The sound ripped from my throat without permission, wild and free and completely unhinged. We plummeted toward the earth like a green comet, wind screaming past us, and I laughed until my sides ached and tears streamed from my eyes.

  At the last possible second, Kaelen’s wings caught the air and we pulled out of the dive in a sweeping arc that sent us soaring back toward the clouds. The g-forces pressed me deep into the saddle, but the sturdy construction held, kept me secure even as my vision grayed at the edges.

  “Again,” I gasped, barely audible over the wind.

  “What was that?”

  “Again,” I shouted, throwing my head back to laugh at the sky. “Do it again.”

  Kaelen’s rumble of approval vibrated through me. “Now you’re getting it.”

  What followed was an hour of the most terrifying, exhilarating, absolutely insane education I’d ever received. Kaelen seemed determined to test every possible way the saddle could keep me attached to his back—sharp turns, sudden climbs, rolls that left me dizzy and breathless and begging for more.

  I only fell off twice.

  The first was during a barrel roll that I completely misjudged, my body sliding right out of the saddle despite my death grip on the handles. Kaelen caught me with his wing and deposited me back in place with a comment about “the importance of proper harness adjustment.”

  I’d grumbled a curse as I fumbled with leather straps I’d somehow missed entirely.

  The second time was when he decided to fly upside down without warning, leaving me hanging from the inverted saddle like some sort of demented bat until he flipped us right-side up again.

  “You could have warned me,” I’d gasped as I worked feeling back into my fingers.

  “Where would be the learning in that?”

  But after that, with the harness properly secured and my grip adjusted to work with the saddle instead of against it, I started to get the hang of it. Really get the hang of it.

  We were racing Brynelle and her dragon through a series of cloud formations, weaving between towering pillars of vapor like some sort of aerial obstacle course. I could feel Kaelen’s movements before he made them now, could shift my weight to match his turns, could actually enjoy the ride instead of just surviving it.

  That’s when Brynelle called out a challenge I couldn’t hear but Kaelen definitely could.

  “Hold on, wildfire,” he warned, but there was something different in his voice, predatory and pleased. “This might be interesting.”

  He dove again, but this time it wasn’t the playful plummet from before. This was a controlled fall that turned into a spiral, which became a series of loops that defied every law of physics I thought I understood.

  The world spun around us in impossible patterns. Sky became earth became sky again, clouds whipping past us like ghostly fingers, the other dragons wheeling around us in formations that looked more like aerial ballet than simple flying.

  Through every twist and turn, every heart-stopping manoeuvre, I stayed secured in the saddle like I’d been born there. My body moved with Kaelen’s, anticipating his movements, becoming part of the dance instead of fighting against it.

  When we finally levelled out, both of us breathing hard from the exertion, I realised I was grinning so wide my face hurt.

  “Not bad for a beginner,” Kaelen said, and I could hear the satisfaction. “You might actually survive this partnership.”

  “Partnership?” I asked, the word catching in my chest. “Is that what this is?”

  “Among other things.” His tone had shifted slightly, becoming more serious. “The Yvaelth—the bond between us—it’s more than just being able to hear each other’s thoughts.”

  I settled more comfortably in the saddle as we glided through a patch of particularly soft-looking clouds. The leather was perfectly fitted, melding to my body in ways that made flying feel natural instead of terrifying. The others were nearby but giving us space, their dragons wheeling in lazy circles while Kaelen and I talked.

  “What does it mean, exactly? The bond?” I asked. “Is there a catch? Some sort of price I don’t know about yet?”

  Kaelen’s laughter rolled through my mind like distant thunder. “Always looking for the trap, aren’t you? No catch, wildfire. No price beyond what you’re already paying.”

  “Which is?”

  “Your freedom to walk away.” His words carried a note of regret. “The Yvaelth isn’t something you can break once it’s formed. We’re connected now, you and I. That connection will only grow stronger with time.”

  I considered this, watching the landscape roll by beneath us like a living map. The idea of being permanently bound to anything should have terrified me. I’d spent too many months running from chains of every description to welcome new ones.

  But this didn’t feel like a chain. It felt like wings.

  “What else?” I asked, because there was something in his explanation that suggested more complications ahead.

  “What makes you think there’s more?”

  “Because you’re being evasive, and people only do that when they’re about to tell me something I won’t like.”

  Kaelen was quiet for so long I started to wonder if he’d decided not to answer.

  “There is... a risk.”

  Before I could ask what kind of risk, the world tilted sideways as Kaelen suddenly folded his wings and dropped into the steepest dive yet. We plummeted toward the earth like a stone, wind screaming past us, but the saddle held me secure even as my stomach tried to relocate to my throat.

  “What risk?” I finally managed to shout over the rushing air.

  “The stronger the bond becomes,” Kaelen said, calm despite the fact that we were currently hurtling toward what looked like certain death. “The more... intertwined our life forces grow.”

  The ground rushed up to meet us with alarming speed. I could make out individual trees now, rocks, a stream that glittered like silver thread in the afternoon sun.

