Good.I almost laugh at the concept. When was the last time I felt good? Before the kidnapping? Before they strapped me to that table and?—
No. Not that direction.
I think about the wyvern yesterday. The way its poisoned body went still under my hands, trusting me despite its pain. The quiet satisfaction of sutures placed correctly, of bleeding stopped, of a life saved through skill and knowledge and steady hands.
Fire dances in my palm.
Not explosive. Not chaotic. A small flame, curling and swaying like something alive, responding to the warmth in my chest instead of the terror.
“There.” Rurik’s voice is soft. “There she is.”
I stare at the flame. It’s beautiful, in a way I’ve never noticed before. Not destructive—just warm. Just light. Just... mine.
“How did you know this would work?”
“I didn’t.” He grins, but there’s something genuine underneath it now. Something that looks almost like pride. “But I know what it feels like to be at war with yourself. And I know that war can’t be won by fighting harder. Only by stopping the fight.”
The flame flickers in my palm, steady and controlled. Not because I’m forcing it into submission, but because I’m finally, for one moment, not afraid of it.
“Same time tomorrow?”
The question catches me off guard. I glance up to find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite decipher—something warmer than his usual manic energy, something almost careful.
“You want to keep training me?”
“That was the assignment.” The grin returns, but it’s softer now. “Besides, watching you almost burn me to death is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in decades. I’m not giving that up.”
“You’re insane.”
“Completely. It’s part of my charm.” He winks, already backing toward the yard’s exit. “I’ll bring fireproof pants tomorrow. Maybe some extra dummies. The good kind that don’t scream when they burn.”
“The dummies don’t scream.”
“Exactly! The good kind.” He’s at the gate. “Get some rest, Aisling. We’re just getting started.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in the scorched training yard with fire still dancing in my palm and something unfamiliar settling in my chest.
Not trust—I’m nowhere near that. But something adjacent to it. A crack in the walls I’ve built. A suggestion that maybe, possibly, there’s more than one way to survive.
Selene findsme on the ramparts as the sun sets.
I’ve been standing here for an hour, watching the sky bleed through shades of orange and pink, replaying the training session in my head. The fire in my veins feels different—still present, still powerful, but less like a trapped animal and more like a current I might learn to navigate.
“I heard you burned down half the training yard.”
I don’t turn. “Only a third, actually. Rurik exaggerates.”
“Rurik says you almost lit him on fire twice and he’s never been happier about it.”
That does make me turn. Selene leans against the stone battlements, her chestnut hair catching the dying light, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
“He told you that?”
“He told Drayke that. Very enthusiastically. With hand gestures.” She moves to stand beside me, gazing out at the mountains. “He also said you made a flame dance in your palm without panicking. That’s significant progress for one session.”
One flame. One moment of not-panic.It seems like such a small thing compared to the destruction I caused.
“It doesn’t feel like progress.”
