling. Beast soldiers dragging me away.
But this time, when I looked back at the flames, I saw her.
A woman with silver-grey eyes, standing in the center of the destruction. She wore simple clothes and held a knife stained with blood.
My mother. Elira.
She looked at me across the flames and smiled sadly.
"You're stronger than you know, little one," she said, though her lips didn't move. "But strength alone won't save you. You need to understand what you are. What's in your blood."
"I don't understand—"
"Find the truth. Before it finds you."
The dream shattered.
---
I woke to screaming.
Not in my dream—real screaming, coming from somewhere in the keep.
I bolted out of bed, my heart racing. The hallway outside was dark, lit only by torches. Guards ran past my door, heading toward the east wing.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I crept to my door and cracked it open. A guard I didn't recognize rushed past, shouting: "Lock down the keep! We have an intruder!"
An intruder? How? Nightfang Keep was supposed to be impenetrable.
Unless they had shadow magic. Like Seraphine.
My blood ran cold.
I grabbed the letter opener from my bedside table and slipped into the hallway. I should stay in my room. Should let the guards handle it.
But if this had something to do with me—with Elira's daughters—I needed to know.
I followed the sounds of chaos toward the east wing, staying in the shadows. Beast soldiers ran in formation, weapons drawn. Orders were shouted. Someone yelled about blood.
Blood?
I rounded a corner and froze.
The hallway ahead was painted red.
Not metaphorically. Actually painted—symbols and words dripping down the stone walls in what looked like fresh blood. They formed a message:
*"THE FALSE DAUGHTER WALKS AMONG YOU. FIND HER BEFORE SHE DESTROYS EVERYTHING."*
My legs wouldn't move.
False daughter? Which one of us—me or Seraphine—was false?
"Lyra!"
I spun. Cadeon strode toward me, his face thunderous, his eyes glowing gold. Blood spattered his shirt.
"I told you to stay in your room," he growled.
"What's happening? What does that message mean—"
"Move. Now." He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the bloody message.
"Is it about me? About Seraphine? Which one of us is—"
"I don't know." He pushed me toward a side corridor, away from the chaos. "But someone broke into my fortress, killed two of my guards, and left that message. Whoever it is, they want to turn me against one of you."
"The message on the portrait," I breathed. "It said the same thing. Real daughter, false daughter."
His jaw clenched. "Someone is playing games. Deadly ones."
We reached my room. He shoved me inside and locked the door from the outside.
"Wait!" I pounded on the wood. "You can't just lock me in! I need answers!"
"You need to stay alive," he shot back through the door. "Guards will watch your room. Don't open this door for anyone. Not Kairan. Not Seraphine. Not even me. Understand?"
"Cadeon—"
"Promise me, Lyra!"
The desperation in his voice stopped my protest.
"I promise," I whispered.
His footsteps retreated.
I stood in the dark, staring at the locked door, my mind racing.
Someone wanted Cadeon to believe one of us was false. An imposter. A threat.
But which one?
I moved to the window, looking out at the fortress below. Guards swarmed everywhere, searching.
Movement caught my eye.
In the shadows of the courtyard, a figure stood—watching the chaos with a satisfied smile.
Silver-grey eyes glinted in the moonlight.
Seraphine.
She looked up, straight at my window. Our eyes met across the distance.
She mouthed two words: *"Trust no one."*
Then she vanished into shadows.
I backed away from the window, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
My sister—if she was my sister—had just watched guards die and smiled.
Which meant either she was the false daughter...
Or I was.
And I had no idea which was worse.