“We’ll see about that.”
I pull on clothes—dark pants, long sleeves to cover the mark, practical boots. When I open the bathroom door, Rurik is awake. Standing by the window, tension coiled in his shoulders, morning light catching the copper strands in his hair.
“She’s getting louder.” Not a question. He knows.
“She’s getting annoying.” I move past him toward the door. “There’s a difference.”
His hand catches my elbow—light, easy to pull away from. “Aisling.”
I stop. Turn. The concern written across his face is almost harder to look at than the brand on my wrist.
“Council’s meeting this morning,” he says. “Auren thinks he’s found options for dealing with the mark.”
“Good.” I keep my voice neutral. “It’s about time someone had a plan that didn’t involve me hiding in the infirmary.”
Something shifts in his expression. “You know that’s not?—“
“I know.” And I do. The Brotherhood hasn’t been coddling me—they’ve been regrouping, researching, preparing for a fight none of them expected. But three days of lying in bed while Valdris whispers in my ear has worn my patience thin. I need to do something. Contribute something. Be more than the Fire-Bringer with a target painted on her soul.
“I want to be there,” I add. “At the council. Whatever options Auren’s found, I want to hear them myself. Not secondhand, not summarized. I want to sit at that table and be part of whatever comes next.”
Rurik’s mouth curves—not quite a smile, but something warmer than I’ve earned. “I was going to suggest the same thing.”
“Were you?”
“Selene threatened to set Drayke’s hair on fire the first time he tried to have a strategy meeting without her.” His hand slides from my elbow to my fingers, a brief squeeze before letting go. “You’ve more than earned your seat.”
The warmth that spreads through my chest has nothing to do with fire.
In the war room,Drayke stands at the head of the table, Selene at his side. Auren has spread scrolls and leather-bound texts across the stone surface, his precise handwriting filling page after page of notes. Zyphon occupies his usual shadow-draped corner, violet-shot darkness rippling with unusual agitation.
I take the empty chair beside Selene. Her hand finds mine under the table, squeezes once—quick, reassuring. Fire-Bringer to Fire-Bringer. She knows what it’s like to sit in this room surrounded by dragons, waiting to hear what they’ve decided about your fate.
Rurik positions himself at my other shoulder—not sitting, but present. His warmth radiates against my back, steady and grounding.
“The mark Valdris placed on Aisling is old magic.” Auren wastes no time on pleasantries. “Older than the Brotherhood. Older than most recorded dragon history. It functions as a tracker, a communication channel, and—“ His cold gaze meets mine. “A claim. She’s marked you as hers.”
“I’m aware.” I keep my voice level. “She reminds me every few hours.”
A flicker of something crosses Auren’s face. Respect, maybe. Or surprise that I’m not falling apart.
“I’ve identified three potential approaches.” He taps the scrolls before him. “First: a ritual removal. The magic binding the mark to your blood could theoretically be unraveled through counter-enchantment. The problem is finding practitioners with sufficient skill. Most witches capable of such work are either dead, corrupted, or unwilling to challenge Valdris directly.”
“So option one requires allies we don’t have.” I nod. “What else?”
“Second: physical removal. Cutting away the marked flesh.”
My stomach tightens, but I don’t let it show. “Would that work?”
“Unknown. The mark has bonded with your blood at a fundamental level. Removing the physical evidence might not sever the actual link. And given the mark’s location—“ He gestures toward my wrist. “The surgery would be extensive. Risky.”
“Risky, meaning potentially fatal.”
“Risky meaning we don’t know what Valdris might do through the bond if we attempt to cut her out by force.”
I absorb this. Not good options, but options, nonetheless. “And the third approach?”
Silence falls over the room. I watch Auren glance at Drayke, watch Drayke’s hand tighten on Selene’s shoulder, watch something unspoken pass between the brothers.
