“You have no idea. Ask Auren about the library incident sometime. Or don’t—he gets this look, like he’s reliving a very specific trauma.”
Aisling appears with fresh supplies, dropping onto a stool beside us with a heavy sigh. “The critical cases are stable. Everyone else can wait.” She grabs a roll of bandages and starts wrapping her own scraped knuckles, her movements efficient but tired. “What did I miss?”
“Bonding over near-death experiences,” Selene says dryly. “The usual.”
“Ah. My favorite.” Aisling glances at me, her sharp eyes assessing my bandaged shoulder. “How’s the wound?”
“I’ll live.”
“That’s the spirit. Low expectations, rarely disappointed.” She finishes with her knuckles and flexes her handexperimentally. “So. First battle with the Brotherhood. Thoughts?”
I consider the question. The terror. The exhilaration. The strange, bone-deep rightness of fighting alongside Zyphon, of protecting Selene, of being protected by Aisling.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that Lakhu is going to regret finding me.”
Selene grins. Aisling’s mouth twitches in what might be approval.
“Now you’re getting it,” Selene says.
We endup talking for hours.
The infirmary empties as wounded dragons are moved to their own quarters. Aisling’s assistants take over the remaining care. And the three of us stay in our corner, sharing stories the way soldiers do after battle—processing the fear by turning it into something we can hold.
Selene tells me about her first fight. How she’d been terrified, how Drayke had wanted to lock her in a tower for her own protection, how she’d set his shoes on fire for the suggestion.
“He still brings it up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Every time he thinks I’m being reckless. ‘Remember what happened to my shoes?’ As if I’m going to forget.”
“To be fair,” Aisling says, “you did set them on fire.”
“He deserved it.”
“Probably. But you can’t blame him for being cautious.”
“I absolutely can and do.” Selene turns to me. “What about you? Any overprotective dragons in your past?”
The question hits strangely. I find myself thinking of Zyphon—of the way he’d positioned himself between me and the shadowdragons, the way his darkness had reached for my fire like it was trying to shield it.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m still trying to figure out what’s real and what Lakhu made me believe.”
“That’s fair.” Aisling’s voice softens. “It takes time. The memories he planted—they feel real. It’s hard to know what to trust.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Different kind of manipulation, but yes.” She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. The shadows in her eyes say enough. “The important thing is to hold onto what you know is true. The rest will sort itself out eventually.”
“What if I don’t know what’s true?”
“Then start with the small things.” Selene reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You saved my life today. That’s true. Aisling saved yours. That’s true. We’re sitting here talking instead of bleeding out in the courtyard. True.”
“Build from there,” Aisling adds. “One true thing at a time.”
One true thing at a time. It sounds so simple when she says it.
I’m starting to realize that nothing here is as complicated as I expected. The Brotherhood, the Fire-Bringers, the relationships between them—it’s not the tangled web of manipulation and control that Lakhu described. It’s messy and chaotic and imperfect, but it’s also honest. Real.
Maybe that’s what makes it worth protecting.
The dream comes that night.
