"I look forward to it."
"And if you ever drug my tea again, I'll cut off parts of you that don't grow back."
"Understood."
She stares at me for another moment. Then nods once, sharply, and steps back.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be hard."
She's gone before I can respond, the throne room door closing behind her with an echo that rings through the silver circle.
I stand there for a long time, my lips still burning from her kiss, the bond still thrumming with her presence.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Either she survives and we begin the long work of rebuilding what I broke—or she dies, and I spend the rest of my very long life knowing I failed the only person who ever made the curse feel survivable.
I press my hand to the bond mark on my chest.
Stay alive, I think at her, not sure if she can hear me.Whatever it takes. Stay alive.
The bond pulses once in response.
It's not an answer.
But it's enough to get me through the night.
33
Kess
The morningof the ritual dawns grey and heavy, clouds pressing low against the mountains like the sky itself is holding its breath.
I wake alone in my chambers, though the sheets beside me still hold a trace of warmth. Rhystan was here—must have slipped in after I fell asleep, slipped out again before dawn. I should be angry about that. Should resent the presumption.
Instead I press my face into his pillow and breathe him in, just for a moment. Smoke and stone and the particular musk that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat.
Today I either save my daughter or die trying.
The twins are restless, have been all night. My son kicks sharply against my ribs—harder than usual, more aggressive. The curse stirring in his blood, maybe. Recognizing that its time is running out.
My daughter's movements are softer. Fluttering. Like she's trying to make herself small, to hide from the threat growing beside her.
"Hold on," I whisper to her, pressing my palm flat against the swell of my belly. "Just a few more hours. I'm going to fix this."
She kicks once, gently. Like she heard me.
I dress simply—soft linen that won't restrict movement, nothing I'll mourn if it gets destroyed. Braid my hair back tight against my skull, the way I used to wear it for battle training back home. Check my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back.
Five and a half months pregnant, belly heavy and round. Purple shadows under my nails where the contamination is advancing. A faint iridescent sheen along the scars on my arms, scales forming beneath the skin. Red ring around my irises when I look closely enough—dragon's eyes beginning to emerge.
I'm already changing. The ritual will just... accelerate things.
If it doesn't kill me first.
I touch my reflection's face, trace the lines that used to be familiar.
"You can do this," I tell her. "You've survived everything else. You'll survive this too."
