“Maybe I wanted to ensure you survived long enough to interrogate.”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Or maybe some part of you recognizes that I’m not my sister.”
The words hit somewhere I don’t want to examine.
“We should establish ground rules.” I step back, putting distance between us. “Your training sessions will begin tomorrow. Your magic is unstable—you nearly burned down the infirmary last night. Before you can be useful against the Shadow Clan, you need to learn control.”
“I know how to control my fire.”
“You knew how to control it before you spent three days running on empty reserves.” I let my tone sharpen. “Right now, you’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you. Your defensive instincts triggered in your sleep—your magic flared before you were even conscious. That kind of instability is exactly what Morrigan will exploit if she gets close enough.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to argue. Her jaw tightens, and fire flickers in her gaze—not the white flame of her power, but the spark of challenged pride.
Then she breathes out slowly and nods.
“You’re right.” The admission seems to cost her. “Last night was... I haven’t lost control like that since I was a child. The exhaustion, the trauma—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I need to retrain my instincts before they get someone killed.”
“Good.” The word comes out harsher than I intended. “We start at dawn. Be ready.”
I turn to leave.
“Auren.”
Her voice stops me. I don’t turn around.
“Thank you.” The words are quiet but steady. “For catching me. For not letting me die on your doorstep. I know it wasn’t easy—looking at me and seeing Morrigan’s blood. But you did it anyway.” A pause. “That means something.”
“It means I follow orders.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “Drayke wanted you alive. I ensured you stayed that way.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”
I walk away before she can say anything else. Before she can see how badly those words landed. Before she can notice the cracks forming in the ice I’ve spent decades perfecting.
She’s a threat. A risk. Morrigan’s blood.
I repeat it like a mantra as I navigate the fortress corridors toward my private quarters. Let the familiar rhythm ground me. Let the ice reform around the places where she’s already started to slip through.
Because that’s what she’s doing. Slipping through. With her direct gaze and her quiet acceptance and her grief that mirrors my own.
Blood isn’t destiny.
I want to believe it’s a lie. Want to believe that Valdorian witches are exactly what I’ve spent decades telling myself they are—deceitful, dangerous, unworthy of trust.
But she looked me in the eye and apologized for crimes she didn’t commit. Acknowledged my grief without making excuses. Accepted conditions that would humiliate most royalty without complaint.
Either she’s the most skilled manipulator I’ve ever encountered, or she’s exactly what she appears to be: a woman who lost everything to the same monster that destroyed my family.
I don’t know which possibility frightens me more.
My quarters are exactly as I left them—precise, organized, every item in its designated place. The familiar order should comfort me. Instead, it feels hollow. A monument to control that suddenly seems less impressive than a woman who faced her enemy’s gate with nothing but courage and desperation.
I move to the window. Stare out at the mountains. Let the cold seep through the glass and into my skin.
Tomorrow, I start training Morrigan’s sister. I’ll spend hours in close-quarters with a woman whose fire makes my frost feel warm by comparison. I’ll begin the process of determining whether Tamsin of Valdoria is our greatest weapon or our greatest threat.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice that sounds disturbingly like Drayke whispers that perhaps she might be both.
I silence it with ice.
