“The way it hugs—” He stopped, swallowed hard enough that I watched his throat work.

  “Architecturally sound.” Darian’s voice rang out from somewhere in the trees, filled with glee. “Tell her she’s architecturally sound again. It worked so well the first time.”

  Varyth jerked backward like he’d been burned, his hand dropping to his side so fast I almost missed the movement. The fire in his eyes flickered, then banked, composure slamming back into place with visible effort.

  The silence that followed Darian’s shout stretched like pulled taffy, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely about to snap.

  Varyth’s head turned toward the trees with the precision of a predator tracking prey.

  “Darian,” he said, so soft it barely disturbed the air. “Come here.”

  “You know what?” Darian’s voice floated back, suddenly much farther away than before. “I’m good where I am, actually. Great view of the Veil from here. Very educational.”

  “Now.”

  The single word carried enough weight to make the air pressure shift. I felt it press against my skin, and the shadows around Varyth seemed to deepen, stretching toward the tree line with visible hunger.

  Darian emerged from between the trees with his hands raised in surrender, that insufferable grin plastered across his face despite the very real threat radiating from his High Lord.

  “Look,” Darian said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around nervous. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. The leathers are fantastic. Truly inspired tailoring. Whoever made them deserves a raise and possibly a medal for services to⁠—”

  “Stop. Talking.”

  But Darian, because he was either the bravest or stupidest man I’d ever met, kept going.

  “I mean, Varyth’s not wrong.” He gestured at me with an enthusiasm usually reserved for discussing fine art. “The way they fit? It’s like they were designed specifically to showcase⁠—”

  “Darian.” Varyth’s tone had pitched below freezing now, somewhere in the realm where words turned were enough to draw blood. “I am going to count to three. If you are still talking when I reach three, I will demonstrate exactly how creative I can be with mist magic and your respiratory system.”

  The shadows around him had grown thicker, coiling like smoke given form and malice. They weren’t just dark, they were hungry, reaching toward Darian with the kind of patient inevitability that suggested Varyth wasn’t making idle threats.

  “One.”

  “Right, but objectively speaking, you have to admit⁠—”

  “Two.”

  Something in Varyth’s countdown must have finally penetrated Darian’s thick skull, because his grin faltered. His eyes darted to the mist creeping closer, then back to Varyth’s face, and whatever he saw there made him take a step backward.

  “You’re actually serious.”

  “Three.”

  The temperature dropped so fast I saw my breath mist in the air. The mist surged forward, and for a heartbeat I thought Varyth might actually follow through on his threat.

  “Okay!” Darian threw his hands up higher, his usual bravado cracking into something closer to genuine alarm. “Shutting up! Completely silent! Mouth sealed! I’m a fucking mime from this point forward!”

  He mimed zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key with exaggerated movements that would have been funny if Varyth’s mist wasn’t writhing like it wanted to taste blood.

  Varyth held his gaze for another long moment, burning with something that wasn’t quite rage but sat close enough to make me nervous. Then, slowly, the mist receded. The temperature climbed back to normal. The killing intent that had filled the clearing like smoke dissipated into nothing.

  “Good,” Varyth said, returning to his usual calm like nothing had happened. “Now go check on the dragons. Make sure they’re comfortable. And Darian?”

  “Yes, High Lord?” Darian’s features had lost all trace of amusement.

  “If I hear another word about leathers, tailoring, or architectural fucking soundness, I will ensure your next flight is significantly less pleasant. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” Darian was already backing toward where Caorath and Thessarian waited, moving with a speed that suggested he knew exactly how close he’d come to something unpleasant. “Absolutely transparent. You won’t hear a peep from me.”

  He turned and practically fled toward the dragons, but I swore I heard him mutter “worth it” under his breath.

  I stared at Varyth, my heart hammering from the casual display of lethal intent. “You weren’t actually going to hurt him.”

  Varyth’s eyes snapped to mine, and the heat there stole my breath. “No. Probably not. Maybe.” He dragged a hand through his hair again, destroying what was left of its careful arrangement. “I don’t know. He was being⁠—”

  “Accurate?” I supplied.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  Varyth opened his mouth. Closed it.

  “The point,” he said finally, “is that we have work to do. And we’re wasting time.”

  He turned back toward the Veil, toward that scarred section where I’d apparently carved my mark into reality itself.

  The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of lilacs, sweet and heady.

  “Come closer.”

  Varyth’s voice cut through my spiralling thoughts, drawing my attention back to the present. Back to the Veil and whatever fresh hell he had planned.

  I eyed the scarred section warily. “I can see it fine from here.”

  “You need to be closer.” He extended his hand toward me, an invitation that felt more like a command. “I want to see how it responds to your proximity.”

  Every instinct I had screamed warnings. The last time I’d gotten close to the Veil, it had nearly torn me apart. But curiosity, that old, familiar poison, was already working its way through my veins.

  I stepped forward on my own, deliberately ignoring his outstretched hand. “I can walk myself, thanks.”

