Page 110 of Shackled By Shadows

Zander rubs his jaw, thinking. “The craftsmen have access to the inner workings of the stronghold. They’re in the meeting rooms, the private chambers, and no one questions their presence.”

I nod, meeting his eyes. “Exactly. We’ll make sure it’s them we speak to. Let a few words slip in the right circles. We don’t want to plant too much at once. Just enough to make it believable.”

Ash leans forward, his sharp gaze never leaving us. “I’ll handle the blacksmiths and lower-ranked soldiers. They’re always around the barracks. I’ll drop the idea of the supply line while I’m around. They’ll hear it, they’ll believe it, and then they'll pass it on.”

Zander nods. “I’ll do the same with the engineers and officers. When I’m around, I’ll mention the ‘new shipment’ we’re expecting.”

I pace back and forth, the weight of the plan settling in. “We need to make sure it’s just enough that it feels real, but not too much that it becomes obvious. The lie has to be simple; details are what give it away.”

Ash smirks, already envisioning the game. “A carefully timed slip of information in just the right places. Then we wait.”

Zander gives a sharp nod. "If someone inside the stronghold is working against us, this will make them move. It’ll draw them out.”

I pause, feeling the weight of what we are doing. “We need to consider everyone. No one is above suspicion.”

Zander’s eyes darken as he straightens, the plan now set in motion. “Alright. We start now. Let’s see who bites.”

Chapter forty-three

Responsibility

The meeting time came and went.

No soldiers arrived.

No ambush.

No sign that the information was ever passed on.

Nothing.

It is as if the spy saw right through our trap.

Ash leans against a stone pillar, arms crossed, looking more annoyed than anything. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

I try to push down the frustration building in my chest. “Maybe they didn’t take the bait. Or maybe we were wrong.”

Zander exhales sharply. “Or maybe they’re just playing a longer game than we are.”

We have nothing. No leads, no answers. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching, waiting, feeding the king exactly what he needs to stay one step ahead of us.

Frustration gnaws at me, the weight of our uncertainty pressing down in every corner of my mind. The spy remains elusive, the looming threat just as indistinct. Despite all our efforts, every extra hour spent preparing, every scrap of information we piece together, we are still no closer to understanding what is coming. And the worst part? We have no way of knowing if it will even be enough.

That night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spiraling. I go over everything I know, or at least, everything I think I know. But it is the things I don't know, the gaps in my understanding, that fill me with a sense of suffocating dread. It isn’t just the looming threat. It is the creeping, insidious realization that we might not be strong enough to face whatever is coming. That we, myself included, might not be enough.

I wish Oberon were here. I wish he were on the right side of this mess, standing beside me, or at least I wish I knew where he was. I have no idea what he is doing, where he stands, and that uncertainty is killing me.

His last words echo in my mind, the last time I saw him. The feelings they stir are like a weight in my chest, threatening to tear me apart.

And then, there are the memories of the last war. Memories I worked so hard to bury, only for them to resurface now, creeping past the defenses I carefully built over time. I fight against them, but the pain, the doubt, it is all too real. I try to push it away, but it is part of me, one I accept and face, a constant reminder of where this all began and how far I have come.

I toss and turn, the bed feeling impossibly large and empty. The hours drag on as I wait for the sun to rise, hoping that a new day will bring some clarity. Even then, a part of me knows that another day of uncertainty lies ahead.

The next morning, when I find Zander, it is clear that his night was likely as restless as mine. Yet there is something in his eyes, a kind of determination, that I can’t ignore.

He stepped into the role of leader effortlessly, and it suits him. The other Fae respect him, and I can’t deny that I admire him, too.

He is standing in front of a small party of rebellion soldiers when I approach, catching the tail end of his orders. “Here are your maps, marked with your targets. Do not engage. This is recon only. Gather information and get back here by the end of the day. We can’t afford to have too many gone at once.”