“Can you?” Nasyra’s voice is soft but direct. “Control the Crown, I mean. Not just open it—control it.”
I think about the power I felt during the fight with Morrigan. The way my witch magic and Fire-Bringer flame worked in concert, amplifying each other, becoming something greater than either alone. The Crown would multiply that a hundredfold. A weapon strong enough to break Ulrik’s defenses.
Or strong enough to consume me from within, if I can’t maintain control.
“I think so,” I say honestly. “I won’t know for certain until I try it in battle. But this is what my bloodline was meant for. The Crown was entrusted to Valdoria specifically because we could use it. We are protectors.”
“Then we’ll be there when you test it.” Selene’s voice is firm. “All of us. We’ll keep you safe.”
“That’s what Auren said.”
“Well,” Aisling smirks, “seems like the Ice Dragon and the Fire-Bringer sisterhood agree on something. Mark the calendar.”
Nasyra moves from her corner to sit beside me on the cushion—closer than I’ve seen her get with anyone except Zyphon and Selene. “You’re one of us now,” she says quietly. “Whatever happens with Auren, whatever happens with Ulrik—you’re part of this.”
The words hit somewhere deep. Part of this. Part of something. I’ve been alone since Valdoria fell—surrounded by people but fundamentally isolated, a princess without a throne, a queen without subjects. And now, in this warm room thatsmells of lavender and baking, three women are telling me I belong.
“Thank you.” The words come out rough. “For... all of this. The shirts and the pastries and the not letting me isolate.”
“That’s what sisters are for.” Selene pulls me into a hug—warm and uncomplicated in a way that makes my throat tight. “Now eat your pastry and tell us everything about last night. And I mean everything.”
I laugh despite myself. “There are some things even sisters don’t need to know.”
“Try us.” Aisling’s grin is wicked. “Rurik talks. I probably know more about dragon bedroom preferences than any human should.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“That’s family.” Nasyra’s voice is warm. “Get used to it.”
I look around the room at these women—a stubborn Fire-Bringer who tamed a king, a vet surgeon who matched a wildfire, a resurrected noble who found her way back to the man who loved her across centuries. My sisters. My family, chosen if not born.
Tomorrow, I open the Crown. Then, I’ll face Ulrik. But right now, in this moment, I’m exactly where I need to be.
I bite into the pastry and start talking.
TWENTY-SIX
AUREN
The maps spread across my desk tell a story I don’t want to read.
One day’s flight through hostile terrain. Mountains that seem to lean inward, blocking out the sun. Valleys filled with mists that never lift. Forests where the trees grow black and nothing lives beneath them. The Shadow Clan has held this region for millennia, and the land itself has absorbed their magic.
And at the end of that journey: Ulrik’s stronghold. The most fortified position in dragon territory, protected by eight centuries of accumulated wards and the personal power of a king who has never lost a war he chose to fight.
I’ve been staring at these maps for hours. Running calculations. Testing approaches. Discarding plans that have more holes than substance.
Every path leads to the same conclusion: this assault is madness.
And we’re going to do it anyway.
A knock at my door. I know who it is before I look up—can feel the warmth of her fire signature through the wood, a heat that’s become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Morefamiliar, perhaps. I’ve stopped noticing my heartbeat. I notice her constantly.
“It’s open.”
Tamsin slips inside, closing the door behind her. She’s changed out of my shirt—much to my private disappointment—and into practical clothes borrowed from the Fire-Bringer women. Dark trousers, a fitted tunic that shows off the lean muscle of her arms, her dark hair pulled back from her face. The copper highlights catch the lamplight, glowing ember-bright.
She looks like a warrior. Like a queen preparing for battle.