  His hand dropped, and I caught the ghost of amusement flickering across his features. “Of course.”

  But he moved with me, positioning himself just behind my right shoulder. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him against my back, close enough that his presence wrapped around me like a second skin.

  The Veil loomed ahead, that impossible barrier between worlds. But as I drew closer to the scarred section, something shifted.

  The music.

  It had been there since we’d landed, that constant hum threading through my consciousness like background noise. But now it crescendoed, swelling into something that made my bones ache and my magic rise in answer.

  Hello, it seemed to whisper. We remember you.

  “Gods,” I breathed, my feet carrying me forward without conscious thought.

  The Veil itself was changing. Where before it had been static silver, now colours began to bleed through the surface. Deep violet that pulsed like a heartbeat. Threads of gold that twisted and writhed like living things. And underneath it all, the same impossible darkness that lived in my flames.

  The barrier rippled, responding to my presence like water disturbed by a thrown stone. Each step closer made the distortion more pronounced, the colours more vivid, the music more insistent.

  “Fascinating,” Varyth murmured, so close to my ear that I felt his breath against my skin.

  A shiver raced down my spine at the way his tone had dropped, rough and hungry and utterly focused.

  My hand lifted without permission, fingers reaching toward the rippling surface. The pull was magnetic, irresistible. Like calling to like. The black fire beneath my skin surged in response, eager to meet whatever waited on the other side of that barrier.

  Touch it, something whispered. Remember what you are.

  “Don’t.”

  Varyth’s hand caught my wrist, firm enough to stop the forward motion. His fingers were warm against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel the way my heart had kicked into overdrive.

  “Not today,” he added, gentler now. “Not until we understand what it wants from you.”

  “What is happening?” I demanded, but I didn’t pull away from his grip. Couldn’t seem to make myself want to.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But it’s connected to your magic. The way it responds to you, the way it remembers...” He trailed off, his thumb brushing absently against the inside of my wrist. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  That wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  I spun to face him, ready to demand more than cryptic musings and half-formed theories⁠—

  Fuck.

  He was right there. Close enough that I could count the flecks of ice-blue in that pale silver gaze. Close enough that when he exhaled, I felt it ghost across my lips.

  “You can’t just drag me out here, show me this, and then offer nothing but ‘fascinating’ and vague connections.”

  “I meant it when I said I’m not certain,” he said, but he didn’t step back. Didn’t put distance between us. “But it’s connected to your magic. Somehow the Veil recognises what you are.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I snapped, though the words came out breathless. “That’s a cryptic musing wrapped in vague statements and tied with a bow of ‘I’ll tell you when I feel like it.’”

  His lips curved, not quite a smile, but close. “Would you prefer I lie and tell you I have all the answers?”

  “I’d prefer you give me something more substantial than fascinating observations and ominous warnings.”

  “Fair enough.” He tilted his head, studying me with that intensity that made me feel like he was cataloguing every detail. “The Veil responds to power. But not all power, only certain kinds. Ancient magic. Magic that predates the current order of things.”

  “You’re doing it again,” I said, trying to summon some of my earlier irritation.

  “Doing what?”

  “Being cryptic and alluring about it.” The words escaped before I could stop them, and I wanted to bite my own tongue off.

  His smile widened, absolutely lethal. “Alluring?”

  “I meant infuriating,” I corrected quickly. “Cryptic and infuriating.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He leaned closer, just a fraction, and the movement brought his mouth level with mine. “You said alluring first.” His eyes gleamed with what looked like triumph wrapped in starlight. “And now you’re backtracking.”

  “I’m clarifying.”

  “You’re retreating.”

  “I don’t retreat.”

  “No?” He shifted closer, barely an inch, but enough that I felt the heat of him through the leather separating us. “Then what do you call what you’re doing right now?”

  My pulse hammered against my throat. “Strategic repositioning.”

  His laugh was low and dark and did terrible things to my self-control. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “That’s what I’m calling it.” I planted my palm against his chest, intending to shove him back, to create space, to do literally anything that didn’t involve standing here drowning in sandalwood and mist.

  “Your pulse is racing.”

  “Because I’m angry.”

  “Tell me, Isara. When you’re angry, do you usually lean closer?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I managed, shoving both hands against his chest.

  He stumbled back a step. The bastard had let me push him, and the smirk curving his lips said he knew exactly what that admission would cost me.

  “Architecturally sound,” he murmured, tracking my retreat. “Devastatingly so.”

  “I hate you.” But the words came out breathless, ruined by the heat crawling up my neck.

  “No, you don’t.”

  And fuck him for being right.

  I spun on my heel and stalked away from both him and the Veil, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The black fire writhed beneath my skin, restless and hungry, responding to either the barrier’s call or the way Varyth’s gaze felt like a brand between my shoulder blades.

  Probably both.

  Behind me, I heard him exhale, like he was trying to talk himself down from something. Then his footsteps moved away, heading back toward the scarred section of the Veil.

