Below me, the argument had been building for an hour.
”—absolute lunacy, Briony, and I won’t hear another word about it!”
“You won’t hear another word? You’re the one who gambled away Mother’s copper pot on fungus that screams when you touch it!”
“That is entirely beside the point!”
“The point is that you’ve driven us so deep into debt that my sister has to marry a cursed stranger to dig us out!” Briony said. “And you’re acting as though this is some grand sacrifice you’re making, when really it’shersacrifice, isn’t it? It’s always her sacrifice!”
A long pause.
“You think I don’t know that?” Father said. “You think I wanted this for her? She’s my daughter. My firstborn. She was supposed to have choices, Briony. Real ones. Not... not this.”
“Then why didn’t you make better ones?” Briony wasn’t shouting anymore either. That was worse. “Why did you let it get this bad?”
“Because I’m a coward.” The words came out blunt. “Because after your mother died, I couldn’t... I couldn’t face any of it properly. The business, the debts, any of it. I just kept thinking if I could find one good investment, one lucky break, it would all sort itself out and I wouldn’t have to—“
“Wouldn’t have to what?”
“Wouldn’t have to admit I’d failed her. Failed both of you.”
I pressed my palm against the cool wall, feeling the old plaster beneath my fingers. The wyrmling shifted on my bed, his amber eyes tracking my movement.
“Do you think he’s handsome?” Briony’s voice drifted up. “Lord Stormgarde, I mean. The rumours say he was, before the curse. Dark hair, grey eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a cock to match—“
“Briony!” Father sounded scandalised.
“What? If my sister is going to marry a mysterious cursed lord in a crumbling manor, I’d at least like to know if she’ll enjoy looking at him while he’s taking her to bed!”
“That is entirely inappropriate—“
“You know what’s inappropriate? Screaming mushrooms.That’sinappropriate.”
The wyrmling made a soft sound, almost like laughter. I looked at him properly for the first time since bringing him upstairs. His scales had lost some of their sickly undertone. The silver markings along his spine pulsed with gentle light.
Well, shit. If I don’t go, father loses everything.And also Briony.
The ceramic dragons offered no counsel. Ember’s painted smile remained fixed. Frost’s tiny wings stayed folded.
If I do go...I thought of the letter’s desperate handwriting. The moonflower pressed between the pages. The way he’d writtenI am dyingwithout flourish or self-pity, a simple fact. Something stirred beneath my ribs.Hunger, whispered a voice that couldn’t be mine. I crossed to my small writing desk. I only wroteYesand sealed the letter before I could change my mind.
A few miles away, the Stormgarde Manor shuddered. Every door swung open on its hinges. The wards blazed gold along the walls, and the stones groaned. In his study, Fenrik Stormgarde looked up from his research.
six
Lysa
The carriage wheels had barely stopped before the driver was reaching for my travel case, practically hurling it onto the gravel path. His hands shook as he fumbled with the door latch.
“This is close enough, miss Emberlin,” he said. “I’ll not be taking the horses any nearer.”
I stepped down onto the winding cliffside road, my boots finding purchase on a loose stone. The wind caught my hair immediately, pulling a few strands free from the leather cord I’d used to tie it back. I’d worn my best dress for the occasion, a deep green wool that Briony had insisted brought out the gold in my eyes. The bodice fitted closer than my usual work clothes, cinched at my waist before falling in soft folds to my ankles. Already the damp air was making the fabric cling to my curves in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.
“Wait—“ I turned, but the driver had already snapped his reins. The horses bolted down the path as though hell itself nipped at their hooves. The carriage disappeared around the first bend within seconds.
I stood alone at the manor’s iron gates. Well, shit. Crumbling Manor rose before me like a fever dream given form. Grey stone walls stretched toward a sky bleeding orange and purple with the dusk, the colour shifting between charcoal and silver as clouds passed overhead. Towers stabbed upward at irregular angles. Wings branched off in directions that seemed to defy architectural logic, as though generations of Stormgardes had kept building without bothering to consult one another. And it was falling apart. Roof tiles lay scattered across the overgrown grounds like shed scales. Cracks ran through the walls in branching patterns, silver veins, I realised, actual silver threading through the stonework. Windows gaped dark and clouded. An entire section of the east wing appeared moments from sliding into the sea. Mist curled around the foundations, rising from the cliffs below in ghostly tendrils. It moved wrong. Too purposeful. Almost like fingers reaching the air around me. I gripped my travel case tighter and took my first step onto the property.
The floating lanterns ignited. One by one, they flared to life along the path, warm golden light blooming. Each one brightened as I passed, as though tracking my movement. Welcoming me. Or warning me.
