“I’m not Lyric.” The words come out gentler than I intended. “I know what Morrigan is. I’ve known since I was eleven years old. She can’t manipulate me the way she manipulated your sister.”
“She doesn’t need to manipulate you. She just needs to get close enough.” Auren’s hands have clenched into fists at his sides. “One moment of vulnerability. One mistake. One second where your guard drops, and she’ll have you in a ritual circle before anyone can intervene.”
“Then make sure I’m not vulnerable.” I step closer to him, lowering my voice so the words are almost private. “You’re the strategist. Plan for every contingency. Account for every variable. Make it impossible for her to reach me without going through you first.”
Something cracks in his expression. Just for a moment—a flash of raw emotion beneath the frozen surface.
“And if I fail?” His voice has dropped too, rough with something that makes my chest ache. “If I plan and prepare and account for every variable, and she still gets to you? What then, Tamsin? What am I supposed to do if I can’t protect you?”
The question isn’t tactical. It’s personal. Painfully, nakedly personal, and he’s asking it in front of his brothers, his king, everyone who matters.
“It’s not your choice.” I hold his gaze, letting him see that I understand what he’s really asking. “It’s mine. Morrigan wants me specifically. My blood, my power, everything I am. As long as I’m hiding here, she’ll keep attacking. Keep hurting people. The only way this ends is if I face her.”
SIXTEEN
TAMSIN
The war council has gone silent. I’m dimly aware of the others watching us—Drayke’s measuring gaze, Selene’s barely concealed concern, Nasyra’s knowing expression. But my focus is on Auren, on the battle playing out behind his eyes.
He’s afraid.
Not of Morrigan. Not of the tactical challenges or the strategic risks. He’s afraid of losing me. The realization hits me with the force of a physical blow, stealing my breath, making my fire flare in response to the emotion I can’t quite contain.
“The plan requires modification.”
His voice has gone flat. Clinical. The voice of a strategist solving a problem—except for the way his jaw is clenched, the way frost has begun creeping across the table beneath his fingertips.
“If you’re the bait, you need a handler. Someone close enough to intervene if the trap springs wrong. Someone who knows Morrigan’s methods, who can recognize her patterns, who won’t hesitate when the moment comes.” He pauses. “I’m the logical choice.”
“Auren—”
“I’ve studied her for decades.” He cuts me off, still not looking at me, still maintaining that clinical distance even as the frost spreads further. “I know how she thinks. How she builds her rituals. Where she positions her fail-safes. If anyone can anticipate her moves, it’s me.”
“You’re volunteering to walk into her stronghold.” Drayke’s voice is careful. “With the woman she specifically wants to capture. That’s not strategy, Auren. That’s?—”
“It’s the only configuration that maximizes survival probability.” Auren’s voice cracks on the last word. Just barely. Just enough for me to hear. “She won’t expect me to be inside with Tamsin. She’ll expect me coordinating from a distance, playing to my strengths. My presence changes her calculations.”
I should argue. Should point out that his presence will complicate the deception, that Morrigan specifically wants to hurt him, that having him close puts both of us at greater risk.
Instead, I hear what he’s not saying. I’m not losing someone else. I won’t survive it twice.
“Agreed.” I keep my voice steady. “You’re my contingency.”
His eyes finally meet mine. Something raw flashes in their depths before the ice reasserts itself. He nods once, sharp and precise, then turns back to the table.
“We’ll need a detailed assault plan.” His voice has regained its professional edge, though I can hear the roughness still lurking beneath. “Multiple contingencies. Fallback positions. A way to extract both of us if the trap closes faster than anticipated.”
“I might have something useful.” Nasyra pushes away from the wall. “Lakhu talked about Morrigan when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t trust her—said she was too obsessed with her own agenda to be reliable.” She glances at me. “He mentioned she has a ritual chamber at the heart of herstronghold. Everything else is just defense layers around that central room.”
“That seems right.” I nod slowly. “Morrigan was always single-minded. Build everything around the goal, sacrifice anything that doesn’t serve it.”
“Which means if we can bypass the outer defenses, we go straight for the heart.” Rurik’s voice is light, but his eyes are serious. “Walking into a blood mage’s stronghold with nothing but attitude and white fire. Insane, but efficient.”
“Insane is what we do best.” Selene grins, though there’s worry in her expression. “Drayke, what do we know about her fortress? Location, defenses, anything useful?”
Drayke moves to the table, spreading out a map I hadn’t noticed before. “Morrigan’s stronghold is here—” He points to a region marked in dark ink. “—in the borderlands between Valdoria’s ruins and Shadow Clan territory. Deliberately positioned where neither dragon law nor human law holds sway.”
I study the map, recognizing the geography from my Valdorian education. The borderlands were always wild, dangerous, full of old magic and older grudges. The perfect place for someone who wants to disappear.
