Whatever Lincatheron was saying, Fenric didn’t like it.

  Or maybe he liked it too much. Hard to tell with him.

  I claimed the chair across from Brynelle, positioning myself so I could see all the entrances. Shaelith settled beside her wife with enviable grace, an arm draped over the back of Brynelle’s chair.

  I stared at the spread. Roasted something. Vegetables that looked like they’d been painted. Bread that probably had a fucking pedigree.

  “You need to eat.” Varyth’s voice cut across the table, silver eyes pinning me in place.

  “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “It’s basic survival.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  His jaw tightened fractionally. Good. I hoped I was annoying the shit out of him.

  Lincatheron and Fenric finished their conversation and moved toward the table. Lincatheron settled across from me with the kind of controlled movement that spoke of military training and too many battlefields. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders, brutal hands, those dark wings a constant reminder that he could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat.

  Fenric took the seat beside him, already scanning the room.

  The conversation started light. Safer that way. Small talk about the food, the weather, whether the west wing needed repairs. Meaningless chatter that filled space without demanding anything.

  I picked at my plate. Forced down a few bites of something that probably tasted excellent but turned to ash in my mouth anyway.

  “So,” Darian said, leaning back with that easy smile that made him look younger than he was. “How long do you think before Mireth and Eryx convince the dragons to let them ride?”

  “They already tried,” Brynelle said, and I caught the edge of laughter in her voice. “This afternoon. Mireth and Fionn climbed halfway up Velithor’s tail before Lira caught them.”

  “They what?”

  “The dragon seemed delighted,” Eilrys added, green eyes bright with amusement. “Didn’t move an inch.”

  “Oh gods.” I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Please tell me Eryx wasn’t involved.”

  “Eryx was the lookout,” Brynelle said. “They posted him by the gate to warn them if any adults were coming.”

  “Of course they did.”

  “Give them another year and they’ll have the entire dragon flight organised into a strategic aerial unit.”

  Despite myself, I almost laughed. Almost. “Don’t give them ideas.”

  “Too late,” Darian said. “Mireth was already asking Velithor about flying.”

  “Fucking hells.” I reached for my wine. Drained half the glass. “What’s next? Are there any other mystical creatures I should be worried about them befriending? Please tell me we’re out of options.”

  “Well,” Brynelle said thoughtfully. “There are the phoenixes in the southern mountains⁠—”

  “The shapeshifters in the western forests,” Eilrys offered.

  “Wyverns, but they’re assholes,” Darian added. “Wouldn’t recommend.”

  “Gryphons,” Shaelith said. “Though they’re territorial.”

  I was warming to this now, ticking them off on my fingers. “What about the classics? Basilisks? Sea serpents? Maybe a nice friendly unicorn?” I paused. “Oh, krakens. There used to be stories in Braerlith about krakens in the deep harbors. Sailors would leave offerings so they wouldn’t drag ships down.”

  “There’s a kraken in the lake,” Shaelith said, completely deadpan.

  The table went silent.

  I stared at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The lake,” she repeated, gesturing vaguely toward the courtyard. “In the main garden. There’s a kraken in it.”

  “There’s a—” I looked around the table, waiting for someone to laugh. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “It’s quite small,” Brynelle assured me. “Only about twelve feet across when it’s fully extended.”

  “Only twelve feet.”

  “Very docile,” Varyth added, silver eyes gleaming with amusement. Bastard. “Hasn’t eaten anyone in decades.”

  “Hasn’t eaten anyone in decades,” I repeated. “That’s your metric for safe?”

  Lincatheron’s mouth twitched. “It mostly eats fish.”

  “Sometimes bread,” Fenric said. “If you throw it from the bridge.”

  I drained the rest of my wine. Set the glass down harder than necessary. “Spectacular. Wonderful. My children are going to make friends with a kraken.”

  “Probably,” Shaelith agreed.

  “I hate all of you.”

  “You should see it when it’s happy,” Eilrys said. “It does this little dance⁠—”

  “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to know.” But I was fighting a smile now, the absurdity of it cracking through my defences like light through stone. “A kraken. In the lake. Why do you even have a kraken?”

  “It was here when my predecessors arrived,” Varyth said with a smirk. “Seems rude to evict it.”

  The laughter that escaped me felt strange. Foreign. Like wearing someone else’s skin. But it was there, bubbling up despite everything. And for a moment, just one fragile, crystalline moment, the weight lifted.

  Lincatheron had been quiet through most of the exchange, that dark gaze tracking the conversation with the focus of someone used to gathering intelligence. Now his attention settled on me, the way a general might evaluate a soldier fresh from the field.

  “You look better than the other day,” he said. Direct. No preamble.

  The laughter died in my throat.

  “Low bar.”

  “True.” He reached for his wine, movements economical. “The breach has been sealed. I’ve doubled patrols on the eastern perimeter and implemented rotating guard schedules to prevent pattern recognition. We’re also installing additional ward anchors at fifty-meter intervals.”

