And I’m not going to let my sister’s threats stop me from reaching for it.
THIRTEEN
AUREN
Someone is in my library.
I know before I reach the door. After six centuries, the library has become an extension of myself—I feel disturbances in its order the way some people feel changes in weather. A book has been removed from its shelf. Several books, actually. And the preservation wards have shifted to accommodate a living presence that shouldn’t be here in the middle of the night.
I don’t need to guess who it is.
The door opens silently—I oiled the hinges myself, preferring to approach my domain without announcement—and I find exactly what I expected. Tamsin sits at the central research table, surrounded by texts I recognize immediately. Dark magic theory. Blood ritual construction. Countermeasures for curse-enhanced witchcraft. She’s built herself a fortress of research, and she’s clearly been here for hours.
She doesn’t notice my entrance. Her focus is absolute, amber eyes tracking lines of text with fierce concentration, copper-highlighted hair escaping the knot she’s twisted it into. A cup of cold tea sits forgotten at her elbow. Notes spread across thetable in handwriting that grows progressively more erratic—she started organized, but exhaustion has claimed her penmanship.
I should leave.
She’s working. Clearly doesn’t want to be disturbed. If she needed assistance, she would have asked. The strategically sound decision is to retreat, let her complete her research in peace, address whatever questions she might have in the morning.
Instead, I find myself moving toward the small preparation area where I keep supplies for long research sessions. Heating water. Selecting tea leaves—a blend designed to focus the mind without disrupting sleep patterns. I’ve used it countless times during my own late nights in this room.
She looks up when I set the cup beside her cold one.
“You should be sleeping.” I take the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “Exhausting yourself before we’ve even begun planning is counterproductive.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She wraps her hands around the warm cup, and I notice for the first time how thin her fingers look. How the shadows under her eyes have deepened since yesterday. “Morrigan sent a message.” She stops. “She’s watching us. Somehow. She knew about the hot springs. And she didn’t give any warning about when she’d strike. It could be tomorrow. It could be tonight. I can’t just sit and wait for her to make the next move.”
Ice settles in my chest. “You received a message from Morrigan and didn’t report it immediately?”
“I was going to tell everyone in the morning. I needed—” She gestures at the books surrounding her. “I needed to do something. She could attack at any moment. I refuse to sit idle while she plans my death.”
“What did she say?”
Tamsin’s jaw tightens. “The usual threats. Come willingly or watch everyone I care about die. She specifically mentioned the Fire-Bringer women.” A pause. “And you.”
“Me.”
“She called you ‘the ice dragon who can’t stop watching me.’” Her eyes meet mine, something unreadable in their amber depths. “Said she’d start with you. Poetic justice, she called it.”
I should address the security implications. Should focus on how Morrigan is gathering intelligence, what countermeasures we need to implement, how to ensure her surveillance is neutralized before the assault.
Instead, I hear myself ask: “Does it bother you? That she’s targeting me specifically?”
The question surprises us both. Tamsin blinks, and something in her expression shifts—becomes more open, more honest than the controlled facade she usually maintains.
“Yes.” Simple. Direct. No elaboration or qualification. “It bothers me.”
The admission settles into the space between us. I don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know what to do with any of the things I’ve been feeling since this woman arrived at my gate, carrying a Relic and a burden and nothing else.
“Show me what you’ve found.” I pull the nearest stack of notes toward me. “If you’re determined to research through the night, you might as well have assistance.”
The hours blurinto each other.
We work in parallel at first, dividing the research into logical segments. She takes the texts on blood magic—knows more about it than I expected, familiar with the theoretical frameworkfrom her Valdorian training. I focus on curse construction, looking for weaknesses in the types of workings Morrigan has demonstrated.
But research has a way of becoming conversation when two minds are working on the same problem.
“This passage suggests that blood rituals become unstable when the intent doesn’t match the sacrifice.” Tamsin slides a text across the table, pointing to a specific paragraph. “Morrigan’s ritual on Lyric failed because she wanted something her blood couldn’t receive. The power dispersed instead of transferring.”
