The sight tore through me.
Zaicha blurred. One moment, Eiran held her with his magic, the next her sword clanged against Brenton’s with a force that pushed him back. His guard broke. The blade slid through his chest, deep enough that I could hear the leathers tear, followed by a wet gasp.
Smoke flared, then thinned. Even as his body healed itself, I felt how lethal the wound would’ve been outside the astral realm where Eiran held dominion over life and death.
“Brent!” My cry ripped free, and pain tore down the bond, doubling me over.
He staggered but didn’t fall. His sword clattered once against hers before he regained his grip. Blood soaked his side in a way that made my heart tremble.
I surged forward, fury eclipsing fear. My blade met hers in a storm of sparks, my body driven by the need to put distance between her and Brenton. But she met every desperate strike with elegant ease.
She was art in motion, and I was a tremor trying to chase it. We were outmatched. Three of us against her. How was that possible? How was she so strong?
Alastor reappeared behind her, ready to plunge his dagger into her throat. She caught it, her other hand releasing a burst of magic that sent him skidding back.
Eiran’s presence loomed in my periphery, unmoving while his magic continued to try to subdue her.
Zaicha’s attention cut to Brenton. “I could end him right now. His heart beats because I allow it.”
With blood roaring in my veins, I took a step forward. “You will not touch him.”
“Sweet Finley.” Her tone softened, almost pitying. “I’ll give him back to you. Unharmed and whole. If only you give me what I seek.”
My grip on my sword tightened until my fingers burned. “You want my magic?”
“Surrender it, and you can both walk away.”
I stared at Brenton, still standing through ragged breaths. He shook his head, his eyes still determined but dimming. Hisfingers trembled as he pressed his hand against his wound. Our bond frayed, bleeding but still humming.
“You’ll know peace,” she continued. “You can finally stop fighting against something you never asked for. Never wanted.”
I felt the tremble in my chest, the pull of her offer. To let go. To rest. To stop. With Brenton at my side.
Eiran’s voice came low in my mind.“You cannot cage what was born of death, daughter. You must become it.”
Zaicha smirked. “What did he tell you?”
For years, I had spent my life giving of myself to others. To my parents, to my kingdom. I had poured out every part of me until I thought there was nothing left in me to claim.
But I still had my magic. I still had my bond.
I tilted my chin up and set my lips in a determined line. “I am a dragon.”
Zaicha’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can keep it?”
Her magic snaked around Brenton’s neck, lifting him off the ground. His boots scraped uselessly against the blackened grass.
“No.” The word tore out of me, raw and instinctive. I reached through our bond, pouring everything I had into him. Life and death and the breath between both. It threaded through my veins, twining with his smoke until my blood thrummed with it. It hummed with the ending becoming a beginning.
Where she was fury, we were balance. The current moved inside Brenton, red and gray weaving together. Healing. Strengthening. His smoke flared bright again as a stream of red surged from my fingertips, burning through the cords she held around his throat. One by one, they unraveled, turning to ash before they hit the ground.
Zaicha screamed, cutting her blade toward me. I caught it with my bare hand, and metal seared my flesh. I didn’t flinch.
In the moment after I felt my magic heal Brenton, I called our joined magic back. It rose through me, and light spilled frommy palms. It was our bond made visible. Not a weapon but an extension of everything I was.
Everythingwewere.
The magic in the astral realm bent. Every ribbon Zaicha had used to drain us now coiled back, rushing to me. I sent them around her wrists, her chest, her neck. I turned her own magic against her.
