“Dragons protect their own,” she said, her voice barely audible against the faraway roar of a Frostdrake circling just above the wards.
I let out a scoff. “Is that all it comes down to, time after time? All my life, you’ve pulled the strings, you faced down the Dragon, and sometimes… sometimes, I’m grateful. But you don’t know when to let go and accept that there are things more important than safety, like choices and honesty.”
“Those are things that we did not have the luxury of,” she shot back, “Just like we don’t have the luxury of this conversation right now.”
“No, we don’t.” I stepped back, making my intent clear, even as I realized I had no means to back it up.
Could I risk using my mana, knowing it might kill us both, if the only other option was letting her take me somewhere to wait for everyone I loved to die? Distantly, I felt the force of Draven’spower, raging against the barrier, but the ring had stopped burning for now.
There was still hope. There had to be.
That didn’t stop the bile from rising in my throat.
My mother took a step forward, her hand out in something between a plea and a warning, but I stood my ground. My power flared out, shadows racing across the ground while jagged shards of ice spun from my fingertips.
My knees trembled, but I forced myself to stay standing even as Batty’s jolt surged through my veins. My mother reached out to steady me, but I once again danced out of her reach.
“Maybe you can overpower me, Mother, but to what end?” I challenged her. “Do you think that I would ever forgive you?”
“I think that you would be alive,” she countered.
One by one, images flitted through my head. Nevara’s dry, knowing smile as she guided me through the palace. Soren smirking as he dropped yet another stack of books onto my infirmary table, pretending he wasn’t worried. Mirelda’s stubborn, begrudging concern as she fussed over my blankets, muttering about drafts and impractical gowns.
I heard Wynnie’s brash laughter, so at odds with her gentle hands as she cared for all the wounds I gave myself. Then there was Draven—always Draven—standing steady beside the wreckage of everything I had been, his protection as relentless as Winter itself.
“And what kind of a life would that be? Do you think that I would ever stop fighting to get back to them? Or that I would even want to survive this battle when my family didn’t?” I finished in a whisper.
“I’myour family.” Her voice was more broken than I had ever heard it, but I didn’t waver. I couldn’t.
“Family doesn’t keep one another in cages.” I took another step back. And Lumen backed away with me. “You’ve made yourchoices, and I’m making mine. Someone will come for me soon, so go if you need to go, but I will be right here with my people.”
I spun on my heel, heading to my former suites. I wasn’t sure yet what I could do, but I sure as hells couldn’t do it in my flannel shards-damned nightgown.
I half expected to feel the weight of her mana pinning me to the spot, but she didn’t so much as twitch while I stormed past her into the adjacent suites.
I walked into the closet, fully prepared to fight for something other than a shards-damned gauzy dress, only to freeze in my tracks. An outfit was already waiting for me, hovering in the air just within reach as though the wardrobe itself sensed what was coming.
The tunic was crafted in layered shades of white, soft-pearl, moonlit frost, and the faintest shimmer of silver thread that caught the light like it was woven from Winter’s first breath.
A criss-crossed harness overlaid it, forged from pale silvery leather that gleamed like frozen rivers. The straps wrapped with precise symmetry, built for weapons and movement rather than ornamentation, its buckles carved in delicate frost patterns that looked deceptively fragile.
Beneath it were fitted pants of winter-white suedes, reinforced along the seams with silvery stitching. A flowing overskirt fell from the harness in soft, weightless panels, each one slit and angled to swirl around me rather than hinder me, like drifting sheets of snow that could part at my will.
Hovering below, a pair of silvery leather boots awaited, the color of polished ice, the shins reinforced with thin overlays of Winter-forged metal brushed so pale they were almost invisible.
It was an outfit for a warrior. For a queen, and not one who was forced into the shadows.
It didn’t make sense that Closet had given it to me, but I didn’t have time to argue. I didn’t hesitate before I worked my way into the clothes.
Just as I pulled my hair into a hasty braid, Closet presented me with one final item. A low silver circlet, all sharp frost-shards and one clear crystal point, practical and deadly. After only a moment’s hesitation, I picked it up.
Batty settled back on my shoulder, and I whistled for Lumen. Maybe it was a risk to be seen in the palace, but there was someone who could help—who had to help—and I already knew the back way to her rooms.
When I emerged from the closet with my crown in hand and my skathryn perched on my shoulder, my mother was waiting for me. I stopped, barely daring to breathe. Would this be it?
But her bright green eyes were glassy as she looked me over, sparkling with the tears I never saw her shed. She looked like she was staring at the ghost of all the time we might have had together, like she was already grieving me, but somewhere deep underneath it all was the smallest, barest hint of pride.
Or maybe I just imagined that because it was what I needed to see.
