Healer Frost finishes bandaging Magnus’s wounds, his movements sure despite the complexity of working around new wing structures. “You need rest. Both of you. At least a day before you’re fit for anything beyond sitting.”
“We don’t have a day,” I protest. “Those prisoners?—”
“Will still be there tomorrow,” Keira interrupts. “And you’ll be more useful alive and rested than dead from exhaustion.” She stands, her presence filling the room. “I’m calling an emergency council. The integration accord includes mutual defense provisions. If Haven’s Heart’s weapons program has gone rogue, that affects all of us.”
“Crane will expect retaliation,” Magnus warns. “He’ll be fortifying, preparing defenses?—”
“Let him prepare.” Keira’s smile is predatory. “Mountain Cats don’t attack targets head-on when we can be smarter. We’ll need Storm Eagles for aerial assault, Shadow Wolves for ground coordination, and possibly others. A proper coalition, like your integration promised would be possible.”
She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Ironwood. A word. Privately.”
Magnus glances at me, reluctance clear in his expression. I nod slightly—he needs to speak with his Alpha, establish what our status means for his clan standing. He follows Keira out, leaving me alone with Healer Frost.
The older Mountain Cat studies me with eyes that see too much. “You’re terrified of him dying.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “I’ve seen it. Multiple versions. Different causes, but the same ending.”
“Precognitive healing sight.” Healer Frost nods like it makes perfect sense. “Rare among Storm Eagles, rarer still among storm-touched humans. A valuable gift. A terrible burden.”
“Both,” I agree quietly.
“And yet you healed him anyway. Knowing the cost. Knowing what it might mean.” He begins organizing his supplies with practiced efficiency. “That takes strength most healers never develop. The willingness to fight fate itself.”
“I couldn’t let him die.”
“Because you love him.” Stated as simple fact. “Even knowing it might destroy you both. That’s either the bravest thing I’ve heard, or the most foolish.”
“Can’t it be both?”
His laugh is surprised and genuine. “I begin to see why Magnus chose you. Storm Eagles have steel in their spines, but you have something more. You have the kind of determination that changes outcomes.”
He hands me another cup of broth, this one slightly different—herbs I recognize as restorative, designed to accelerate magical recovery. “Drink. Sleep. And trust that whatever Keira is saying to Magnus, it’s not condemnation. She’s traditional, yes, but she’s also pragmatic. A Mountain Cat who gains functional wings through mate bonding? That’s not weakness. That’s evolution.”
I drink, feeling the herbs begin their work. “What if his clan rejects me? Storm Eagles and Mountain Cats have been rivals for?—”
“Centuries,” Healer Frost finishes. “Which makes successful bonding between your peoples even more significant. You’re not just mates. You’re bridges between cultures, living proof that integration works at the most fundamental level.”
The door opens, and Magnus returns. His expression is carefully neutral, but I can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his new wings shift restlessly against his back.
Healer Frost takes his leave discreetly, and Magnus settles beside me on the furs. Close, but not quite touching, like he’s giving me space to ask or not as I choose.
“What did Keira say?” I finally ask.
“She’s calling the integration council tomorrow at dawn. Full emergency session. Storm Eagles, Shadow Wolves, and any other faction willing to help. She’ll propose a coordinated assaulton the facility within three days—time enough to gather forces but not so long that Crane can fully fortify or relocate.”
“And about us?”
Magnus turns to face me fully, taking my hands in his. “She said Mountain Cat tradition requires a trial before mate bonds are formally recognized. To prove compatibility and worthiness.”
My stomach drops. “I can’t fight Mountain Cat warriors. I’m not?—”
“Not a warrior trial,” he interrupts gently. “A different kind of test. One that proves you can work with our magic, endure our environment, problem-solve under pressure. She wants to see if you can truly stand beside me as an equal in Mountain Cat terms.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Before the assault is finalized.” His hands tighten on mine. “Lyra, you don’t have to do this. We can simply be together without clan recognition. I don’t need formal approval to know?—”
“Yes, I do.” The certainty surprises even me. “If we’re going to be mates—if we’re going to stand as examples of integration working—then I need to prove myself by your clan’s standards, not just my own. I won’t have you tied to someone they see as unworthy.”
