I should have killed her.The thought circles through my mind.Should have shifted fully, should have poured every ounce of fire I had into that projected form until there was nothing left.
But I couldn’t. The chains still held her. She was there and not-there, untouchable despite being close enough to mark my?—
To mark Aisling.
Aisling’s shaking eases slightly. Her other hand moves to rest on my scales—a light touch, barely there. But I feel it everywhere. The warmth of her palm seeping through to the nerve endings beneath, sending sparks down my spine.
My brother catches my eye and nods—understanding, approval, something that might be sympathy. He knows what this feels like. Knows the helpless rage of watching someone you?—
Don’t finish that thought.
But I can’t stop myself from tracking the way Aisling’s fingers trace absent patterns on my scales. From noting the way her breathing steadies when she touches me, as if the contact grounds her somehow.
The brand on her wrist flares visibly. A beacon. A tether.
Valdris left a piece of herself in Aisling.
And I have no idea how to cut it out.
AISLING
The fortress walls don’t make me feel safe.
Three weeks ago—was it only three weeks?—I woke in the infirmary and started organizing supplies to cope with my terror. Now I sit in the same infirmary, surrounded by the same stone walls, and all I can feel is her.
Little flame.
Valdris’s voice slides through my thoughts like oil. Not constant—not yet—but often enough that I can’t relax. Can’t think. Can’t do anything except sit here with my wrist cradled in my lap and wait for the next intrusion.
The brand is a ruin of raised skin. A design I don’t recognize—spirals and flames and something that might be scales, all burned into my flesh in angry red lines. It doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s almost worse.
“The mark is psychic as well as physical.” Auren’s voice cuts through my haze. He’s been examining my wrist for the past hour, his detachment a comfort rather than a coldness. Here, at least, is someone who approaches problems the way I do. “It creates a permanent link between you and Valdris. A channel she can use to track you, communicate with you, and potentially—“ He pauses. “—influence you.”
“Influence how?”
“I don’t know yet.” He meets my gaze, and there’s something like respect in his expression. “Your resistance in the cavern was remarkable. Most Fire-Bringers who’ve faced beings of her magnitude—what few records we have—didn’t maintain command of their fire. You did.”
“Barely.”
“Barely is enough.” He sets my wrist down gently. “I’ll research countermeasures. The brand can’t be removed without extreme measures, but it may be possible to weaken her hold.”
“Extreme measures?”
“Claiming, primarily.” His tone doesn’t change, but something shifts in the air. “A claiming bond might override Valdris’s mark. The magic is similar—bonding, linking. But claiming requires consent, while her brand does not.”
The word sits heavy in my chest.Claiming.
I think of Rurik’s voice in my quarters last night.You’re mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fight for.
Not like Valdris’s possession. Different. Chosen.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Auren’s eyebrow rises fractionally. “Rurik? Drayke has him in the war room. They’re discussing defensive protocols.” A pause. “He hasn’t left your door for more than twenty minutes since we returned. Drayke had to physically drag him to the meeting.”
The information settles into me, warm despite everything. He’s been guarding me. Even when I didn’t know.
Always showing up,Selene said once.When it matters, Rurik shows up.
