Selene is quiet for a moment, her gray eyes thoughtful. Then she reaches for the collar of her shirt and pulls it aside, revealing the mark I noticed yesterday. Flame patterns spreading across her skin, directly over her heart. Intricate. Beautiful. Unmistakably not natural.
“This,” she says. “I thought you might have questions. And I’d rather you ask me than spend weeks wondering.”
I stare at the mark. Up close, it’s more detailed than I realized—not just flames, but a pattern that seems to shift and move in the morning light. Alive, almost. Responding to something I can’t see.
“The claiming mark,” I say. “Drayke’s mark.”
“Yes.”
“Does it...” I search for the right words. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” Selene lets her collar fall back into place, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed by the exposure. If anything, she wears the mark the way some women wear jewelry—with pride. “It felt like fire when it happened. Burning through me, changing something fundamental. But not pain. Never pain.”
“And now?”
“Now it feels like... home.” She tilts her head, considering. “Like there’s a piece of him that lives in my chest. I can feel when he’s close. When he’s worried. When he’s being an overprotective idiot, which is most of the time.” A fond smile. “He doesn’t like it when I take risks. Tough luck for him, because I’m not particularly good at playing it safe.”
I don’t know what to do with this information. Everything Lakhu taught about claiming suggests it should be a violation—a dragon’s mark of ownership, burned into unwilling flesh. But Selene doesn’t talk about it like a violation. She talks about it like a gift.
“I don’t understand,” I admit. “How can you be happy about being... claimed? Owned?”
“I’m not owned.” The words are gentle but firm. “That’s the part everyone gets wrong. He didn’t take this from me, Nasyra. I gave it to him. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” Selene leans forward, her expression intent. “I chose him. I chose to bind myself to him, knowing what it meant, knowing what I was giving up and what I was gaining. He asked. I said yes. And when I woke up with his mark on my chest, I felt... complete. Like I’d finally become who I was supposed to be.”
“But why?” The question comes out more desperate than I intended. “Why would you choose to tie yourself to a dragon? To give up your freedom?”
“I didn’t give up anything.” Selene’s smile turns wry. “If anything, I have more freedom now than I did before. Drayke would burn the world to protect me, but he’d never try to control me. The mark isn’t a chain—it’s a promise. His promise to be mine, as much as I’m his.”
I don’t have a response for that. The sincerity in her voice is unmistakable—she believes what she’s saying. More than believes it. She’s living it.
“I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” Selene adds, reading something in my expression. “I know you’ve been told a different story. Lakhu probably made claiming sound like slavery. But I wanted you to hear my side. To know that whatever you’ve been taught, it’s not the only truth.”
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate. “For... for telling me.”
“Thank me by eating that pastry before it gets cold. Marta puts her heart into those, and honestly, they’re better warm.”
Despite everything—the confusion, the fear, the persistent sense that I’m missing something crucial—I reach for the pastry.
It’s delicious.
Aisling findsme in the Fire-Bringer quarters after breakfast.
Selene has set me up in a small sitting room—comfortable chairs, a fire crackling in the hearth, books lining one wall. “This is where we gather,” she explained before leaving to attend to something Drayke needed. “Fire-Bringers only. The dragons know better than to intrude.”
The idea of a space where dragons aren’t allowed is novel enough that I’m still processing it when the door opens and Aisling slips through.
She’s different from Selene. Where Selene is warmth and easy smiles, Aisling is all sharp edges and careful assessment. Her red hair is pulled back in a practical braid. Her green eyes hold shadows that speak of things she doesn’t discuss. She moves with the controlled grace of someone who’s learned to be ready for anything.
“Mind if I join you?”
“It’s your space.”
“It’sours.” Aisling settles into the chair across from me, tucking her feet beneath her in a gesture that mirrors Selene’s earlier pose. “Fire-Bringers. All of us. That includes you now, whether you’re ready for it or not.”
“I’m not sure I’m a Fire-Bringer anymore.” I look down at my hands, where shadow-flame flickers at the edges of my consciousness. “Whatever Lakhu did to me... the fire isn’t right. It’s darker. Wrong.”
