“It matters,” Isara hissed, low and lethal. “Because I want to know what game you’re playing.”
He smirked, slow and lazy. “Telling you would ruin the game.”
“You’re a smug bastard.”
“Accurate,” he said mildly, “but flattering me won’t get you answers.”
Her rage crackled through the air like a storm held back. “You kept us alive. You warned me. But you stood there and let her fucking break us.”
Ashterion arched a brow. “Are you suggesting I should’ve thrown myself between you and Xyliria?”
“I’m suggesting you pick a side.”
“You say that as though I can.”
Her breath caught, fury and confusion warring in her expression. He should have stopped. Should have shut the fuck up and let it end there.
But gods, he couldn’t help it.
He wanted more—her fire, her fury, the way she never bent without digging her heels in first. And maybe he was a fool for it, but it was the most alive he’d felt in centuries.
“Tell me.” He casually brushed invisible dust from his sleeve. “How long have you been wielding the fire?”
Isara’s jaw tightened. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’ll answer any question you ask,” he said smoothly. “Anything. You have my word.”
Silence stretched between them.
He waited, already half-resigned to her walking away.
But then?—
“Months,” she said tightly, like iron ground against stone. “Not long after I crossed the Veil. But I think I felt it even before then… when I passed through. Like it was waiting for me.”
Ashterion nodded once, though his mind was already spinning, calculations firing. If the Veil was capable of gifting black fire to humans who crossed—what the hell did that mean? What had it seen in her?
Whatwasshe?
But he said none of it.
Instead, he waited, watching her.
“You said people aregivenshadow fire,” she said, sharp enough to cut. “What the hell does that mean?”
His fingers went still against the armrest. Here it was, the question that would shatter whatever fragile equilibrium they’d built in this room. The answer that might send her running, or worse, make her understand exactly how fucked she truly was.
“It means shadow fire isn’t natural.” The words were poison on his tongue. “It’s not something you’re born with.”
He could see her mind racing, connecting dots he’d rather keep scattered. “Then what?—”
“It’s made.” Brutal honesty, delivered like a killing blow. “Shadow fire wielders were created. Much like other monsters from my court.”
The blood drained from her face so fast he thought she might collapse. Good. She should be terrified.
“The shadow magic corrupts whatever power you already possess,” he continued, voice steady as a blade sliding betweenribs. “Allows you to wield something beyond the natural abilities of this realm. But the ability comes with a price.”
“What price?”
