“Is that all you’ve got, Lincatheron?” the woman purred, dripping with mock disappointment. “I expected more from the great commander of the Luceren.”

  Lincatheron spat blood onto the mud-slicked ground, his eyes blazing with a fury I’d never seen before. “Why don’t you crawl back to your court, Bloodwitch,” he snarled, the name laced with venom. “Tell me, does Ashterion know you’re out here without your leash?”

  Bloodwitch. The name fit her perfectly. Crimson clouds pulsed and writhed around her, tendrils of it reaching out hungrily towards anything that dared get too close.

  “I’m not here to give you another scar, Lincatheron.” She twirled her sabre lazily, as if this were a game. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

  I watched in horror as her magic launched towards Lincatheron, a seething mass of crimson that devoured the air around it. Time slowed to a crawl as the attack hurtled towards him, and I found myself unable to breathe.

  But Lincatheron was ready.

  With a fluid motion he raised a hand.

  A roar rippled through the air as the ocean itself rose to meet her. A surge of water erupted from him, cascading outward in a violent, crashing wave, its depths swirling with shimmering oceanic power. The liquid twisted into a barrier, translucent but unbreakable, a living current, gleaming with the silver-blue of a sunlit tide.

  The woman’s magic struck the wall of water with a thunderous crack, the impact shaking the earth beneath our feet.

  For a moment, the battlefield was drowned in mist and steam, the two forces clashing, snarling against one another—dark hunger against unrelenting tide.

  Lincatheron stood firm, unmoved, his eyes glinting like deep, storm-tossed waters as his power pushed back. But while Lincatheron’s power surged against hers, locking them in a moment of violent equilibrium⁠—

  Bloodwitch struck. Her sabre arced, deadly and precise.

  Lincatheron reacted a second too late.

  The silvered edge bit deep into his shoulder, slicing through armour and flesh. Blood spurted as he staggered back, a snarl escaping his lips.

  Both dropped their magic in the same instant, Lincatheron’s oceanic wall collapsing into a heavy mist, her crimson clouds dissipating.

  Blood seeped into Lincatheron’s leathers, dark and spreading. He braced a knee against the mud, his free hand pressing against the gash at his shoulder, his breath ragged. He should have collapsed. He should have been broken.

  But Lincatheron rose. Bared his teeth. “Ashterion’s violent pet.”

  “This pet is making Luceren’s commander look like a fool,” she purred, head tilting in mock curiosity. “Isn’t that all the more embarrassing?”

  “I’m coming.” Kaelen’s voice was raw with desperation, and I could feel him above us, locked in vicious combat with something massive and dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  Another surge of power erupted from Lincatheron. A wall of crashing water, moving too fast, slamming toward her with enough force to shatter stone. Bloodwitch didn’t even flinch. She lifted a hand, her dark magic expanding into a bloody abyss, absorbing his attack as if it were nothing.

  The air hissed, water sizzling into steam, as the two forces collapsed into nothing. Lincatheron staggered again, his blood trailing down his arm from the wound in his shoulder. The woman twirled her sabre, rolling onto the balls of her feet, weighing her next strike.

  Some of our soldiers hesitated at the edges of the battlefield. But none moved to help.

  Lincatheron turned to me. “Isara. Please.” His voice was hoarse. “Just fucking run.”

  I moved.

  But I did not run.

  “Enough.” I stepped in front of Lincatheron, daggers drawn.

  He swore under his breath, staggering forward to pull me back. But it was too late. Cruel amusement lit Bloodwitch’s face as I placed myself between them.

  “No.” Kaelen’s snarl was so violent it made my vision blur. “Wildfire, get away from her.”

  I ignored him.

  “You said you had a message.” I rolled my shoulders as though the whole situation were beneath me. “And if you’re quite done with your tantrum, perhaps you could deliver it and leave.”

  “Aren’t you a brave little thing,” Bloodwitch said, her black eyes gleaming. “Stepping in to protect the big, bad commander. How... adorable.”

  Lincatheron tensed behind me. My heart thundered in my chest, but I refused to show fear. “I’m not protecting anyone. I’m asking you to get to the point.”

  “Oh, but I have time to waste.” She twirled her sabre casually in her fingers. “Do you?”

  I scoffed. “You’re clearly not here to kill anyone. If you were, you’d have done it already.”