  “Intertwined how?” I pressed, my fingers white-knuckled around the saddle handles as I fought the urge to close my eyes.

  “If one of us dies.” Kaelen pulled out of the dive at the very last second in a manoeuvre that pressed me deep into the leather seat. “There’s a chance the other might follow.”

  The casual way he delivered this information, like he was discussing dinner instead of potential mutual destruction, made me want to throttle him.

  “A chance?” I repeated once I’d recovered enough to speak. “What kind of chance?”

  “Depends on how deep the bond has grown. How long we’ve been connected. How much of ourselves we’ve shared.” Kaelen banked lazily to the left. “Some pairs are so intertwined that one cannot exist without the other. Others maintain enough separation that the loss, while devastating, isn’t fatal.”

  I absorbed the information, trying to process what it might meant for myself and my children’s future.

  “So you’re saying I might have accidentally signed up for a magical murder-suicide pact?”

  “Such a dramatic way to put it.” But there was warmth in his voice, affection that made my chest tight. “I prefer to think of it as ensuring we’re both properly motivated to keep each other alive.”

  “How comforting.”

  “I thought so.”

  We soared in silence for a moment, the weight of his revelation settling between us like a shared secret. Below us, the world spread out in all its wild beauty, forests and rivers and mountains that had existed for millennia and would continue long after we were both gone.

  “Are you afraid?” I asked finally.

  “Of dying? No. Death comes for everyone eventually, wildfire. Dragon, fae or human, we all return to the earth in the end.” He paused, considering. “But I find myself... invested in your survival in a way I haven’t been about anything for a very long time.”

  “That makes two of us,” I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty.

  “Good. Then we understand each other.”

  As if summoned by some unspoken signal, the other dragons began to converge on our position, their riders calling out suggestions for the next phase of my education. But I barely heard them. I was too busy processing the fact that I’d somehow acquired not just a dragon, but a partner whose life was now tangled up with mine in ways I was only beginning to understand.

  As Kaelen’s powerful wings carried us higher into the endless sky, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in over a year. I felt like I belonged somewhere.

  Then his flight pattern changed. It was subtle, the kind of shift that wouldn’t have registered if we weren’t connected by the Yvaelth. But I felt it anyway, a tension in his muscles, a hitch in the rhythm of his wingbeats. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something I couldn’t hear.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting straighter in the saddle.

  The emotion that filtered down our bond was complex, urgency laced with fear.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” But his tone had lost its playful edge, becoming flat and careful in a way that made my stomach clench. “I need to take you back to the castle.”

  Around us, the other dragons had suddenly shifted formation. No more lazy circles or playful dives, they were moving with purpose now, heading back toward Edrithas.

  “Kaelen.” I leaned forward, fingers tightening on the saddle handles. “What happened?”

  “The others have something to deal with,” he said, banking into a turn that would take us back toward the castle. “Nothing that concerns you.”

  Bullshit.

  I’d spent too many months reading lies in the spaces between words to miss the evasion. Whatever had spooked him, whatever message the dragons had passed between each other while I was focused on not falling to my death, it was bad.

  “Don’t.” My voice came out sharp enough to cut. “Don’t you dare try to protect me by keeping me in the dark. What. Happened.”

  Kaelen was quiet for a long moment, his wings beating steadily as we ate up distance. I could feel the war happening inside him, the desire to shield me from whatever horror awaited versus the bond between us that made lying nearly impossible.

  “Varyth’s been taken,” he finally said, the words dropping like stones.

  Everything inside me went very, very cold.

  “Taken,” I repeated without inflection. “Taken how? By who?”

  “Nyxarian soldiers ambushed him on the road back from the western territories. They haven’t made it out of Luceren yet. Lincatheron tracked them to an abandoned fortress about thirty miles from here.” His voice was calm, but I could feel the undercurrent of fury beneath it. “The others are going to intercept before they can cross into Nyxarian territory.”

  My mind was already racing, calculating distances and timeframes and all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong.

  “How long ago was he taken?”

  Kaelen hesitated. Just for a heartbeat, but it was enough.

  “Two days.”

  “Two days?” The words exploded out of me with enough force that Kaelen actually flinched mid-flight. “He’s been captured for two fucking days and no one thought to mention it?”

  “You were—they thought—” He struggled for words, which would have been almost funny if rage wasn’t currently burning through every vein in my body. “They didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”

  “Unnecessarily.” I laughed, and it was a vicious sound. “Right. Because why would I care that the High Lord who’s been keeping my children safe has been kidnapped by the same people who’ve been hunting me since I crossed the Veil?”

  “Isara—”

  “Take me to where they are,” I cut him off. “Right now.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re going back to the castle where you’ll be safe with Mireth and Eryx while the people trained for combat handle⁠—”

  “I said take me to them.” Black fire ignited along my arms, and Kaelen’s scales rippled with discomfort where they touched. “Or I swear to every god that might be listening, I will jump off your back right now and walk there myself.”

  “You don’t even know where ‘there’ is.”

