ONE
TAMSIN
Cold.
That’s the first thing I register as consciousness flickers back—icy arms wrapped around me, a frozen chest pressed against my cheek, winter everywhere except the fading warmth of my own failing body.
I’m being carried. The realization filters through the fog in my mind slowly, like light through murky water. Someone is carrying me, and my legs dangle uselessly, and my head lolls against a shoulder that feels like frost wrapped in expensive fabric.
Auren.
The dragon who has every reason to let me die caught me when I fell. Is carrying me now, his stride steady and sure despite the dead weight in his arms.
Voices filter through the haze.
“—can’t just bring her inside.” Male. Angry. “She’s a witch, Drayke. A Valdorian witch. You know what that bloodline did to?—”
“I know exactly what her bloodline did.” Another voice, deeper, carrying the unmistakable weight of command. “I alsoknow she just collapsed at our gate, carrying the final Relic. Whatever we decide about her, she’s no good to anyone dead.”
“She could be a trap.” The first voice again—Auren’s, I realize with a start. He’s arguing against helping me while simultaneously carrying me to safety. The contradiction makes my head spin worse than the blood loss. “Morrigan could have sent her. The whole desperate princess act could be?—”
“Then we’ll find out.” A woman’s voice now, warm and firm. “But first, we get her to the infirmary before she bleeds out on our floor. Unless you want to explain to the other Fire-Bringers why we let one of our own die on the doorstep.”
A beat of quiet. Then Auren’s arms tighten around me—just slightly, just enough that I notice—and his pace quickens.
I try to speak. Try to tell them about the Crown, about Ulrik, about everything riding on them believing me. But my tongue refuses to cooperate. My eyelids are too heavy. The pull of unconsciousness drags at me, and I don’t have the strength to fight it.
The last thing I feel is his heartbeat against my cheek. Steady. Strong. Unyielding as stone.
Not letting me fall.
The thought follows me into oblivion.
I dreamof fire and shadow.
Valdoria’s walls crumbling under shadow fire. My mother’s face as she threw herself between me and the dark magic pouring through the throne room doors. The sound of my father’s voice cracking as he sealed us in, as he told me to run.
Run, Tamsin. Live. Protect the Crown.
I run in the dream. Run through corridors that twist and change, through rooms that burn and reform, through memories that cut deeper than any blade. Morrigan’s face flickers past—not the monster she’s become but the sister she used to be. Braiding my hair. Teaching me card games. Smiling at me like I was something precious.
When did that smile turn to hatred? When did the sister who defended me become the woman who would drain my blood to steal my power?
The shadow fire catches me. Wraps around my ankles, drags me down into a void that tastes like Morrigan’s magic?—
I jerk awake with a gasp.
Hands press me back down. Multiple hands, warm and firm, accompanied by voices that blur together in my panic.
“Easy. Easy. You’re safe.”
“Her magic’s flaring—someone get Auren?—”
“I’ve got it. Hold her still.”
Fire erupts from my hands.
Not controlled. Not intentional. Pure instinct, pure terror, the white flame that’s lived inside me since I was seven bursting free without permission. It spirals upward from my palms, hot and bright and absolutely devastating.
