“Then I’ll make him regret wanting it.” She holds my gaze, and I see it—the fire that first drew me to her. The stubborn refusal to be protected. The fierce determination that made her challenge dragons and lords and anyone else who tried to tell her what she couldn’t do. “I know his defenses, Zyphon. I know his magic, his tactics, the layout of his stronghold. I spent weeks inside those walls. I’m not just another sword—I’m intelligence.Strategy. And if you try to leave me behind, I swear to every god listening that I’ll follow you anyway.”
The old me would have argued. Would have tried to lock her away somewhere safe, convinced that keeping her away from danger was the same as protecting her.
But that approach failed before. She died on an altar because I wasn’t there, because she faced enemies alone while I fought through obstacles meant to delay me. I won’t make that mistake again.
“You know his defenses.” I turn back to the map, pulling her closer, pointing at the stronghold’s layout. “Show me. Show us the weaknesses.”
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, that I’m not fighting her on this. Then determination, sharp and focused, as she leans forward to study the map.
“The main gate is a death trap. Layers of wards, channeled defenses, kill zones. He’ll expect you to hit it head-on.” Her finger traces a path around the stronghold’s perimeter. “But there’s a secondary entrance here—a passage through the lower levels that connects to the ritual chamber. It’s warded, but the wards are keyed to Shadow Clan magic. My fire can unravel them.”
“You want to walk into the ritual chamber,” Auren says slowly. “The place specifically designed to drain you.”
“I want to walk into the place Lakhu will least expect me.” Her smile has edges. “He thinks I’m a weapon to be captured. He doesn’t expect me to come for him.”
“It’s a risk,” Drayke says.
“Everything about this is a risk.” Nasyra straightens, her hand still warm in mine. “But this way, we split his attention. Main assault force hits the outer gates, draws his defenses. A smaller team—me, Zyphon, whoever else can move quietly—infiltrates through the lower passage. We find Selene while he’sfocused on the frontal assault. Get her out before he realizes we’re inside.”
“And if you’re captured?”
“Then I’ll kill every bastard between me and the exit.” Her fire flares, shadow-flame dancing at her fingertips. “Lakhu wanted a weapon. He’s about to find out what happens when weapons bite back.”
The planning takes only hours.
And the infiltration team—me, Nasyra, and Aisling, who refused to be left behind any more than Nasyra did. “Fire-Bringers protect each other,” she said flatly when Rurik tried to argue. “And someone needs to be there with medical expertise when we find Selene.” He couldn’t argue with that. Neither could any of us.
By the time we’ve finalized the strategy, the sun has set and risen again. We launch at dusk—using Lakhu’s own deadline against him, hitting the stronghold while he’s expecting us to still be negotiating.
The fortress hums with activity as dragons prepare for war. Weapons are sharpened. Armor is checked. The air crackles with tension and barely contained violence.
I find Nasyra in the armory, selecting blades with a practiced eye that speaks to training I didn’t know she’d received. She handles each weapon with familiarity, testing the balance, the edge, the weight in her hand.
For a moment, I just watch her. The way she moves, fluid and confident. The way her shadow-flame flickers at her fingertips when she tests a blade’s edge. The way her dark hair fallsacross her face when she leans forward to examine a particularly wicked-looking dagger.
I waited so long for her, and now she’s here, alive, choosing weapons for a battle that might kill us both. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“I didn’t know you could fight with steel.” I lean against the doorframe, watching her.
She doesn’t startle—she must have sensed me coming, her fire reaching for my shadows the way it does now. “There’s a lot you didn’t know about me.” She selects a pair of short swords and slides them into sheaths at her hips. “I had tutors. My family believed Fire-Bringers should be able to defend themselves even without fire. In case of emergency.”
“Smart family.”
“Minus the brother who sold me to shadow cultists, yes.” The words are dry, but I catch the flicker of old pain beneath them. “They had their moments.”
I cross to her, wrapping my arms around her from behind. She leans into me, her head falling back against my shoulder, her fire settling into something warm and steady against my shadows. I breathe her in—smoke and something sweeter, something uniquely hers.
“I should tell you to be careful,” I murmur against her hair. “But you’d just ignore me.”
“Probably.” She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “But you can tell me anyway. I like the way you say it.”
“Be careful.” I dip my head to brush my lips against hers. “Stay close. Don’t do anything recklessly heroic.”
“Define ‘recklessly heroic.’”
“Anything that gets you killed before I can reach you.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me properly—deep and thorough and tinged with desperation. I pull her closer, onehand tangling in her hair, the other splayed across the small of her back. She tastes like fire and determination and everything I’ve ever wanted.
