His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His gaze dropped to the rubble at his feet. “I hate that even then, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I thought she was hurting, being at Malcarion’s mercy for so long, and spewing shit in her pain at your mate.” He looked up, his expression bleak. “But when I saw how she deliberately let Ashaya go…”
“Skaldr?” Ash said softly, taking a step forward. “It’s over. I am well now.”
“Only because Eracier caught you. Had we been one second later, you would have died—the same way she was responsible for his parents’ and his brothers’ deaths.”
Ash exhaled, glanced helplessly at Race. He drew her to him, careful of her arm.
“Next time, don’t give a person who intends to harm you an inch, Your Highness,” Skaldr told her, his tone empty. “I warned you upfront. She-dragons are bitches.”
“And justice was served,” Race said.
Skaldr’s mouth twisted. “Because I brought her up the rampart, then dropped her, knowing she couldn’t fly with a damaged wing? That’s hardly justice. More mercy. Maybe you should have added her to Flaeron’s demise tomorrow.”
He fell silent. Somewhere behind them, voices rose—survivors calling to each other through the haze.
Skaldr shook his head, his eyes resembling amber stones. “Why didn’t you say anything? The people deserve to know the truth, deserve to know why Lemuria fell.”
“I felt you at the edge of the crowds,” Race said. “This conversation had to happen between us first. The rest will be revealed later.”
Skaldr dragged a palm along his unshaven jaw. “I don’t need pity.”
“Hardly,” Race said. “I wasn’t about to let the mob tear you apart before I could speak to you.”
“Good thing my sire and dam aren’t alive to witness this shame.” He picked up a weathered backpack stashed among chunks of fallen walls and hefted it over one shoulder. “I’m leaving.”
“Why?” Race asked. “This is your home.”
“She destroyed any honor we had, buried me in this shithole of lies.” He shook his head. Despite his harsh words, the sheer agony in his eyes gutted Race. “I’m glad you’re back, and you finally have happiness.”
“Where will you go?”
“No idea.”
With a nod, he stalked off only to glance back. “In case you’re wondering, Drax and Aerrax never traded you for their lives. All lies. I found out they fought Malcarion’s rebels when the city fell and died in battle.”
Race’s jaw clenched, fresh rage coursing through him as Skaldr vanished into an alley.
“I’m sorry,” Ash whispered, staring at the empty alley. “I guess you both heard everything Vaesarra said in the gorge. He must be in so much pain.”
“You can’t save him, Ashaya, mine,” Race said quietly. “He has to fight his own ghosts. He’s carried that guilt for a long time.”
Ash sighed. “I know.”
He gently rubbed her back, then his palm stilled. “There’s something else—something that never sat quite right with me. Her being at the palace the day Caelvyrn fell…” He shook his head. “She rushed into the throne room, terrified. It wasn’t because she saw me felled by a spelled arrow in my spine, but becauseshewas the one who betrayed me. Malcarion told her,Well done.”
Ash’s eyes burned white. “That bitch! I hope she’s in the deepest parts of Hell, experiencing every vile thing she’s done for all the pain she caused!”
Silence pressed down, heavy as the mountain itself.
“It is done.” Race drew her close.
But even as he held her, the frayed edges of their nearly shattered bond clawed at him. He could still taste that emptiness, the hollow terror of a world without her.
All around them, Caelvyrn’s ruins murmured with survivors—rocks clattering, voices calling through smoke, life taking root among devastation.
None of it mattered, if he couldn’t reclaim what had nearly been lost.
“You owe me something, heart-fire.”
