“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
“No.” His fingers squeeze my hip before releasing. “Neither was I.”
TWENTY-FIVE
TAMSIN
The Fire-Bringer quarters smell like lavender and something baking.
Selene must have put in a request to the kitchens, because there’s a plate of warm pastries on the low table when I arrive, along with a pot of tea that steams gently in the afternoon light. The room is warm—fireplaces that respond to emotional states, according to Selene, though I’ve never been able to tell if she’s joking—and filled with the comfortable clutter of women who have made this space their own.
Books pile on every surface, most of them Selene’s. Medical supplies stock one corner, Aisling’s contribution. Fresh flowers sit in a vase near the window—Zyphon’s silent offering, though no one mentions it.
All three women are waiting for me. Selene on the largest chair, her legs curled beneath her. Aisling perched on the arm of a sofa, her posture professional even in a casual setting. Nasyra in the shadows near the bookshelf, her mismatched eyes watchful.
“So,” Selene says, the moment the door closes behind me. “The Ice Dragon.”
I sigh and sink onto the nearest cushion. “I was hoping we could at least pretend to discuss strategy first.”
“Strategy can wait.” Aisling reaches for a pastry, her sharp green eyes never leaving my face. “You walked into a war council wearing his shirt, holding his hand, glowing like someone who didn’t sleep much last night. We have questions.”
“Many questions,” Nasyra adds from her corner. There’s a hint of a smile on her pale face—rare enough that I do a double-take.
“I don’t glow.”
“You definitely glow.” Selene leans forward, her stormy gray eyes bright with curiosity. “I’ve known Auren for months. He doesn’t do—” she gestures vaguely “—whatever that was in the war room. The touching. The hovering. The protective hand on the back thing.”
“He’s been doing that for weeks,” Aisling points out. “We’ve all noticed.”
“Yes, but this was different.” Selene’s gaze drops meaningfully to Auren’s shirt, still hanging on my frame. “This was after.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Which is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to spend the night with whomever I choose. But there’s something about being interrogated by women who have become my family, that makes me feel like a teenager caught sneaking out.
“It just... happened,” I say finally. “Last night, after everything with Morrigan, I didn’t want to be alone. And he—” I pause, searching for words. “He made me feel less like I was drowning.”
The teasing light in Selene’s eyes softens into something warmer. “That’s how it was with Drayke. After everything I went through—when we finally came together, it was like finding solid ground after being lost at sea.”
“For me, it was different.” Aisling’s voice is quieter than usual. “Rurik was chaos when I needed order. But somehow the chaos made sense. He made sense, even when nothing else did. It was perfectly imperfect.”
Nasyra doesn’t speak, but when I look at her, she nods slightly. Understanding passes between us—two women who know what it is to find something worth holding onto in the middle of destruction.
“I don’t know what this is,” I admit. “It’s too soon to call it anything. But when I’m with him...” I trail off, trying to find words for the feeling. “The ice doesn’t feel cold. It feels safe. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” Selene reaches across and squeezes my hand. “That’s what claiming is supposed to feel like—finding the one person whose edges fit yours, even when those edges are sharp.”
My heart stutters. “We’re not—he hasn’t?—”
“Not yet.” Aisling’s tone is matter-of-fact. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he moves when you’re in the room. That dragon is already half-claimed, whether he admits it or not.”
I don’t know what to say to that. The idea of Auren claiming me—of wearing his mark, of being bound to him the way Selene is to Drayke, Aisling to Rurik, Nasyra to Zyphon—it should feel overwhelming. Too fast. Too much.
Instead, it feels like possibility. Like a door I didn’t know was there, now standing slightly ajar.
“Enough about my love life.” I grab a pastry because I need something to do with my hands. “We have bigger problems. Like the part where I volunteered to wield an ancient Relic against a centuries-old shadow king.”
“We noticed.” Aisling’s dry tone could strip paint. “You have a habit of volunteering for suicidal missions. We should talk about that.”
“It’s not suicidal if I can actually do it.”
