Kastor’s mouth twisted, almost a smile, but not the kind that ever reached anyone’s eyes. “That depends which story reaches them first.” My temper flared at that, sharp and hot. “Then perhaps you should start the right story,” I said. “Tell them I’m not an object Dawnbreak can requisition.”
A few officers looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.
Kastor’s gaze landed on me, cool and appraising. “Stories are not built on what you are, Lady Caelira. They are built on what others fear you might become.”
The words landed like a slap cloaked in silk.
I could’ve answered him—gods, I wanted to—but the hunger under my ribs had shifted again, away from this hall, away from these watching eyes. The storm in me was no longer just bristling at Dawnbreak. It was leaning toward something else.
Toward someone else.
“I’m done being discussed,” I said. “If there’s more politics to dissect, you can do it without me.”
I didn’t wait for permission to leave.
I turned and walked out, the long line of the corridor yawning open before me. Maren fell into step a pace behind, silent and sure, the way she had in the keep earlier. The stormglass lanterns chimed faintly overhead as we moved, picking up threads of power I hadn’t even tried to call.
I felt Atlas’s presence follow a few heartbeats later, heavy and unmistakable, his footsteps lengthening to catch up.
I didn’t slow.
We turned into a narrower side passage, away from the War Gallery, away from the echo of too many listening ears. Stone closed in around us, the sounds of the hall fading until all that remained was the soft tap of boots and the whisper of the wind slipping through high-cut arrow slits.
“Caelira,” Maren said quietly, “do you want?—”
“I need a moment,” I said, more gently than I felt. Then, softer, “Thank you for staying.”
She nodded, eyes bright and steady. “I’ll make sure no one follows who shouldn’t.” She peeled away at the next alcove, vanishing down a servant’s stair with the ease of someone who knew the keep’s veins better than half its commanders.
Which left just me and Atlas.
By the time he caught up, I’d reached a small overlook, a slit of a balcony cut into the outer wall, half-hidden behind a decorative arch. Wind pushed through the space, cold and clean, carrying the scent of distant rain and sea-salt.
I stepped out into it and braced my hands on the low stone rail, letting the air lick some of the heat from my skin.
Behind me, his footsteps slowed. Stopped.
“Little Storm,” he said.
I stared out at the grey sky for one long breath, then another. The hunger beneath my ribs hadn’t eased; it was sharper now. Not just for answers. For understanding. For something solid to push against that wasn’t my own confusion.
“That could have gone worse,” Atlas said quietly.
I huffed something like a laugh, but it came out thin. “You mean I didn’t let the High Priest drag me off for inspection in front of your entire Court? Yes. Remarkably restrained of me.”
He stepped closer, just inside my periphery. “I meant you handled him.”
“I had to,” I said. “You weren’t going to let him, and Kastor wanted him to.”
Silence met that.
Wind clawed at the edge of the balcony. Far below, waves crashed against the cliffs, the rhythm syncing uncomfortably well with my pulse.
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Atlas said at last.
I turned then, slowly, and met his eyes.
“Except I have to,” I said. “That’s the point, Atlas. I am the one they’re coming for. The one who ‘woke what should not wake,’ remember?” My voice broke that last phrase into something jagged. “If I don’t stand there and answer for myself, someone else will. And they’ll do it badly.”
