By the time Drayke calls an end to the session, I feel more like myself than I have in days.
Rurik findsme on the ramparts an hour later.
The sun has climbed high enough to warm the stone beneath my palms, and the wind carries the sharp, clean scent of mountain air. I’ve been standing here watching the fortress below, the dragons going about their business, the life of the Brotherhood continuing despite the crisis I’ve brought to their door.
“You’re not hiding.” He moves to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. “That’s new.”
“I’m thinking.” I don’t look at him. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Hiding implies retreat. Thinking implies processing. One is passive; one is active.”
His laugh is low, surprised. “Lists again. You and your categories.”
“Organization prevents chaos.” The familiar phrase rolls off my tongue automatically, but this time it doesn’t feel like armor. Just truth.
“You know,” he says, leaning his forearms on the rampart wall, “most people find my company either annoying or terrifying. You’re the first one who seems to find it... tolerable.”
“I find it complicated.” I match his posture, staring out at the mountains. “You’re annoying and terrifying and surprisingly thoughtful, all wrapped up in a package that refuses to sit still for more than thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds is generous. Selene clocked me at twelve once.”
“Twelve seconds of stillness? That must have been excruciating.”
“Nearly killed me.” His voice carries that familiar lightness, but when I glance over, his expression is softer. More genuine. “You were right, you know. In the war room. About wanting to be part of the decision.”
“I usually am.”
“Modest too.”
“Modesty is for people who haven’t survived what I’ve survived.” The words come out sharper than intended, but I don’t take them back. “Weeks of being treated like livestock tends to clarify your priorities.”
He’s quiet for a moment. The wind shifts, carrying his scent—smoke and something warmer beneath. I’ve grown familiar with it over the past weeks. Familiar in a way that should concern me but doesn’t.
“You were impressive in there.” Rurik’s voice has lost its teasing edge. “The way you handled Auren’s information. Most people would have?—“
“Panicked? Run? Demanded someone fix it immediately?”
“All of the above.”
“I considered it.” I turn to face him, finally. He looks tired—genuinely tired, not the performative exhaustion of someone looking for sympathy. The past few days have worn on him too. “Three weeks ago, I probably would have. But three weeks ago, I didn’t know how to light a candle without burning down a room.”
“You’ve come a long way.”
“I’ve had good teachers.” The admission feels strange. Vulnerable. But not wrong. “You, specifically. You and Selene. Even Auren, with his cold assessments and impossible standards.”
Rurik’s eyebrows rise. “You’re including me in that list? I distinctly remember you calling me insufferable. Multiple times.”
“You are insufferable.” I let a small smile escape. “But you’re also patient. And you ask before touching me, even when you clearly want to do something impulsive. And you—“ I pause, searching for the right words. “You see me. Not just the Fire-Bringer or the victim or the strategic asset. You see the parts I usually keep hidden.”
Something shifts in his expression. Goes serious in a way I’ve rarely seen from him.
“Aisling—“
“Let me finish.” The words need to come out now before I lose the nerve. “The council talked about the claiming bond as an option. A way to sever Valdris’s mark. And I know—I know it’s not something to be done casually, that it’s permanent, that it would change everything.”
“It would.” His voice has gone rough.
