The bronze-and-emerald dragon spoke first.You can trust what he wants,it said.He wants to live. He wants not to be owned by your grandmother. He wants to matter.
“Those aren’t terrible motivations,” I said slowly.
They are not good, either,the smoke-gray one pointed out.They are… unstable.
The silver-blue dragon’s gaze softened.He will not betray you for her,it said.He will betray her for himself.
“That’s… sort of comforting?” I said. “In a deeply unsettling way.”
Use it,the opalescent dragon advised.You do not have to like a knife to aim it away from your own throat.
I thought of Gideon’s face in the moonlit neutral ground, the way he’d looked when he agreed to join the circle. Tired. Frayed. Calculating. Something like desperation buried under arrogance.
“You really do see everything, don’t you?” I said.
We see enough,the silver-blue dragon replied.Enough to know this: you cannot do this without him. Or the wolf. Or the father. Or the ghost-witch in the cottage. You are not the circle, Maeve. You are one of its anchors.
“I know that,” I said automatically.
Do you?it asked.
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then closed it.
I thought about how I’d been reading until my eyes burned, how I kept telling myself that if I just learned enough, planned enough,controlledenough, we’d be safe. How every problem felt, reflexively, like mine to fix.
“Fine,” I said quietly. “Maybe not as much as I should.”
The silver-blue dragon’s eyes gleamed.Your grandmother in Shadowick believes you are the key, it said.The center. The hinge. She is wrong. That is why she will fail.
“That’s… reassuring,” I said. “Terrifying, but reassuring.”
The opalescent dragon shifted, sending a ripple of light along its body.You asked us for advice,it said.Here it is: remember you are not alone in the pattern. When the circle closes, let the others carry their share. Do not try to hold it all. If you reach for all the threads, you will snap.
“Even if I think I can handle—”
Especially then,the smoke-gray dragon cut in.
“And the high priestess?” I asked. “Will this… mute her? Even a little?”
All four dragon heads turned slightly, angling toward some unseen point. The chamber’s glow flickered.
She will feel it, the bronze-and-emerald dragon said.She will know you have taken something from her. She will rage. But rage is noisy. It makes her careless. But you are getting ahead of yourself, worrying needlessly. But her rage will be vocal.
“Angry grandmother is better than quiet grandmother?” I asked skeptically.
Quiet things cut deeper,the opalescent dragon said.Noise gives you warning.
I sat with that for a long moment, feeling the hum of the chamber wrap around my frayed nerves like a heavy blanket.
“You said you knew how it ends,” I said finally. “Or that you see many endings. Are there any where we… survive? Where Stonewick isn’t ash?”
The silver-blue dragon regarded me for a long, unblinking beat. Then it did something I did not expect.
It smiled.
Not in a human way. There were no teeth and no lips. A shift of eye-shape, a softening of the ridges around its mouth, a curl of its tail that spoke of amusement.
