“He looks at everything like it’s a tactical problem. Including breakfast.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Ayla’s nice though.”
“Ayla’s been waiting her whole life for someone to scandalize our parents.” I cup her face, tilting it up to meet my eyes. “She’s going to adore you.”
“One out of three isn’t bad.”
“Give them time.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “They don’t know you yet. They don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Causing diplomatic incidents?”
“Saving people who don’t deserve saving.” I kiss her forehead. “Being brave when it would be easier to run. Choosing love over safety, every single time.”
Through the bond: a wave of emotion so strong it makes my chest ache.
“When did you get so good at speeches?” she whispers.
“I’m a diplomat. It’s literally my job.”
Her laugh is real this time. She pulls back, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Okay. Let’s go honor some fallen warriors while your mother plots my demise.”
“She’s not plotting your demise.”
“She’sabsolutelyplotting my demise.”
“...She might be plotting your demise. But she plots everyone’s demise. You’re in good company.”
The memorial fills the fortress’s central hall with crystalline resonance.
I stand with Polly at my side, her hand in mine, and watch my family take their positions across the chamber. My mother’s face is carved from ice. My father stands at rigid attention, military bearing in every line. Only Ayla looks around with open curiosity, taking in the Zaterran warriors, the pulsing crystal walls, the raw weight of grief that hangs in the air.
Suki stands beside Henrok at the front, her hand in his. When her eyes meet Polly’s across the chamber, something passes between the sisters. A silent conversation.We made it. We’re here.
Henrok’s voice fills the space, rough with grief and heavy with authority.
“We gather to honor the fallen.”
A ripple passes through the warriors. Not movement—something deeper. A resonance that hums through the crystal walls.
“Vesh’nar of the Eastern Ridge. Korath, son of Korath. T’ven the Swift.” Each name falls like a stone into still water, spreading rings of silence. “Mor’ava who held the south corridor. Brekt who gave his life at the generator chamber doors.”
I feel Polly tense beside me. Some of these warriors died protectingus. Protecting what we were trying to accomplish.
“They died defending their home.” Henrok’s scarred face is carved from grief, but pride burns beneath it—fierce and absolute. “Their family. Their honor. There is no greater death. There is no greater honor.”
One by one, the warriors come forward. Each carries a crystal shard—small, luminescent, pulsing with faint inner light. They place the shards on the memorial wall, and I watch as the fortress’s crystal veins seem to reach out, accepting each one. Drawing the fallen into itself.
Suki stands beside Henrok as he speaks the final names. When his voice breaks—just for a moment, on the name of his second-in-command who died holding the main gates—her hand tightens in his. Three years of marriage in that gesture. A quiet strength that saysI’m here. I’ve got you.
I glance at Polly. Her eyes are bright, and I know she’s seeing the same thing I am. The same thing I want for us.
“Some of them died protecting our guests,” Henrok says, and his eyes find mine across the chamber. “Protecting what our guests love. That debt is not forgotten.”
I feel my mother’s attention sharpen. My father straightens slightly.
I release Polly’s hand and step forward. My body protests every movement, but some things cannot be done sitting down.
I bow—deep, formal, the acknowledgment one High House gives to an ally of equal standing. Behind me, I feel my parents’ surprise like a physical force. The Valorian heir, bowing to a Zaterran warlord. Acknowledging a debt.
