“Thank you.” She reaches out and touches my arm. Brief. Light. The contact sends a shock through me that has nothing to do with temperature—her fire and my frost meeting at the point where her fingers rest against my sleeve. “For telling me about Lyric. For trusting me with that.”
“I don’t know why I did.”
“Yes, you do.” Her smile is sad and knowing and entirely too perceptive. “But you don’t have to admit it yet. Just... thank you. For letting me see past the ice.”
She withdraws her hand. The absence of contact feels like loss. I watch her walk toward the stairwell that will take her down to the infirmary, her fire trailing soft light behind her, illuminating stone walls in gentle warmth.
At the doorway, she pauses. Looks back.
“Lyric sounds like she was wonderful. And I’m going to make sure Morrigan pays for taking her from you. Not for you—you don’t need me to fight your battles. But for Lyric. Because she deserved better than what she got.”
Then she’s gone, her footsteps fading down the stairs, leaving me alone on the rampart with stars and silence and the echo of warmth where her hand touched my arm.
I don’t move for a long time.
I told her about Lyric. Told her things I’ve kept locked away, things I’ve never spoken aloud to anyone. And instead of using the information as a weapon—instead of deflecting or defending or making excuses—she cried for my sister and promised to avenge her.
Something has shifted between us. Something fragile and uncertain, barely formed, easily shattered if either of us pushes too hard. It isn’t trust, exactly. Isn’t friendship or forgiveness or any of the simple labels I could apply to contain it.
It’s possibility.
The idea that maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry this grief alone anymore. That someone else can understand it without excusing it. That the ice I’ve built around myself for protection might not be the only way to survive.
I look up at the stars. Try to imagine what Lyric would say if she could see me now—standing on a rampart, still warm from a witch princess’s touch, feeling things I haven’t felt in too long.
About time,she would probably say.I was starting to think you’d turned into an ice cube.
The thought makes me smile. Small. Private. The kind of smile I used to reserve for her alone.
Maybe some part of her is still with me. Maybe she’s been waiting for exactly this—for someone to crack the ice enough to let warmth back in.
I turn away from the stars and follow Tamsin’s path toward the infirmary.
There are still wounds to tend. Still strategies to plan. Still a war to fight against the woman who destroyed both our families.
But tonight, for the first time, I don’t feel entirely frozen.
It’s a start.
ELEVEN
TAMSIN
Four days after the attack, the dragons conspire against us.
“You’re being summoned.” Selene appears at my door with a grin that suggests mischief. “Leave your weapons. Bring nothing practical.”
“Summoned where?”
“It’s a surprise.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into the corridor before I can protest. “Our mates have decided we need ‘stress relief.’ Apparently watching us fight shadow creatures made them realize we might benefit from something other than battle strategy and wound care.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It sounds amazing.” She practically bounces as we walk. “Drayke’s been secretive for two days. Rurik nearly exploded trying to keep whatever it is quiet—you know how he is with secrets. Even Zyphon looked almost pleased when I asked what was happening, which for him is basically jumping for joy.”
We collect Aisling from the infirmary—she puts up token resistance about patients needing her, but Selene isn’t taking no for an answer—and Nasyra from the Fire-Bringer quarters. The four of us follow Selene through corridors I haven’t explored,descending deeper into the fortress until the stone walls give way to something unexpected.
Hot springs.