  I blinked at him. “You’re just—telling me this?”

  “You asked about security measures earlier. I’m providing them.”

  “Most people would consider that classified information.”

  “Most people didn’t just incinerate four attackers to protect their children.” He took a sip of wine, utterly unbothered. “I respect competence. You demonstrated competence. Therefore, you’ve earned transparency regarding your safety.”

  It was possibly the most straightforward thing anyone had said to me since I’d crossed the Veil.

  I almost didn’t know what to do with it.

  “The ward anchors,” I said slowly, testing. “How do they work?”

  “Crystallised magic keyed to specific signatures. They create a resonance field that alerts us to unauthorised crossings. Think of it as a magical tripwire system, but three-dimensional and significantly more sensitive.”

  “Can they be bypassed?”

  “Everything can be bypassed given enough time and resources.” Lincatheron’s scarred features settled into approval. “But it would require either intimate knowledge of our ward frequencies or enough raw power to simply shatter them. Both scenarios would give us advance warning.”

  “So you’d know they were coming, but not necessarily be able to stop them.”

  “Correct. Which is why we’re also implementing physical countermeasures. Increased aerial surveillance, magical scrying posts, and—” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Me.”

  “You’re a countermeasure?”

  “I’m a complication,” he corrected. “Most people think twice before attempting infiltration when they know the Master of Arms is actively hunting them.”

  I studied him over the rim of my glass. “You enjoy it. The hunting.”

  “I’m good at it. There’s satisfaction in competence.”

  The way he said it—flat, certain, utterly without ego—made me reassess him.

  Before I could respond, his gaze flicked to Fenric, weighted with meaning I couldn’t parse. And Lincatheron’s expression did something complicated.

  A conversation happening in the space between them. Silent. Private.

  My instincts prickled.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “What was what?” Fenric’s attention swung to me, innocent as a knife.

  “That look. The one you two just exchanged like you were having an entire discussion without words.”

  “We work together frequently,” Lincatheron said, tone unchanged. “Efficient communication is essential.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Fenric’s eyebrows rose. “Eloquent.”

  “I don’t need eloquent. I need honest.” I set down my fork with more force than necessary. “Everyone in this fucking castle keeps having these loaded conversations around me while telling me absolutely nothing, and I’m getting really tired of it.”

  “Isara—” Shaelith started.

  “No.” I pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against stone. My voice carried, cutting through the ambient noise. “No more platitudes. No more ‘we’ll explain later’ or ‘it’s complicated’ or any other diplomatic horseshit designed to keep me docile and grateful.”

  The table had gone quiet. Even the servants had frozen mid-pour.

  I turned to Varyth, who sat at the head of the table looking infuriatingly composed. “You pulled me from the Veil. You brought me here. You’ve been keeping books about Braerlith and bloodlines and gods know what else. And I manifested magic I shouldn’t have, magic tied to a court you claim is hunting me.” I planted my hands on the table, leaning forward. “So I’m going to ask you directly, Lord Varyth. What the fuck is going on?”

  Varyth’s expression remained neutral, but calculation flickered in those silver eyes.

  “Sit down, Isara.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Sit. Down.” Not a request. A command, wrapped in silk and backed by centuries of authority.

  I stayed exactly where I was.

  For a long moment, we stared at each other across the table, the tension between us pulled taut as wire.

  Then Varyth sighed, actually sighed, like I was a particularly troublesome child refusing to take my medicine. “There are things you need to know. But this is neither the time nor the place⁠—”

  “Then when?” I demanded. “After the next attack? After someone else gets hurt? After my children⁠—”

  “Your children are safe. They will remain safe. That is not negotiable.”

  “You don’t get to decide what’s negotiable for my children!”

  “I do when you’re living under my protection, in my territory, eating my food.”

  Silence crashed down, absolute and suffocating.

  Somewhere down the table, I heard Darian mutter, “Oh, fuck.”

  Varyth’s jaw worked, his composure finally cracking at the edges. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but no less firm. “I understand your frustration. Truly. But there are complexities to this situation that require delicacy.”

  “I don’t want delicacy,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice came out. How cold. “I want the truth. And if you can’t give me that, then we’re done here.”

  I straightened, stepped back from the table.

  “Isara.” Varyth stood, one hand raised like he could physically halt my exit. “If you would just⁠—”

  “Goodnight, Lord Varyth.” I turned on my heel, heading for the doors. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check on my children.” I didn’t look back. “Since apparently that’s the only thing I’m allowed to control in this place.”

  I made it three steps before his voice followed me, low and edged with anger, or perhaps desperation.

  “Running away won’t change what you are.”

  I stopped. Turned back slowly.

  “And what am I?” My words were ice and iron. “According to you?”

  Varyth’s expression shuttered completely. “Someone who needs to trust that I’m trying to keep her alive.”