  Bloodwitch laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m not here to kill anyone important.” Her gaze raked over me with lazy assessment. “I’d say the former human before me isn’t particularly significant. I could add you to the pile of bodies without a second thought.”

  Behind me, Lincatheron moved. I didn’t think, my hand flew back, pressing against his chest to keep him in place. His heartbeat thundered beneath my palm. His fingers grasped at my wrist, weak but insistent. A plea to move. I didn’t.

  The woman tracked the gesture, watching as I held the commander in place. Lincatheron’s chest heaved against my hand with laboured breaths. But I didn’t let my focus slip for a moment.

  “What an embarrassment you are, Lincatheron. Tell me, little pet, does Varyth know you’re out here playing hero?”

  I ignored the jab. “Your message. What is it?”

  “My, my.” She levelled her sabre at me casually. “Aren’t you full of surprises? A human⁠—”

  “You clearly enjoy the sound of your own voice far too much,” I cut in, my patience wearing thin. “Are you done yet?”

  Behind me, I heard Lincatheron curse again, but he didn’t move. I didn’t look back, but I felt his stare scraping over my skin.

  “Are you fucking insane?” Kaelen’s voice exploded through my head, raw with disbelief and fury. “Stop antagonizing the woman who could turn you inside out with a thought.”

  “Will you calm down?” I snapped back down our bond.

  Bloodwitch glanced down, smoothing the folds of her dress. “Bold words from someone who has little idea what I’m capable of.”

  “Kill me or don’t.” I shrugged. “Either way, why should I listen to you babble?”

  “Isara—”

  “Shut. Up. I can’t focus with you in my head like this.”

  Kaelen obeyed.

  The tip of the woman’s sabre stilled against the ground, the delight in her features giving way to a cold calculation. “Interesting. Little pet, did you happen to cross the Veil recently? Say, a few months ago?” Her eyes gleamed with vicious delight. “Did you perhaps make a rather... dramatic entrance?”

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, but the words came out too flat, too controlled. The lie that screamed truth to anyone with half a brain.

  “Don’t you?” She took a step closer, and the air around her seemed to thicken, to rot. “Because my husband felt something very interesting that night. A resonance. A signal.”

  Lincatheron took a half-step forward. “She’s not who you’re looking for.”

  “Isn’t she?” Bloodwitch’s attention swung to him, amused. “How sweet. You’ve adopted a little stray, haven’t you? Does Varyth know you’re collecting lost causes with forbidden magic?”

  “Whatever you think she is—” Lincatheron started.

  “Ashterion would be very interested to meet you.” She didn’t so much as glance at Lincatheron as she cut him off.

  “Well, he can get in line,” I said, letting all my exhaustion bleed into the words. “Apparently everyone wants a piece of me these days. It’s getting tedious.”

  Bloodwitch laughed, a sound like crystal shattering on marble. “Oh, I like you. Stupid, but entertaining.” Her magic surged, tendrils of crimson reaching toward me like grasping fingers. “I think I’ll take you with me. Ashterion does so love his surprises.”

  “No.” Lincatheron’s glaive came up, water already gathering around the blade in a swirling vortex. “You’re not touching her.”

  “Stay behind me, you injured idiot,” I snarled, shoving him backward with one hand.

  He stumbled, nearly falling, fury and disbelief warring across his features. “What the fuck are you⁠—”

  “I’m the one she wants,” I snapped. “So stay down.”

  Bloodwitch’s smile turned feral. “How noble. How utterly pointless.” Her hand rose, magic coalescing into something sharp and lethal.

  The earth shattered.

  Kaelen slammed into the ground between us with the force of a meteor wrapped in emerald fury. The impact sent soldiers flying, tents collapsing, the very air compressing with the violence of his landing. He was massive, scales gleaming like cut gems, amber eyes blazing with an emotion beyond rage.

  “Touch her and I will scatter your entrails across three realms.” His voice was diamond-edged murder in my skull, but I knew Bloodwitch heard it too. Dragons didn’t need words to communicate threat.

  A second dragon landed beside him. Lincatheron’s twilight beast, purple scales darker than night, bristling with protective fury as it positioned itself between its rider and danger.

  Both dragons had wings spread wide, claws digging furrows in the blood-soaked earth, mouths open to reveal teeth like swords. The air around them crackled with violence, with the promise of devastation that would level everything within reach.

  Bloodwitch paused.

  “Well, well.” She lowered her blade casually, as if two murderous dragons hadn’t just positioned themselves to tear her apart. “How protective. How inconvenient.”

