“None of us did, at first.” Shaelith’s smile was gentle. “But you’ll learn. And you’ll have help. Fenric’s training, Darian’s fashion tyranny, Cindrissian’s insights?—”
“Who is apparently Fenric’s brother,” I interrupted. “Did everyone know that except me?”
“I mean, yes?” Brynelle’s grin was apologetic. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Cindrissian’s odd about sharing it though,” Shaelith added. “Perhaps because he got all the brooding and Fenric got all the charm.”
Kaelen rumbled something that might’ve been laughter.
“They really did split it evenly,” I muttered, which earned me actual laughter from both of them.
The sound eased something in my chest. Made the world feel slightly less like it was actively collapsing around me.
“Have either of you—” I hesitated, then pushed forward because there was no point in pretending I wasn’t terrified. “Have either of you met him? Ashterion?”
Brynelle shook her head immediately. “Thank the gods, no. I’ve managed to avoid that particular nightmare for my entire existence and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Helpful,” I said dryly.
“I have.” Shaelith’s voice went quieter. “A few centuries ago now. But yes.”
I leaned forward, hands gripping the rough bark of the log beneath me. “What’s he like?”
Shaelith exchanged a glance with Brynelle, who’d gone still in her lap.
“Dangerous,” Shaelith said finally. “But you already knew that.”
“I knew that about Varyth too. And he’s not what I expected.” I sighed, already resigned to the inevitable. “So what kind of dangerous are we talking about? The ‘will murder you for looking at him wrong’ kind, or the ‘plays games with people’s lives for entertainment’ kind?”
“Both,” Shaelith interrupted gently. “And worse.”
Fantastic.
“Ashterion isn’t like Varyth,” she continued. “Varyth’s ruthless when he needs to be, but there’s lines he won’t cross. A core of something almost decent buried under all that calculated control.” Her mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ashterion has no such lines.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you.” Her tone was apologetic but firm. “I’m trying to prepare you. Because walking in there thinking you can predict him, or charm him, or outmanoeuvre him the way you’re learning to navigate Varyth’s court?” She shook her head. “That will get you killed.”
The black fire under my skin stirred, responding to the spike of fear in my chest. I shoved it down with effort, focusing on Shaelith’s face instead of the panic trying to crawl up my throat.
“What does he look like?” I asked, because somehow knowing felt important. Like if I could picture him, he’d be less terrifying. Less abstract.
Shaelith tilted her head, considering. “Beautiful,” she said slowly. “In the way a blade is beautiful right before it cuts you open. Dark hair. Eyes like winter night, all shadows and starlight and absolutely nothing warm in them.” She paused. “He’s tall. Elegant. Moves like violence wrapped in silk.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“He’s everything they say about Nyxaria made flesh,” Brynelle added quietly, her usual humour gone. “Cold. Cruel. The kind of power that doesn’t just kill you, it makes youwishyou were dead first.”
“Well.”Kaelen’s voice was dry as ash in my mind. “This is going splendidly.”
“Shut up.”
“And Varyth wants me to sit across from this nightmare and—what, exactly?” I looked between them, trying to keep my tone steady. “Smile? Look threatening? Not spontaneously combust from sheer terror?”
“Be yourself,” Shaelith said simply. “That’s what Varyth’s counting on.”
I laughed, the sound slightly unhinged. “Myself. Right. Because ‘disaster wrapped in trauma with a side of uncontrolled fire magic’ is exactly the diplomatic presence we’re going for.”