  “Trust.” I tasted the word, found it bitter. “You want my trust while keeping me in the dark. While making decisions about my life, my children, my magic without including me in the conversation.” I shook my head. “That’s not how trust works.”

  “In my experience, sometimes it is.”

  “Then your experience is wrong.”

  I walked out.

  Behind me, I heard the scrape of chairs, low voices rising in what was probably going to be a spectacular argument. Part of me wanted to stay, to fight, to demand answers until someone finally broke and told me the truth.

  But I was tired. Bone-tired. Soul-tired.

  And my children were sleeping down the hall. I needed to see them. Needed to press my hand to their doors and feel the wards humming, needed to know they were breathing, safe, mine.

  So I kept walking.

  Through the doors. Down the corridor. Following the path back to their room where Lira sat outside, exactly as promised, a book in her lap and a blade within easy reach.

  She looked up when I approached, took one look at my face, and wisely said nothing.

  I pressed my palm against the door, felt the wards sing against my skin. Heard the sound of Eryx’s breathing, the rustle of Mireth shifting in sleep.

  Alive. Safe. Here. For now.

  I slid down the wall beside Lira, pulling my knees to my chest, and stared at nothing.

  “That bad?” Lira asked quietly.

  “Worse.”

  She didn’t press. Just shifted slightly, angling herself so she could watch both me and the corridor, and went back to her book.

  And I sat there in the hallway outside my children’s room, listening to them breathe, and tried not to think about everything I didn’t know, couldn’t control, hadn’t been told.

  Except I was thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Shadow fire. Nyxarian magic. Ashterion’s hunters finding me within days of crossing the Veil. Varyth’s careful evasions and his collection of books about bloodlines and Braerlith. The way everyone looked at me like I was a puzzle they were trying to solve before I exploded.

  And that look between Fenric and Lincatheron. That weighted, complicated look that felt like secrets piled on top of secrets.

  I was so fucking tired of secrets. “Lira,” I said quietly, not looking at her. “The city. How far is it from here?”

  She went very still. “About two miles. Why?”

  “Just curious. Never been to the city before.”

  “Isara.” Her voice carried a warning now. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t.”

  I finally turned to look at her. She’d set down her book, one hand resting on the blade at her hip. “I’m just sitting here,” I said mildly. “Thinking.”

  “You’re plotting.” Lira’s dark eyes were too knowing. “I’ve been around Fenric long enough to recognise the look. And whatever you’re planning, it’s going to get you in trouble.”

  “I’m already in trouble. Might as well make it count.”

  “Varyth will lose his mind if you leave the castle grounds without an escort.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to ask permission.”

  Lira stared at me for a long moment. Then she sighed, deep and resigned. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

  “Probably not.”

  “And if I try to stop you?”

  “Then I’ll feel bad about whatever I have to do to get past you.”

  Another pause. Then, impossibly, Lira smiled. Small and tired and edged with understanding. “You remind me of someone. Stubborn as stone and twice as immovable when you’ve made up your mind.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “It’s an observation.” She picked up her book again, pointedly not looking at me. “The eastern postern gate. Smallest entrance, minimal guard rotation. They change shifts in about an hour. You’ll have a ten-minute window.”

  I blinked. “You’re helping me?”

  “I’m giving you information you’d figure out on your own eventually.” Lira turned a page. “What you do with that information is your choice. Though if anyone asks, I was here the entire time and you’re very good at sneaking.”

  “I am very good at sneaking.”

  “I believe you.” She glanced up, expression serious now. “But Isara? Whatever you find out there—in the city, talking to people who don’t know you and don’t owe you anything? It might not be what you want to hear.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re going anyway.”

  “I am.”

  Lira nodded slowly. “Then be smart. Stay hooded. Keep your head down. And for gods’ sake, don’t manifest any fire. This city’s seen enough excitement for one day.”

  “I’ll try not to spontaneously combust anyone.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I pushed myself to my feet, joints protesting. My body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. “Thank you. For this. For watching them.”

  “They’re good children. Easy to protect.” Lira’s expression softened. “Go. Before I remember I’m supposed to be responsible.”

  I went.

  13

  The eastern postern gate was exactly where Lira had said it would be, a narrow door set into the castle’s outer wall, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it. The guard stationed there was young, bored, and appeared to be losing a battle with consciousness.

  I waited in the shadows until his head drooped forward, then slipped past him like smoke.

  The night air hit me cold and sharp, tasting of stone and starlight and freedom I hadn’t realised I’d been craving. I pulled my cloak tighter and oriented myself toward the distant glow of the city.

  Two miles. I could do two miles.

  I’d done so much worse.

  The path down from the castle was winding, carved into the hillside in switchbacks that probably looked picturesque in daylight. Now they just looked treacherous, all loose stone and uncertain footing in the dark. But the moon was nearly full, and my eyes adjusted quickly.