“You?” Selene nearly chokes on her wine. “Miss ‘I don’t need anyone’s help, I have seventeen backup plans’?”
“I was six.” Aisling’s cheeks flush pink. “I had a plastic tiara. I wore it everywhere—to school, to the grocery store, to bed. My parents were mortified when I insisted on wearing it to my grandmother’s funeral because ‘princesses always look their best.’”
The image is so at odds with the sharp, practical woman beside me that I laugh—a real laugh, unstrained and surprised out of me. “What happened to the tiara?”
“Lost it in a move when I was twelve. Cried for days. Then decided princesses were impractical and I was going to be a surgeon instead.” She takes a long drink. “Much more sensible. Also, my parents hated the idea, which was a bonus.”
“Nasyra?” Selene prompts.
Nasyra’s mismatched eyes go distant, focusing on something five centuries away. “I wanted to be a scholar. Spend my life in libraries debating theory, writing treatises about the nature of magic, having long arguments about the proper interpretation of ancient texts.” Her mouth curves in a bittersweet smile. “Instead I became a noble’s daughter trained for political marriage. My value was my bloodline and my womb, not my mind.”
“And then?” Selene’s voice is gentle.
“Then I fell in love with a dragon, died, and came back as a weapon.” She shrugs, but there’s old pain beneath the casual gesture. “Life rarely follows the plan. Though I suppose I’ve learned more about magic through experience than any library could have taught me.”
“You could still write those treatises,” I offer. “Plenty of source material now. ‘On the Experience of Resurrection: A Personal Account.’”
Nasyra’s laugh is surprised and genuine. “Perhaps. If we survive long enough for academia to seem appealing again.” She tilts her head at me. “Your turn, princess. What did little Tamsin want?”
I take a fortifying sip of wine and let the memory surface.
“An explorer.” The word feels sweet and sad on my tongue. “I used to steal maps from my father’s study and trace routes to places I’d never seen. Beyond the mountains. Across the sea. I wanted to discover something—a lost city, a hidden people, a new species of magical creature. I wanted to leave my mark on the world through adventure rather than politics.”
“What stopped you?”
“My powers.” The old frustration rises, familiar and bitter. “I was seven when the white fire came. After that, there were tutors and training and the constant awareness that I was too valuableto risk. Too important to let out of sight. The girl who wanted to explore became the princess who needed protecting.”
“And now?” Aisling asks quietly.
“Now I’m exploring whether I can survive my sister trying to murder me.” I try for lightness. It mostly lands. “Not quite the adventure I imagined, but technically qualifies.”
Selene raises her glass. “To childhood dreams and the strange paths we took instead.”
We drink, and something eases in my chest. The sharing of dreams and disappointments, the acknowledgment that none of us ended up where we expected—it creates a solidarity I didn’t know I was craving.
TWELVE
TAMSIN
The conversation drifts, as conversations do when wine is involved, toward more dangerous territory.
“What about men?” Selene stretches out on the cushions, the picture of lazy contentment. “When you were young and stupid and believed in fairy tales—what did you think you wanted?”
“Someone gentle.” Aisling’s voice is soft, almost dreamy. “Kind. Predictable. The type who brings flowers and remembers anniversaries and never does anything surprising. I was going to marry a nice accountant named David and have two children and a garden with roses.”
“Did you know an actual David, or was this a theoretical accountant?”
“Theoretical. I had the whole life planned before I met anyone to fill the role.” She laughs at herself. “Very romantic.”
“And instead you got Rurik.”
“And instead I got Rurik.” The way she says his name is exasperated and unbearably fond. “The human equivalent of a forest fire. Unpredictable. Chaotic. Absolutely incapable of remembering where he left anything, let alone anniversaries.” She pauses, something soft crossing her face. “He brought meflowers once. Got so nervous about whether I’d like them that he set them on fire before he could give them to me. He was devastated. Didn’t speak for hours, which might be a personal record.”
“What did you do?”
“Told him I preferred live plants anyway and made him help me start a herb garden in the infirmary.” Her smile goes impossibly soft. “He checks on those plants every single day. Waters them. Talks to them when he thinks no one’s listening. Tells them they’re doing a good job growing.” She shakes her head. “He’s nothing like what I thought I wanted. He’s exactly what I needed.”
“I wanted someone sophisticated.” Selene’s turn, and her eyes sparkle with self-aware humor. “Educated. Well-read. The kind of man who could discuss philosophy over dinner and appreciated fine wine and knew how to slow down and savor the moment. Someone who would whisk me away on romantic getaways and spend lazy Sundays doing nothing.”
