“Too late.” I reach out, brush a strand of hair from her face. She leans into the touch, just slightly. “Way too late.”
She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tense. Just watches me with those green eyes, something warm and wanting flickering in their depths.
Then she leans forward and presses her lips to my cheek—not brief, not fleeting, but warm and deliberate. Lingering.
When she pulls back, she’s smiling. Soft and open and nothing like the guarded woman who arrived at this fortress.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
We walk back together, shoulders bumping, hands brushing. At the door to her quarters, she pauses.
“Rurik?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time—“ She bites her lip, then grins. “Next time, I get to make up the constellation names. And they’re all going to be anatomically accurate.”
“That sounds deeply unsexy.”
“That’s the point.” She laughs. “Goodnight, Rurik.”
“Goodnight, Aisling.”
She slips inside. I stand in the corridor for a long time, hand pressed to my cheek where her lips touched my skin.
The dragon purrs with satisfaction. More tomorrow.
For once, I agree with it.
ELEVEN
AISLING
The war room feels different when you’re the subject of discussion.
I stand at the edge of the massive table, watching Drayke trace routes across a map that means nothing to me. Mountain ranges blur together. Rivers snake through territories I’ve never seen. And somewhere in the eastern reaches, marked with a red X that makes my stomach clench, sits the prison where Valdris waits.
Where I was held. Where my blood fed ancient magic I still don’t understand.
“Three days’ flight.” Drayke’s voice carries command. “We follow Aisling’s memories to the prison. Assess how close the queen is to breaking free.”
My memories. As if they’re a resource to be mined instead of nightmares that still wake me screaming.
Rurik shifts beside me. His shoulder brushes mine—deliberate, grounding—and I lean into him without hesitation. Two weeks ago, I would have stiffened at the contact. Now his warmth is the only thing keeping my hands from shaking visibly.
“The team?” Auren’s question is clipped, efficient.
“Myself, Rurik, and eight of our younger guards—ten dragons total. Plus both Fire-Bringers.” Drayke’s gaze flicks to me, then to Selene. “Enough force to handle whatever scouts Valdris has positioned, small enough to move without drawing attention.”
“Ten dragons and two Fire-Bringers against an unknown force.” Auren’s mouth thins. “The odds could be better.”
“We’re not attacking.” Drayke rolls up the map, tucking it into a leather case. “Reconnaissance only. In and out before they realize we’re there. The guards provide cover if we need to extract quickly.”
Zyphon’s voice drifts from the shadows near the door. “And if the queen senses the Fire-Bringers approaching? Their blood calls to her. She’ll know they’re coming.”
The room goes still. My hands won’t stop shaking, and the scar tissue on my wrists burns with phantom memory.
