Nerissa hissed. “He coughed once. The ritual wasn’t supposed to work until?—”
“He breathed a spark directly into his own wing.”
“It was dark!”
Kaida started laughing so hard she fell over. I couldn’t help it; I laughed too. Even Nerissa’s lips twitched, though she tried to hide it. She glanced toward the beach, watching Canavar snap something at Veskor who immediately snapped back.
“Stars help me,” Nerissa muttered. “They’re bonding.”
“That’s good,” Kaida said. “Veskor needs someone to attach to who isn’t Perri.”
“He can attach to a tree,” Nerissa shot back. “Notmymate.”
But she didn’t sound quite as angry. Just lost and sad, and likely still mourning Anar.
Then her eyes turned toward the horizon, narrowing. “Do you feel it?”
I exhaled slowly. “The wards.”
She nodded. “They are confused, and upset. I felt them buck like a wild animal an hour ago. And again just now.”
“Is it the volcano?” Kaida asked quietly.
Nerissa crossed her arms. “Yes, and no. The sacrificial wards carved there were tied to the original drakens, and the volcano was a deep part of the original group’s trauma and history. The volcano hasn’t burned since the Overlord died. No heat, no pressure. It’s gone dormant. The wards aren’t protecting us; they’re trying to protect theiroldpattern. And it’s all wrong now.”
I rubbed my jaw. That was unexpected.
“You didn’t know they’d twist.” Nerissa reassured me. “The volcano going dormant is good, but it presents new challenges. Once we use witches in the new ritual, it will set everything right.
I grunted. “Hopefully.”
Heaviness settled in my chest.
Kaida placed a hand on my arm. “The old ways could not protect us forever. Perhaps they were never meant to.”
“You know,” Nerissa said, watching me carefully, “your child will grow up in a very different world than the one you were raised in.”
“So will all our children,” Kieran beamed.
The thought warmed me.
“It’s strange,” I said softly. “I spent so many years thinking protecting my people meant shutting everyone else out. The mountain men. The witches. Outsiders.”
“And now?” Kaida asked.
“Now I know better.” I shot Ronan a quick grin.
I looked toward Veskor again. He was dirty, scarred, building a home he wasn’t sure he deserved with a father who still grieved the son he lost.
“I don’t want to be a king who rules through fear again,” I said. “Lyoness deserves more. Wren deserves more. Andthey deserve”—I thought of my unborn child—“a world where strength and compassion aren’t opposites.”
Kaida leaned her shoulder against mine in quiet agreement.
The Benedict from years ago would have chosen fear and tradition, preferring safety in isolation. But now …
Wren’s laughter drifted from somewhere down the path, bright and unbreakable. Veskor and Canavar were arguing in the distance, sawdust flying. Children raced past us, splashing in the shallows.
Lyoness was alive. Lyoness was changing.
