“You still set things on fire for fun.”
“Less frequently. That’s growth.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Go get your woman, brother. We’ll handle the rest.”
SIX
ZYPHON
Midnight.
The western perimeter explodes into chaos.
Rurik’s fire lights up the night—not the full inferno he’s capable of, but enough to look like a serious assault. Dragon roars split the air as he and Drayke engage the first wave of defenders, their flames painting the darkness in shades of red and gold.
I move in the opposite direction, flowing through shadows that welcome me like an old friend. The guards near Nasyra’s cell are already running toward the commotion, their attention fixed on the fire and fury erupting across the camp.
Two sentries remain at her door. I take them silently—a tendril of darkness around the first one’s throat, pressure on the nerves until he crumples without a sound. The second turns at the soft thud of his companion’s body and meets my fist. His eyes roll back, and he drops.
The cell door yields to picks and shadow magic. The lock clicks open, and I slip inside.
Nasyra is already awake, pressed against the far wall with shadow-flame flickering in her palms. The chaos outside has her alert, ready to fight.
“You.” Her voice is hoarse but sharp. “How did you?—“
“No time.” I keep my hands visible, my posture non-threatening. “I’m getting you out. Now.”
“Out?” She laughs, bitter and broken. “To where? Your Brotherhood? So you can use me the way Lakhu wants to?”
“To somewhere you’re free to leave whenever you want. Somewhere no one locks you in cells or hunts you when you try to walk away.”
Her flame wavers. I see the doubt warring with manufactured hatred, instinct battling against memory.
“I don’t trust you.”
“I know. But do you trust Lakhu?”
She flinches. Outside, another explosion rocks the camp—Rurik, by the sound of it, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“You don’t have to trust me,” I press. “You just have to decide which prison you’d rather occupy. This cell, or the chance to find answers on your own terms.”
Her jaw tightens. The shadow-flame builds, then—slowly, reluctantly—dies.
“If this is a trick?—“
“Then you can kill me later. Right now, we need to move.”
The camp is pure chaos.
Dragons in human form pour toward the western perimeter, weapons drawn, responding to the assault. I grab Nasyra’s wrist and pull her in the opposite direction, toward the eastern edge where the shadows run deepest.
“Stay close. My shadows can hide us if?—“
A guard materializes from behind a tent, sword already swinging. I shove Nasyra aside and bring up a wall of darkness to block the strike?—
And her shadow-flame lashes out before I can finish.
The dark fire catches the guard in the chest, sending him flying backward into canvas. She didn’t think about it—the magic just responded, protecting us on instinct.
“I didn’t—“ She stares at her hands, surprised. “That wasn’t?—“