  Good. Excellent. He could go commune with the realm-splitting barrier while I figured out how to breathe like a normal person again.

  “That was fun to watch.” Darian had materialised beside me.

  He stepped close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. He leaned in, his voice pitched low and absolutely dripping with mischief.

  “So,” he whispered, that insufferable grin evident even in his tone. “Exactly how long were you two going to keep eye-fucking each other against the Veil before you remembered I existed?”

  Heat flamed across my cheeks. “We were not.”

  “Oh, you absolutely were.” His eyes danced with wicked delight. “I’ve seen less sexual tension in brothels. The way he was looking at you? Like he wanted to devour you whole. And you⁠—”

  I shoved him. Hard.

  Darian went sprawling backward into a cluster of thornbushes with a yelp of surprise, his arms windmilling as he tried to catch his balance. He landed in a tangle of brambles and colourful curses, leaves in his hair and what was probably half the forest stuck to his leather armour.

  “Ow! Violent female!” he called from the depths of the bush, though he was laughing. “I was just making conversation!”

  “Make it somewhere else,” I growled, crossing my arms and refusing to feel guilty about the scratches I could see forming on his exposed skin.

  From his position studying the Veil, Varyth glanced over. “Having trouble, Dariandralis?”

  “Your female has anger management issues,” Darian called back, extricating himself from the thornbush with wounded dignity. “Just thought you should know.”

  “She’s not my—” Varyth started, then stopped, his lip twitching. “And yes, I’m aware.”

  The casual way he said it—like my temper was just another fact to file away, another variable in whatever complex equation he was always calculating—sent another spike of irritation through me.

  “I’m standing right here,” I said pointedly.

  “Trust me,” Darian said, brushing leaves from his hair as he emerged from the bushes looking thoroughly dishevelled. “We’re both very aware of exactly where you’re standing.”

  “You do have a remarkable affinity for violence,” Varyth observed, not looking up from where he was tracing patterns in the air near the Veil’s scar. His fingers moved, mapping something I couldn’t see. “It’s almost artistic.”

  “Artistic violence,” Darian agreed, picking a particularly stubborn thorn from his sleeve. “Like poetry, but with more bruising. I respect that in a person.”

  “It wasn’t violence,” I protested. “It was a gentle correction.”

  “It was—” Varyth stopped, his head tilting. The air grew heavier, charged with an energy that made my teeth ache and the black fire stir restlessly beneath my skin.

  Varyth’s entire body went rigid. “We need to go. Now.”

  “What’s wrong?” I demanded, but he was already turning away from the Veil, his movement sharp with sudden urgency.

  “Dariandralis is right, we shouldn’t linger too long in places like this.” His mask of calm had slipped just enough to reveal a hint of concern. Or fear. “I’ll let you know what I find when I understand it myself.”

  Before I could argue, Darian was at my side, his hand warm on my elbow as he guided me toward where the dragons waited.

  “Come on, shadow fire,” he said, his usual grin subdued by whatever had spooked Varyth. “Time to go before something decides we look tasty.”

  Caorath lifted his great head as we approached, amber eyes alert and watchful. Whatever had set Varyth on edge, the dragon felt it too. His scales rippled with tension, wings shifting restlessly against his sides.

  Darian swung up onto Caorath’s back, then reached down to haul me up behind him. His grip was sure and steady, but I could feel the coiled readiness in his muscles, the way he held himself like he expected trouble.

  “Hold tight,” he murmured as I settled behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist. “And try not to fall off. Explaining that to Varyth would be awkward.”

  Before I could open my mouth, Caorath’s wings spread wide, and we launched into the sky.

  The ground dropped away beneath us in a rush of wind and vertigo, but this time I was ready for it. Ready for the way my stomach tried to relocate to somewhere near my spine, ready for the terrifying exhilaration of being airborne with nothing but leather and dragon scales between me and a very long fall.

  Thessarian soared beside us, Varyth’s silver hair streaming behind him like a banner. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze kept scanning the horizon like he expected something to come screaming out of the clouds.

  “What spooked him?” I called over the wind.

  Darian’s shoulders shifted in a shrug. “Could be anything. Places touched by the Veil attract things that shouldn’t exist. Best not to overstay our welcome. But⁠—”

  The world exploded.

  17

  Amassive figure slammed into Caorath from above, the impact so violent it sent us spinning sideways through the air. The dragon’s roar of pain and fury tore through the sky as claws raked across his crimson scales, drawing lines of fire-bright blood.

  I had a split second to register wings black as midnight, vast enough to blot out the sun, before we were falling.

  Not falling. Plummeting.

  Caorath’s wings beat frantically as he tried to stabilise, but whatever had hit us wasn’t done. It circled back, and I caught a glimpse of something that shouldn’t exist. A dragon, but wrong. Twisted. Its scales seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and its eyes burned with the sickly green of infected wounds.