  “Then I guess you’d better tell me before I start experimenting with whether shadow fire can give me flight.”

  Kaelen made a sound that was half-snarl, half-laugh. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”

  “I’ve been told.” The flames climbed higher, responding to the fury and terror warring inside my chest. “I’m going, Kaelen. With or without you.”

  A flash of movement to our right, Fenric’s grey dragon had drawn closer, those calculating steel-blue eyes fixed on me with uncomfortable intensity. His dragon must have informed him of my demands, because after a long moment, he gave a single nod.

  “We’re going,” he called across the distance. Not a question. A statement.

  Brynelle’s silver dragon moved into position on my other side, and I caught her expression, concerned but resolute. Shaelith’s black beast fell in behind us, completing the formation.

  “This is a terrible idea,” Kaelen muttered, but he was already adjusting our trajectory, angling away from Edrithas and toward something I couldn’t yet see. “He’s going to kill me for this.”

  “He has to survive long enough to kill you,” I said, and the black fire burned colder. “Now fly faster.”

  Kaelen’s wings beat harder, and we arrowed through the sky like vengeance given form.

  24

  Iwas off Kaelen’s back before he’d fully touched down, my boots hitting the ground hard enough to jar my teeth. The moonsilver daggers strapped to my thighs felt reassuring in a way that let me ignore the odd hum they carried. I’d grabbed them on instinct before leaving the castle this morning.

  Around me, the others were dismounting. Brynelle moving like water, Shaelith all controlled violence, Fenric’s movements economical and precise.

  Three figures emerged from the tree line before we’d taken ten steps.

  Darian looked like he’d been through a war already, hair dishevelled, blood on his leathers that might or might not be his own. His eyes found mine immediately, and something complicated flickered across his face—concern mixed with what looked suspiciously like resignation.

  Beside him, Cindrissian stood with that eternal smirk firmly in place, though he tracked everything with predatory focus.

  And Lincatheron.

  The Master of Arms looked exactly like someone who’d been hunting for two days straight—dark wings mantled, scarred features set in lines that suggested extreme violence was not just possible but imminent. Those dark eyes swept over our group, cataloguing, assessing, calculating.

  When his gaze landed on me, one eyebrow rose fractionally.

  “There’s a cave system through those trees,” he said without preamble, gesturing to the dense forest behind him. His voice was that same deep rumble I remembered from the castle. “Two access points. We’ll need to split up and search.”

  He looked at Darian, Brynelle, and Shaelith. “You three take the northern entrance.” Then his attention shifted to Fenric and Cindrissian. “We’ll take the south.” Finally, he turned to me. “You should stay with the dragons. Keep watch from⁠—”

  “No.” The word came out harder than I intended, and I saw Lincatheron’s jaw tighten.

  Every instinct screamed at me to shut up, to accept the dismissal, to stay invisible and underestimated the way I’d learned to survive. But Varyth was in there. Captured. Possibly hurt. And these people were wasting time trying to bench me like I was some helpless human.

  “I’m going,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level even as my hands curled into fists at my sides.

  Lincatheron’s expression didn’t change, but his posture shifted, a subtle hardening. “This isn’t a training exercise. If you slow us down⁠—”

  “I won’t.” The words tasted like ash, because agreeing meant revealing more than I wanted to reveal. Meant showing cards I’d been keeping close since the day I arrived.

  But what choice did I have?

  Darian cleared his throat, and when I looked at him, his expression was almost apologetic. “Lincatheron. She can handle herself.”

  Lincatheron’s attention swung to Darian with the force of a weapon. “Based on what assessment?”

  “Based on the fact that she’s beaten me in hand-to-hand combat at least a dozen times.” Darian’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “And I’m not exactly easy to put down.”

  Fuck.

  So much for keeping that particular skill set quiet.

  Lincatheron’s attention returned to me with uncomfortable intensity, reassessing. I could practically see him recalculating whatever assumptions he’d made about the ‘helpless human’ who’d stumbled through the Veil with two children and desperation.

  “You’ve had training,” he said. Not a question.

  “Some.” The lie felt thin even as I said it, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. Let him think I’d picked up a few tricks, learned some basic self-defence. Nothing that would make me interesting. Nothing that would invite questions about where and how and why.

  Nothing that would make him wonder what kind of life required that level of training.

  Lincatheron was quiet for a long moment, dark eyes boring into mine like he could excavate truth through sheer force of will. Then he sighed, the sound of someone choosing their battle.

  “Fine. You’re with us.” He unsheathed a glaive from his back—massive, brutal, the kind of weapon that’s primary purpose was removing limbs. “But you follow orders. No heroics. No running off. And if I tell you to do something, you do it without question. Understood?”

  Relief and resentment warred in my chest. He was letting me come, but only because he thought he could control me. Manage me. Keep the liability contained.

  Good.

  Let him think that.

  “Understood,” I said.

  “Good.” He turned toward the tree line, clearly expecting obedience. “Stay behind me and Fenric. Cindrissian will take rear guard. If anything goes wrong, you get out. Don’t try to be a hero.”