“You don’t have to do anything.” I force the words out past the tightness in my throat. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t bring you here to collect on old debts or force you to feel things you don’t feel. I brought you here because it was safe. Because you deserve a chance to figure out who you are without Lakhu’s lies shaping you.”
“And if I never become who you want me to be?”
“Then I’ll still be here.” The words come easily now—the truth I’ve been carrying since the moment I saw her in that ravine. “Being present. Being nearby. Being whatever you need, even if that’s just the dragon who exists in the same space without expecting anything.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. The sunset fades around us, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold.
“Selene told me about breakfast,” she says unexpectedly. “She also said you were the only dragon she’d ever met who was more afraid of hoping than of dying.” Nasyra’s voice softens. “I think I understand that. The fear of wanting something you might not get to keep.”
Something in my chest cracks. Not breaking—opening. A door I’ve kept locked for centuries, suddenly finding a key.
“Selene was right,” Nasyra says finally, turning back to the sunset. “This is a good place to breathe.”
It’s not forgiveness. Not trust. But it’s something.
I’ll take it.
ELEVEN
NASYRA
Iwake to sunlight.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am. The ceiling is wrong—too high, carved from pale stone instead of the dark rock of Lakhu’s stronghold. The bed is too soft. The air smells of pine and wood smoke instead of old magic and decay.
The Brotherhood fortress. Right.
I sit up slowly, taking stock. My body aches—residual exhaustion from three days of travel and weeks of captivity before that. But the bone-deep weariness has eased slightly. The bed was comfortable. The room was warm. And for the first time since my resurrection, I slept through the night without nightmares.
That should probably concern me more than it does.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad barefoot to the window. The view steals my breath—mountains stretching to the horizon, their peaks dusted with snow that catches the morning light and throws it back in shades of gold and rose. The world feels impossibly vast from up here. Impossibly free.
I try the door. It opens.
Such a small thing. Such an enormous relief. Lakhu’s doors were always locked. Always guarded. The freedom to come and go had been one more lie in a fortress built on them.
Here, the door opens. No guards. No locks. Just a hallway stretching in both directions, torch sconces flickering with flames that burn without heat.
I close the door again without stepping through. I’m not ready yet. Not ready to face whatever this day will bring, whatever tests or traps or uncomfortable truths await me in this place that insists on treating me like I belong.
But the door opened. And somehow, that changes everything.
Selene arrivesan hour later with breakfast on a tray and a smile that’s far too awake for the early hour.
“Thought you might want to eat before facing the chaos,” she says, setting the tray on the small table by the window. “The great hall can be overwhelming. Rurik’s morning energy alone is enough to make most people reconsider consciousness.”
“You didn’t have to bring me food.”
“I know. I wanted to.” She settles into the chair across from me, tucking her legs beneath her with the casual ease of someone who’s comfortable anywhere. “Also, I wanted to talk. Without an audience.”
I eye the breakfast—fresh bread, cheese, fruit, some kind of pastry that smells of honey and almonds. My stomach growls despite my wariness.
“Eat,” Selene says. “Seriously. The cook gets offended when people don’t eat, and you don’t want to offend Marta. She controls the food supply.”
I take a piece of bread. It’s still warm.
“What did you want to talk about?”
