“So,” Selene says brightly, breaking the moment. “Dinner. Dragons. The ongoing adventure of surviving this place. Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. But asking makes people feel better.”
FIVE
TAMSIN
Dinner is a revelation.
I expected formality—the stiff protocols of court dinners, careful conversation over elaborate dishes. Instead, I find myself in a private dining room with the other Fire-Bringers, platters of simple food spread across a worn wooden table, and conversation that flows without pretense.
“The brothers eat in the great hall,” Selene explains, passing me a basket of bread. “Sometimes we join them, but tonight seemed like a good night for something quieter.”
“Quieter meaning without Rurik making explosion sounds during every course,” Aisling adds.
“He does not—” Selene starts.
“He absolutely does. Last week, he narrated an entire battle while eating soup. There were sound effects. Detailed ones.”
“He’s enthusiastic.”
“He’s a menace. A loud, explosive menace.” But there’s no heat in Aisling’s voice. Something softer lives beneath the irritation.
“At least he’s entertaining,” Nasyra offers. “Zyphon just stares at his food like it personally offended him. Meals with him are an exercise in competitive silence.”
“And Drayke?” I ask.
“Drayke growls,” Selene says. “Actually growls. At anyone who looks at me too long, at food that isn’t prepared correctly, at chairs that scrape too loudly. I had to ban him from accompanying me to the market after he nearly shifted in front of a fruit vendor.”
“What did the fruit vendor do?”
“Offered me a free apple. Apparently that constituted a threat to our relationship.” She rolls her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth softens the exasperation. “Six centuries old and he still hasn’t figured out that grocers aren’t romantic rivals.”
“And Auren?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
The women exchange glances.
“Auren doesn’t eat with us often,” Selene says carefully. “When he does, he’s... observing. You can practically see him cataloguing information. Who’s tired, who’s distracted, who might be a liability in the next fight.”
“It’s not personal,” Nasyra adds. “It’s just how he processes the world. Everything is data. Everyone is a variable to be understood and accounted for.”
“He’s saved lives that way,” Aisling says quietly. “Noticed when someone wasn’t fit for battle before they knew it themselves. Repositioned forces because he saw a pattern the rest of us missed.” She meets my gaze. “The cold isn’t cruelty. It’s how he keeps people alive.”
I think about that. About watching everyone around you, calculating risks, trying to see every possible angle of attack. About carrying the weight of knowing that if you miss something, people die.
It sounds exhausting. It sounds lonely.
Despite everything—the grief, the exhaustion, the terrifying uncertainty of my situation—I feel something unexpected stir in my chest. Not sympathy exactly. Understanding.
“Can I ask something else?” The question slips out before I can second-guess it.
“Always,” Selene says. “We reserve the right to give terrible answers, but the questions are free.”
“The claiming.” I set my cup down carefully. “I’ve heard of them—the formal mating between dragons and Fire-Bringers. But I don’t really understand what they are. How they work.”
The room goes quiet. Not uncomfortable—more thoughtful. The women exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them.
