“Hey, Aisling,”Selene says when we arrive at her room.
Her head snaps up, expression going carefully blank when she sees me, walls rising so fast, I can almost hear them slam into place.
That stings more than it should.
“Aisling.” I lean against the frame, keeping my posture easy, unthreatening. “You were a vet, right?”
Her gaze narrows. “Veterinary surgeon. There’s a difference.”
“Perfect. We need your expertise.” I flash my most charming grin. “There’s a wyvern in the northern forest. Poisoned. Dying. The Brotherhood’s official position is to put it down, but I thought maybe someone with actual healing skills might have a different opinion.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Her face reveals nothing.
But I catch the flicker in her stare. Interest. Purpose. The first spark of something that isn’t fear or grief since she arrived.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Selene asks.
“Why do you care about a dying wyvern?” Her voice carries that sharp Cork accent, vowels clipped and precise. “You don’t need my help to mercy-kill an animal.”
Fair question. I consider lying. Decide against it.
“Because you’ve been trapped in this fortress for two weeks, and you’re starting to climb the walls.” I push off the doorframe, taking one step into the room. Just one—respecting her space. “Because you’re a healer, and healers need to heal.”
I could offer protection. Could tell her I’ll keep her safe, stand between her and any threat, wrap her in cotton wool until the danger passes. That’s what Drayke would do. What the dragon in my chest wants to do.
But she’s spent too much time as a prisoner. The last thing she needs is another cage, even one built from good intentions.
Silence stretches. Aisling stares at me with those sharp green eyes, and I have the uncomfortable sensation of being seen. Actually seen, past the jokes and the swagger and the carefully constructed armor I wear.
Most people only see what I show them. She looks deeper.
“Selene.” Aisling doesn’t break my gaze. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve reorganized my medical kit three times this week.” Selene’s voice carries warmth, a sister’s encouragement. “I think you need fresh air and something to do with your hands besides sort bandages. And Rurik is surprisingly tolerable when he stops trying so hard to be charming.”
“I’m always charming. It’s effortless.”
“Go.” Selene nudges. “Heal something. Remember who you are.”
Aisling rises slowly, unfolding from the floor with careful precision. She moves like someone who expects pain—braced for it, ready to absorb the blow. My chest tightens.
“I’ll need supplies.” Her voice has steadied. Professional now. Surgeon’s calm. “Antitoxins, if you have them. Bandages. Something to sedate a creature that size.”
She moves past me. But I catch the slight softening around her mouth. Not a smile—Aisling doesn’t smile, not yet—but something adjacent.
Progress.
The courtyard isempty when we reach it.
I shift first, giving her time to adjust. The transformation tears through me—bones cracking, muscles expanding, scales erupting from skin. Pain and pleasure tangled so tight, I can’t separate them anymore. When it’s done, I shake out my wings and turn to face her.
Aisling stands frozen at the fortress entrance.
Her face has gone white. Not the careful blankness from before—this is terror, raw and real. Her hands shake at her sides. Her chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths.
Right. The rogues captured her in dragon form. Carried her to Valdris’s fortress on scaled backs while she screamed and fought and failed to escape.
