“If that’s your attempt,” Vesryn muttered, “it’s as weak as your brew.”
Even Fenn’s chuckle thinned, drifting off into the night. A splash cracked along the shoreline, where Cinderax stood sentinel among the reeds, molten eyes glowing in the twilight. Nearby, four hatchlings raced through the shallows—two Emberharts, a Stormstrike, and a Tidecrasher—trilling as they snapped at minnows, sparks and frost and flame bursting from their throats.
Jassyn’s gaze lingered on the dragons loping along the shore, already sketching the shape of what they would become. They’d grow into weapons yet remain targets, their obsidian scales gleaming with a promise that would one day draw the king’s attention.
“How many eggs remain?” he asked, turning back to Serenna.
“Eight Emberharts, seven Stormstrikes, and three Tidecrashers,” she counted. “And Cinderax swears they’ll all be free from the shell before the moons are full.”
Fenn released a theatrical groan. “I’ll have to assign two more squads just to keep them fed.”
Jassyn’s mouth twitched and even Lykor grunted beside him.
“Any updates on the front?” Jassyn asked the prince, the question falling into its familiar groove after days of councils.
“Kal and I have kept patrols in the air,” Vesryn answered, rubbing a hand over the shaved portion of his scalp. “Elashor’s forces are still in the marshes, but they’ve begun portaling in the human army.”
“And if the king has wrung Veyrix’s location from Rimeclaw,” Lykor muttered from beside him, “that legion and their razorwings could be mobilizing to claim him.”
Lykor adjusted in his seat, tension coiled tight, gathering since the moment Jassyn had admitted he was flying to the Maelstrom. He hadn’t barred Lykor from joining him this time—he wouldn’t inflict that wound again—but the plan still left Lykor bristling. He wanted the full force of their shamans at Jassyn’s back, there to bend the Maelstrom.
Jassyn had argued otherwise. Stealth mattered more than strength and a smaller force might slip unnoticed through the skies. And with Daeryn and Bhreena’s warning of the fleet mustering on the open sea, no one knew what other dangers waited in the waters.
Jassyn drew in a slow breath. Even just thinking about it felt like dragging dawn closer. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly, turning toward Daeryn and Bhreena, “I leave for the Maelstrom.”
Bhreena gripped her fork like a dagger, the untouched fish cooling on her plate, oil bleeding into the rice.
“I’ve assembled a scouting party for the mountain prisons,” Jassyn continued, forcing himself to hold Daeryn’s gaze. Eyes so close to his own stared back unblinking, as if demanding proof he hadn’t forsaken the promise between them. “Kal will open a portal inside. He’s chosen a seasoned band of wraith who know the prisons to slip in and—”
Bhreena hurled her fork, the clatter ringing across the table. “Our people drowned in the Maw, and yet you hauled the king’s soldiers out. You gave them breath while our families still wait in the dark.”
Her fury wasn’t new or undeserved. She’d chased him through every council and courtyard, demanding action with Daeryn at her shoulder.
“I promised freedom for your people,” Jassyn said calmly, holding her glare while Lykor’s low snarl vibrated in warning beside him. “But if we don’t claim the Heart from the Maelstrom, we lose our only chance at freeing Skylash’s mate. And if we fail in the Aetherveil, then storming those dungeons means nothing. We’d be delivering your people into a world already lost.”
Bhreena’s nostrils flared, her voice rising into accusation “So your plan is to fly off to the sea and have others simplyscoutthe prisons? When are you—”
“No.” Lykor’s growl cleaved her words apart. “We’ll strike fully. No one knows those dungeons better than I do. I’ll get them out.”
Jassyn tensed at the offer. They hadn’t discussedthis. The lanterns wavered, shadows pressing closer than the silence.
Without thinking, Jassyn reached under the table for Lykor’s leg. Muscle bunched hard beneath his palm. He couldn’t bear this spoken aloud, not when he knew exactly what returning to the mountain would gouge open. He skimmed a faint thread of thought toward the fringes of Lykor’s mind.
“You don’t have to go. I would never ask it of you.”
Lykor didn’t flinch, his reply landing like hammered steel.“Kal doesn’t know that mountain like I do. I’m going. That’s where you need me most.”
Jassyn’s grip tightened. The truth strained against his teeth, that he needed Lykor’s fierce steadiness beside him. Not hurled back into the prisons that had nearly broken him.
The protest burned as Jassyn locked it in his chest until the ache scalded. He’d already wounded Lykor once by sending him away. Forcing him to stay now would carve a different scar, one born of stripping away his choice.
So Jassyn swallowed it down, loathing how silence made him complicit in a sacrifice he had the power to halt. One command from him could delay the operation until he returned from the Maelstrom.
But wielding that authority now would splinter what little trust still bound Bhreena and Daeryn to their cause. He needed their people’s Essence and earth in the war ahead, and he wouldn’t risk that fracture.
Even if the price of preserving that unity was sending Lykor back into the dark.
Daeryn’s gaze cut between Jassyn and Lykor, steady as a leveled blade. “Then no more delays. My people are ready and I expect to see the same resolve from yours.”
