Lykor exhaled through his teeth, letting the comment slide. As they neared the beginning of the pier, he slowed and Jassyn drew to a halt beside him. Wind whispered over the lake, rustling the membranes of their wings.
He told himself not to ask. Jassyn didn’t need him prying. Not now when they both should stay focused on what lay ahead.
But the tightness in his chest didn’t ease as the memory rose unbidden. Jassyn in the jungle, standing too still, composure pulled taut across a break he wouldn’t let the world see, bleeding behind the mask of calm.
Serenna and Vesryn approached in low conversation. Lykor had heard of their scouting secondhand from Fenn an hour before—sightings of the king’s fleet pushing closer to the Maw. More details would have to wait until the Skyclaw Captain returned since he’d ordered Fenn to organize a deeper sweep of the marshes.
As they passed, Serenna and Vesryn glanced toward them, eyes keen with interest, but neither stopped.
“How are you?” Lykor asked quietly when Serenna and Vesryn drifted further down the pier. “With him.”
He didn’t say Daeryn’s name, but Jassyn followed his gaze.
Jassyn blinked, breath hitching slightly. “I don’t know,” he said, dragging a hand through his curls. “Do I speak to him—to all the others like him—and pretend sharing the same blood means anything?” He hesitated, wings shuddering as he shook his head. “Or stay silent and keep pretending that line isn’t mine at all?”
Lykor’s hand twitched, nearly reaching before he caught himself. He didn’t know what comfort would even look like between them. What gesture wouldn’t feel like trespass.
Yet the silence begged to be crossed. The weight Jassyn carried should’ve never been his to bear, and Lykor ached to take even a fraction of it. But he had no answers, no words that wouldn’t turn to ash on his tongue.
All he could do was stay near, stand between Jassyn and the next blow the world might throw. And just as that helpless wanting began to take shape—too sharp to name, too soft to be allowed—Jassyn looked up. The amber in his eyes caught the sun, and words rose before Lykor could stop them, burning the back of his throat as they left him, low and hoarse.
“You don’t have to carry it alone.”
A shadow fell across them.
Cinderax struck the ground in a burst of dust, wings snapping shut with a whip of air. Steam curled from his nostrils as he straightened, eyes locking on the shimmer of blue membrane behind Lykor’s shoulders before ticking to his face.
Unblinking, Lykor met the dragon’s stare. Every druid they’d passed had looked at him, perhaps curious, but Cinderax’s gaze burned with accusation. He sensed Aesar watching, quiet and observant, letting him face the dragon’s scorn without interference.
Lykor hadn’t explained the change. Not even when Kaedryn had asked after they’d informed her of Rimeclaw. Which was likely why this whelp stood at his ankles now, ready to demand answers.
“So. It’s true.”Cinderax prowled closer, tail slicing the sand behind him.“You’ve drowned my flame. Traded the embrace of heat for the taint of frost.”
“I didn’t scorn your gift.” Lykor’s wing claws clenched as he glared down at the dragon, a creature of compact fury and smoke. “And my loyalties haven’t changed.”
Cinderax snapped his fangs.“I don’t take kindly to seeing those marked by the Betrayer in my presence. It’s a disgrace.”
“Betrayer?” Lykor’s question rolled low. “Rimeclaw may speak in riddles and half-formed thoughts, but he has no desire for Galaeryn’s chains. Or to linger in this world at all.”
A rumble built deep in Cinderax’s chest.“I do not speak of what he is now. I speak of what he chose when it mattered before the Great War.”
The air between them trembled, heat and cold colliding. Lykor flicked a glance toward Jassyn, catching the same mirrored wariness. Whatever this was—some history long buried—reeked of blame and blood.
Cinderax’s tail lashed again.“A thousand years ago, Rimeclaw forsook his kin and offered himself to the Aelfyn. Claimed it was for peace.”The leathery fringes along his spine lifted.“But my ancestors—and the elemental Wardens—named it for what it was. Hunger. He coveted their starlight. And in that greed, he shattered the balance.”
Steam spilled between Cinderax’s fangs.“He never gave the Aelfyn the scalebound gift—if that was ever his aim. But he bowed, and that was enough for them to forge the first leash. To learn how their Heart of Stars could bind us completely.”
“None of us were there,” Lykor growled. “We don’t know what Rimeclaw faced when the world broke around him. And if you’re seeing through your ancestors’ eyes, how do you know their memories aren’t twisted by bitterness and blame?”
Cinderax’s pupils flared molten, but Lykor didn’t stop. “Maybe he surrendered for the wrong reasons and hated himself for it. Or maybe”—Lykor’s voice dropped—“he did what no one else had the spine to do. Something he knew would ruin him just to buy others time.”
He crossed his arms, unsure if he was defending Rimeclaw or himself. “There’s more courage,” he muttered, “in living with what will haunt and break you than in dying proud and saving no one.”
“Intent doesn’t cleanse consequence,”Cinderax hissed. He stepped closer, smoke coiling beneath his claws.“You may carry Rimeclaw’s boon and feel the need to defend him, but do not pretend to understand what he set in motion. The world bleeds because of him, and we were born in that blood.”
“The past is ash,” Lykor bit out, the talons on his wings tightening. “I’ve no interest in debating a war long burned. I made my choice. I won’t apologize for it.”
Wind caught his words, scattering them like sparks. He met the dragon’s glare and let the silence stretch before adding, “And maybe it’s time you stopped speaking with your ancestors’ tongues. This is a different world. If we’re going to survive what’s coming, think for yourself instead of echoing what’s already dead.”
