He doesn’t speak again.
He only holds me—steady and unmoving, his chin resting lightly against my hair.
The orchard stands witness—bare branches, quiet earth, the slow ache of winter settling in.
My tears soak into his tunic, grief spilling out in silent waves until my body finally surrenders to exhaustion.
When my breathing evens and the shaking stops, he’s still there. Holding me.
Chapter 37
Starlight
Look at this,” Mariel says, sliding a thick, leatherbound book toward me across the table.
I lean closer, tracing my gaze over a sketch of a three-headed dragon crowned in flame. Beneath it, a line of looping script catches my eye:Drathmar, God of Flame and King of Dragons.
“King of dragons?” I repeat, doing a double-take to make sure I read that right.
“Yes. And look closer.” She slides a magnifying glass toward me. Even the glass is ornate, with gold trim and an engraved handle.Why is everything in this palace so unnecessarily lavish?
I hold it over the place she indicates, just above the dragon’s heart. There, etched into a small breastplate, is a faint design. “Is that a…?”
“A crest. Yes!” she interrupts, excitement sparking in her voice as she pulls another book from the pile and lays it open in front of me. “It matches this.”
Her finger taps what looks like a royal family tree, though it’s unlike any I’ve ever seen. No men, only women—mothers and daughters branching upward like vines. And in the bottom corner, the same crest gleams in faded ink: black vines curling around a single white rose on a field of deep navy.
I could swear I’ve seen that symbol before.
“Wait a minute…” I push back from the table and dig through my satchel until I findThe Song of Dragon Souls.I flip through its fragile pages until I reach the section where several have been torn out. What remains is a border of navy ink and curling black vines—the same design.
My heart skips.
“It’s the same!” Vivian exclaims, stepping up beside me, shoulder to shoulder.
“Whoever tore those pages out was clearly trying to hide something,” Mariel murmurs, eyes narrowing.
“Whatever the story behind this crest is,” I say, “it’s tied to the dragons. And, most likely, the curse.”
They nod in silent agreement.
We’ve spent the last two weeks practically living in this library, and finally—finally—we’re getting somewhere. Hours pass in a blur of candlelight and ink stains. Vivian and I comb through the shelves, searching for any other trace of the crest, while Mariel, the only one among us familiar with Eldren, translates the page beside the image of the Dragon King.
By the time the sun sinks behind the mountains, our eyes burn with exhaustion. We ignore the dinner bell until Marb appears with a tray of bread, fruit, and steaming tea.
“How’s it going?” I ask as Mariel drains the last of her teacup.
“So far, all I’ve managed to translate is that Drathmar ruled the dragons around the time the curse began,” she says, rubbing her temple. “There was some kind of war. And something about two eras, markedB.P.andA.P.I don’t know what thePstands for yet, but I’ll figure it out. It’ll just take time.”
I study her face. She can’t hide the fatigue beneath her determination. Vivian yawns loudly beside us.
“We should rest and pick up again in the morning,” Mariel suggests.
“I agree,” Vivian adds with another yawn.
“You two go. I’m not tired yet,” I lie. In a few hours, I’ll have to meet Drako, anyway. Trying to sleep until then will do me no good, so I may as well keep searching for answers to the endless list of questions I’ve amassed over the past two weeks.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Mariel warns, collecting the empty tray.
