“Lyric was young.” His voice is quiet. Controlled. Somehow more devastating than a shout. “She inherited our mother’s Fire-Bringer blood but not my father’s ability to shift. She couldn’t become a dragon—couldn’t protect herself the way I could.” A pause, heavy with decades of grief. “She was learning to controlher flame. Excited about her abilities, about her future. Your sister promised to teach her. Made her trust. And then she dragged her to a ritual circle and drained her until there was nothing left.”
My throat tightens. “I know.”
“You know the story.” He turns his head—not fully, just enough for me to see his profile. The sharp line of his jaw. The flatness in his expression that barely contains whatever writhes beneath. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel your sister die through a bond you can’t sever. To arrive minutes too late and find her body in a ritual circle, drained of everything that made her alive.” His voice drops lower. “You don’t know what it cost my parents to lose her. They died fighting the Shadow Clan—hunting the monsters that sheltered your sister. First Lyric. Then them. Morrigan didn’t just take one member of my family. She took all of them.”
The words hit me like physical blows.
I knew about Lyric. Everyone knows about Lyric—the crime that made Morrigan infamous, the reason Auren Valek became the witch-hating ice dragon of Brotherhood legend.
I didn’t know about his parents.
“I didn’t—” My voice cracks. “Auren, I didn’t know about your parents. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t.” The word is sharp. Final. “Don’t apologize for things you didn’t do. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t change anything.” He moves toward the door again. “Sleep, princess. We’ll see if your pretty words survive the morning.”
The door closes behind him.
I stare at the ceiling, my body trembling with weariness and something that might be grief. His grief, shared through words instead of bonds, somehow making my own heavier.
First Lyric. Then his parents. Morrigan didn’t just take one member of his family. She took all of them.
I think about the sister I used to know.
And I think about Auren Valek—centuries old, controlled to the point of freezing, utterly alone. His sister murdered by dark magic. His parents dead in a war started by the woman who killed her.
We both lost everything to Morrigan’s choices. The difference is that I lost my family three days ago, while he’s been carrying his grief for decades.
No wonder he looks at me and sees a threat. No wonder he can’t separate me from her.
I’m not sure I could either, if our positions were reversed.
Sleep pulls at me, heavy and insistent. I let it come this time. Let it wrap around me without fighting.
Tomorrow, the war council.
But tonight—just tonight—I let myself rest in enemy territory and hope that the dragon who caught me when I fell won’t decide to let me drop.
Morning arrives too soon.
I wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the sound of someone moving quietly nearby. My body aches in ways I didn’t know were possible—every muscle protesting three days of abuse followed by a magical outburst that drained reserves I didn’t have.
But I’m alive. That’s more than I expected when I collapsed at the Brotherhood’s gates.
“You’re awake.”
I turn my head and find Aisling near the entrance, a tray in her hands. Her sharp green eyes assess me with clinical precision.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by horses and then set on fire.” I push myself up against the pillows, wincing. “So better than yesterday.”
Her lips twitch—almost a smile. “Your magical reserves are still depleted, but they’re replenishing faster than I expected. Whatever your dual bloodlines did to your abilities, it seems to include accelerated recovery.”
“Small mercies.”
She sets the tray on the table beside my bed—bread, broth, tea that smells like herbs I recognize from my own healing studies.
“War council convenes in an hour.” Aisling hands me the cup of tea
