Byron traces words in the dust at our feet:
THEY REMEMBER. THE OLD WAY. WE FORGOT.
“Are you bonded?” I ask.
He meets my eyes, then shakes his head once.
“Not yet? Too risky?”
He nods, then rises in one smooth motion, offering his hand. His grip is firm and sure as he pulls me to my feet. The drake edges back a pace, its gaze flicking between us, watchful.
“Well, thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “For showing me this. For trusting me.”
A quick smile flashes across his face—there and gone again—before he touches his chest and gestures toward me. The meaning is clear:You’re welcome. And it matters that you know.
I guess he hopes it will help me in the tournament… or maybe this was all Selen’s idea. “Did Selen send you tonight?” I ask, testing the thought aloud.
His answer is a shake of the head, brief but certain. This wasn’t Selen. This was him.
He turns to gather his things, sliding the remaining powder back into its pouch with methodical care. But as he works, something catches my eye—a medallion on a leather cord, half-hidden against his chest where his collar has fallen open. The crescent moon stamped into the metal is identical to the one etched on Selen’s wrist.
“Is that—” I start, but he looks up, slipping the medallion out of sight in one fluid motion.
His expression doesn’t close entirely, but the shift is unmistakable: a layer pulled over whatever I’d glimpsed. He shakes hishead—not now—then jerks his chin toward the cave entrance. Time to move.
I nod, understanding. We've already risked a lot tonight. Questions about symbols and apparent secret societies will have to wait for safer moments, I guess.
Before we leave, he kneels beside the basin, wiping away every trace of our presence. The drake watches him with still, unblinking patience as he collects the torch. We make our way back through the caverns, his pace steady, unhurried, certain of every step.
Outside, the night has deepened, stars wheeling overhead in their ancient patterns. The air feels different against my skin now. Charged, alive with possibilities I'd never considered before tonight.
Byron’s hand closes around my forearm, his grip firm and sure as he steadies me onto the drake when I swing up behind him. My arms fit around his torso, the solid line of his back warm against my front. The steady rise and fall of his breathing draws mine into the same rhythm.
The drake launches into the night, wings beating powerfully as we soar toward the sleeping Ironhold. My connection with the creature is still strong—a warm, steady presence in my mind, like a candle flame in a dark room.
I can sense its joy in flight, its trust in Byron, its growing acceptance of me. And beyond it, fainter but still discernible, the multitude of dragon minds within the Ironhold and the surrounding mountains. No longer a cacophony of alien thoughts, but a chorus I'm beginning to understand.
I hope this will make a difference to my survival in the tournament. Whatever it might entail.
As we near my window, a knot tightens in my chest. Tonight has given me something too big to keep locked inside the Ironhold’s walls: questions the empire doesn’t want asked, truths they’ve buried deep.
Byron eases the drake into a hover outside my window. Before I move, I catch his arm.
“Thank you,” I say again. It’s not enough, but it’s all I have. “I won’t forget this.”
His gaze holds mine, steady in the starlight. Maybe one day I’ll understand why he doesn’t speak. But it seems that’s not a conversation for tonight either.
I nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. He helps me through the window with the same sure grip.
As I steady myself on the sill, I look back one last time and hope nobody will notice them. The drake hovers with effortless control, its wingbeats a rhythm I can almost feel in my bones. Byron sits easy in the saddle, torchlight gilding the edges of his hair, his eyes finding mine across the distance. He tips his head.
Then they're gone, melting into the darkness like a dream.
Chapter 39
Zeriel returns early the next morning, and I’m already awake and showered. After I unbolt the door, he steps inside without a word, blade strapped to his waist, hood pushed low.
