I press my fingers against my temple and try to impose order on thoughts that refuse to cooperate.
She’s Morrigan’s sister. That fact hasn’t changed. The bloodline that murdered Lyric flows in her veins. The woman who destroyed my family was raised in the same halls, taught by the same tutors, shaped by the same influences that shaped Tamsin.
But Tamsin isn’t Morrigan.
The realization settled into my bones sometime during our training session, quiet and undeniable. She’s not a predator wearing human skin. She’s not calculating angles and waiting for opportunities to strike. She’s a woman who lost everything a week ago and is somehow still standing, still fighting, still refusing to break.
I’ve spent decades hating everything connected to Valdoria. It was easier that way. Cleaner. Hatred is a cold thing, and cold has been my refuge since Lyric died.
Tamsin’s fire doesn’t feel cold.
I cross to my desk and pull out the research materials I brought from the library. Work. Focus. The Crown’s capabilities need further analysis. Tamsin’s training protocol needs refinement. There are variables to account for, scenarios to map, threats to anticipate.
I open the first text and force myself to read.
The words blur on the page. Instead of ancient diagrams and scholarly analysis, I see copper highlights catching the morning light. I see the way she moved through my frost patterns, fire trailing behind her in spirals that shouldn’t have been beautiful but were. I see the moment our magic touched and something that had been frozen inside me for decades suddenly, impossibly, began to thaw.
I close the text. Rise from my chair. Pace the length of my quarters and back again.
This is unacceptable. I’m the Brotherhood’s strategist. The one who sees threats before they materialize, who plans forevery contingency, who maintains control when chaos threatens to consume everything. I don’t get distracted by copper highlights and unconventional magic. I don’t spend hours thinking about the way someone’s fire felt against my frost.
I don’t feel warmth. Not anymore. Not since Lyric.
Except today, for four impossible hours, I did.
The knock at my door is almost a relief. Something external to focus on. A distraction from thoughts that keep circling back to places they shouldn’t go.
“Enter.”
Drayke steps inside, his amber gaze assessing me with the directness of someone who’s known me for centuries. “How did training go?”
“Better than expected.” I keep my voice level. Professional. “Her magical approach is unconventional, but we’ve found a methodology that works with her natural style rather than against it. With consistent training, she should achieve adequate control within a few weeks.”
“Adequate control.” He moves farther into the room, eyes never leaving my face. “That’s a strategically cautious assessment.”
“I prefer accurate assessments to optimistic ones.”
“And personally?” His voice drops. “How are you handling it?”
“Handling what?”
“Spending hours training Morrigan’s sister. Looking at a face that carries echoes of the woman who destroyed your family.” He pauses. “I expected you to come to me with reasons why this arrangement isn’t working. Demands that I reassign her training to someone else.”
“Would you have agreed?”
“No. But I expected the demand, nonetheless.”
I turn back to the window. The mountains are catching the afternoon light now, shadows stretching across the valleys below. I’ve watched this view countless times. Never noticed how the light plays differently depending on the season, the weather, the time of day.
“She’s not what I expected.” The admission costs me more than I want to acknowledge.
Drayke is quiet for a long moment. “In what way?”
“Every way.” I don’t look at him. Can’t, while I’m saying this. “She doesn’t perform. Doesn’t calculate every word for maximum effect. When she’s frustrated, she shows it. When she disagrees, she argues. She’s... direct. In a way Morrigan never was.”
“Morrigan was a predator wearing a charming mask.” Drayke’s voice is gentle. “Not everyone from her bloodline shares that nature.”
“I know that. Intellectually, I’ve known that.” I finally turn to face him. “But knowing something and believing it are different things. And today, working with her, watching her magic respond to mine—” I stop. I’m saying too much.
