“Wife,”I repeat, the word tasting like ash and the bitterest irony. I cross my arms, a flimsy barricade against the force of his presence. “That’s rich. Leaving aside the part where I neveractually agreed to be your wife, last I checked, husbands don’t abandon their wives in the middle of enemy territory during a coup.”
Heat flickers in the gold of his irises as he takes a step closer. The space between us contracts, a charged vacuum that steals air from my lungs. “I didn’t abandon you. I created a diversion. A rather spectacular one, if I do say so myself. I assumed a witch of your… talents would take the opportunity I provided.”
“Youassumed,” I say, holding my stance, refusing to give ground. For a moment, the heat in me burns so bright I forget where we are—that my superiors, Corvin and Blythe, and my sister, are all within earshot, staring. Completely unlike me. But I can’t seem to stop. “You left,” I almost hiss. “Without a word. You kissed me and then you vanished, because that’s what you do. You make unilateral decisions that affect my life and expect me to just be grateful for the scraps of information you deign to toss my way!”
He studies me for a moment, expression unreadable. One corner of his mouth shifts, but it’s not quite a smile. “So that’s it?” he says. “You’re angry I disappeared… or that I kissed you first?”
My blood runs hot. “Don’t.” The word is a ragged warning, even as my stomach traitorously flips. I can feel Brynn’s horrified stare on us, can sense Corvin’s utter bafflement, but it’s still faded into the background. There is only the charged space between me and this impossible, infuriating dragon.
“Now is hardly the time for… whatever this is,” Corvin cuts in, his voice strained as he tries to reclaim some semblance of authority.
Dayn doesn’t even glance at him, his eyes locked on mine. “On the contrary, Head Trainer. This is exactly the time. Our… dispute… is a microcosm of the entire problem. My brother is about to lead an army to your doorstep because of assumptions. Because of a failure to communicate. Because he, like my wife here, is entirely too stubborn for his own good.”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends a jolt through my entire system, a shockwave of heat and recognition that makes my knees feel weak. I flinch back, but not before the damage is done.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper, the words lacking their intended venom.
His voice drops, low enough that only I can hear it. “Then stop looking at me like that.” His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “We’ll deal with the rest later—somewhere private.”
The promise in his tone is a threat and an invitation, and I hate that I can’t immediately tell which one I want it to be more.This godsdamned dragon.
He finally turns his attention to Corvin, his posture shifting from possessive predator to exiled king. “As I was saying. We are allies. And we have a great deal to discuss.”
“Indeed, we do.” Warden Blythe recovers, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. She exchanges a dark, meaningful look with Corvin, the surprise on her face merged into a grim resolve.
And something tells me I’m about to dislike what my own people have planned just as much as what the dragon has.
8
BRYNN
My eyes are fixed on Chad behind the bars. He’s leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, struggling to look at me. Of course he is. Traitors rarely enjoy looking their mistakes in the eye.
A cold, heavy knot sits in my stomach, a tangled mess of fury and a stupid, stubborn ache that feels a lot like grief. He was my partner. My mentor, as much as I resented him. I… trusted him. And every second of it was a lie.
The murmur of the others’ voices becomes just noise, a low hum beneath the roar in my own head. Esme’s sharp tones, clipped and confident as she recounts what she saw in Draethys. Dayn’s rumbling bass, a steady counterpoint that seems to command attention without effort. Corvin’s skepticism, a thread of doubt in every question he asks. Warden Blythe’s silence is somehow the loudest of all, a judgmental weight in the damp air. They’re trading pieces of the puzzle: Anees’s coup, the weakness of our own wards, the speed of the dragons’ mobilization. It’s all vital, world-ending stuff and, stupidly, I struggle to process a word of it.
I tear my eyes away from Chad, forcing my brain to focus.
Esme is arguing for an alliance, or at least a temporary truce. “He’s right about that,” she says, gesturing toward Dayn. “Anees has the support of the military houses. Eventually, they won’t be sending scouts; they’ll be sending legions. We need to know their tactics, their numbers… We need him.”
“Need a dragon?” Blythe finally speaks, her voice laced with hatred. “The last time we ‘needed’ a dragon, half our covens burned.”
“That was generations ago,” Dayn cuts in, his voice dangerously calm. “And your ancestors struck the first blow. History is rarely as clean as the stories you tell your children. But let me make myself perfectly clear: I’m not here to help you win. I’m here to engineer a truce, before too many from both our sides die.”
My eyes flick back to Chad. He shifts his weight, the movement almost imperceptible, and his eyes are on me. There’s… emotion there: resignation? Regret?
“I’m sure you’ll understand,” Corvin says, his gaze sweeping from Dayn to Byzu—whom Dayn has just let out of his cell, too—“that while you are free to provide us with intel and opinions, we must prepare our own contingencies.” He looks at Blythe, and a silent, grim understanding passes between them. “The Ide Trials must proceed. Immediately.”
The words slice through the fog in my brain. My stomach plummets. A part of me, the part that still lives in the library stacks, wants to scream that it’s a terrible idea. Summoning the disembodied consciousness of a long-dead, legendarily powerful ancestor doesn’t feel like a contingency plan. More like a suicide pact.
But another part of me, the part that saw the sheer scale of Draethys, the fervor in the dragons’ eyes as they prepared for war, knows he’s right. Our wards are failing. Our numbers arethin. Against an army of dragons, we don’t have a contingency. We have a prayer—and unless dragon boy can find some solution—the Ides are the only prayer we’ve got.
“The trials?” Dayn asks, his voice dangerously low. “You intend to meddle with forces you can’t possibly comprehend?”
“We comprehend them better than you think, dragon,” Warden Blythe retorts, her eyes glittering. “We have communed with the spirits for generations. This is our magic, our legacy.”
“And it is Esme who will lead them,” Corvin adds, his gaze fixed on my sister. “Her spirit power, her connection to the bloodline, is currently the strongest we have. And now, with her… unique bond… it’s our best chance.”
