“I hated those begonias,” Fenrik said.
Beatrice Holt cleared her throat, trying to salvage some dignity. “Well. That is... reassuring. To know the containment measures held.”
Thorven actually chuckled. “That’s the funny bit, ma’am. I was down there checking the ‘containment’ on the Shadow Wyrm’s pen. You know, the big scary one everyone thinks is a maneater?” He looked at Fenrik. “You spent a fortune on those suppression wards, Lord Stormgarde.”
“It seemed prudent,” Fenrik said defensively. “Given that he breathes necrotic fire.”
There was no Shadow Wyrm, I was sure of that, and what on earth was necrotic fire? Were Thorven and Fenrik actually making fun of the council members?
“Right. Well, here’s the thing about the Sanctuary architecture I figured out,” Thorven said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his thick arms. “The locking mechanism on the high-security pens? I got a look at the rune-work now that the slime is gone. They aren’t designed to keep beastsin.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The polarity is reversed,” Thorven said, grinning. “Those cages are designed to keep the worldout. They’re safe rooms, Miss—er, My Lady. Panic rooms. When the curse flared, thebeasts didn’t get trapped by the House. Theytriggeredthe invisible locks. They sealed themselves in to keep from hurting anyone while they were maddened. The only reason they were thrashing was because the parasite was trying to force them out, and they were fighting to stay inside.”
“While Lysa here was unconscious, you wanted to hunt these creatures, to exterminate them as threats, and look a that! All this time, the ‘monsters’ had been securely locking their own doors to protect the town,” said Fenrik.
A silence settled over the room. I looked at the Council members. Pembroke’s mouth was slightly open.
“So,” Briony broke the silence, popping the last bit of scone into her mouth. “Basically, the scary monsters were socially responsible introverts having a panic attack?”
“Brilliant,” Fenrik said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been paying for ‘maximum security’ upgrades for a decade, and I was essentially funding a blanket fort.”
“A very secure blanket fort,” Thorven said.
A soft, trilling chirp cut through the laughter. I went still. At the foot of the bed, in a square of warm sunlight that had been empty a moment before, the pile of blankets shifted. A sleek, wedge-shaped head poked out, followed by oversized ears that twitched toward my voice.
Kirion hauled himself up. The dull scales that had covered him for weeks were gone, shed like dry skin. In their place, he was a lustrous, iridescent midnight-blue, dark as the spacebetween stars. Running from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail were jagged, branching streaks of pure silver-white.
I looked down at my hands. The lightning-strike scars from the Dragonheart extract... they were identical. The pattern on his scales mirrored the pattern burned into my skin. Kirion let out a bright, healthyyip, hopped awkwardly over Fenrik’s legs, and flopped down across my ankles. He wiggled forward until he could rest his chin on my shin, letting out a puff of smoke.
“Oh,” Briony said, leaning over the footboard. “You too have the same markings now. That is adorable.”
“It’s a bond mark,” my father said, stepping closer, his researcher’s curiosity warring with his awe. “A permanent resonance. You rewrote his magical signature while healing him, Lysa. I’ve heard that to be possible, but it’s extremely rare.”
Fenrik reached out, tentatively touching the wyrmling’s head. Kirion leaned into the touch, purring like a buzzsaw, but his amber eyes remained fixed on me.
“Matching scars,” Fenrik said, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “I suppose that settles the debate on who his favorite person is.”
“He’s just grateful,” I deflected, though I couldn’t stop my fingers from reaching out to stroke the velvet-soft scales between the silver marks.
“He’s branded,” Fenrik said softly, a wicked glint returning to his grey eyes as he glanced at the flustered Council members. “And frankly, considering what you did to the ley-line, I imagine the rest of us will be sporting similar loyalty marks soon enough. I certainly plan to.”
Councilman Pembroke choked on air. “My Lord?”
“Metaphorically, Pembroke,” Fenrik drawled, though he winked at me. “Mostly.”
twenty-seven
Lysa
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Mrs. Crane, and the room seemed to exhale. The polite air of the sickroom vanished, replaced by a force that pulled everything toward the man sitting beside my bed. At first, Fenrik watched the door as if making sure the world had truly stopped intruding, then turned his gaze to me. His eyes were grey, just grey. No frantic silver, no shadow-flashes. He dragged his chair back closer, until his knees bumped the mattress again. He took my hand, his thumb tracing the skin below the new scar.
“I remember,” he said. His voice was a rumble that I felt in my chest more than my ears. “Everything. The memories crashed back.”
“The ritual?” I asked softly.
“It wasn’t a ritual. It was an installation.” A mirthless laugh escaped him. He looked down at our joined hands, his jawtightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek. “My parents didn’t die in an accident, Lysa. Kelda broke the containment circle. She hijacked the ley-line deliberately so she could install her little pet project.”