  Kaelen snarled, the sound reverberating through my bones.

  Bloodwitch smoothed her dress again, that blood-red silk somehow still pristine despite the carnage. “Very well.”

  She looked directly at me, those black eyes gleaming. “Please tell your High Lord,” she said, her words carrying across the battlefield with eerie clarity. “That Nyxaria accepts the terms of the meeting.” Her smile sharpened. “This was merely a courteous reminder for the future.”

  She turned, began walking away through the smoke and bodies like she was strolling through a garden.

  Then she paused. Glanced back over her shoulder.

  “We don’t negotiate.”

  The air shifted, a prickle of energy dancing across my skin. Her magic swirled around her, the crimson tendrils reaching out, grasping at shadows.

  “Until next time,” she purred, her form beginning to blur at the edges. “Do try to stay alive. It would be such a shame if our next encounter was cut short.”

  With a final, mocking laugh, she vanished in a swirl of shadow and crimson light, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.

  The battlefield was eerily quiet now. Smoke curled through the air, thick with the acrid scent of charred flesh. Somewhere in the distance, a soldier groaned—a broken, dying sound.

  36

  The moment she disappeared, I spun to face Lincatheron. He was pale, blood seeping from the gash on his shoulder. His eyes met mine, a mix of pain, anger, and something close to fear dancing in their depths.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, my voice tight with concern.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he snarled, struggling to keep himself upright. “She could have killed you. She could have—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Reckless. You’re a reckless idiot.”

  I shrugged. “Probably. But also, what kind of fucking name is Bloodwitch anyway?”

  Lincatheron stared at me. Blinked.

  Then let out a huffed breath, somewhere between a groan and an incredulous laugh. “Not her real one.”

  I lifted a brow. “Does everyone from that court have a terrifying nickname they gave themselves?”

  This time, he actually laughed, though it quickly turned into a wince. I tugged his hand away, frowning as I inspected the wound, taking stock of how deep the blade had cut.

  “Pretty much,” he admitted. “Though I know the source of that nickname.” His expression darkened. “And it wasn’t her.”

  My head snapped up. “So, who was she then?”

  Lincatheron’s jaw tightened, shaking his head. “That was Xyliria.” He met my gaze again, fury in his. “Ashterion’s wife.”

  “His wife.” I stared at Lincatheron, processing his words. “And she just… waltzed in here and decimated an entire war camp?”

  Lincatheron nodded grimly, his face tight with pain. He glanced around at the devastation surrounding us, his expression hardening. “This was her holding back.”

  My stomach turned to stone.

  Ashterion’s wife.

  The woman who had torn through this camp wasn’t some war-hardened general. She was the wife of the High Lord himself.

  And she had been toying with us.

  The distant clang of steel on steel had faded. The battle was done. What remained was destruction—ash, blood, and the few surviving warriors picking through the carnage.

  “Wildfire.” Kaelen’s growl sent vibrations through the earth. “We need to discuss your definition of ‘staying safe.’”

  I could feel the rage radiating from him in waves. Not just anger, but the bone-deep fear of a creature who’d watched something they valued nearly get destroyed. His massive head swung toward me, those amber eyes burning with emotions too complex and too raw for words.

  “I’m fine,” I said aloud, though my answer came out smaller than I’d intended.

  “Fine.” He repeated the word like it tasted of poison. “You threw yourself between trained killers and certain death. Repeatedly. That is not ‘fine,’ that is suicidal.”

  “I saved his life,” I shot back, gesturing toward Lincatheron.

  “And nearly lost your own in the process.” Kaelen’s voice dropped low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what that would have done to me? What it would have cost?”

  The raw pain beneath his fury made my chest tight. I could feel it through our bond, the way his heart had stopped every time a blade came too close, the way terror had clawed at him when that woman’s magic had surged across the field.

  “Kaelen—”

  “No.” He cut me off, but the mental snarl lacked real heat now. “Just... no more throwing yourself at enemies you can’t defeat. Please.”

  The please broke something in me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the warm scales of his neck. “I didn’t think⁠—”

  Lincatheron cleared his throat, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounded shoulder. “We should move. If Xyliria was here, there might be more coming.”

  A handful of soldiers converged on us, their expressions severe, their armour scorched and smeared with dirt. Less than a dozen left standing.

  Lincatheron squared his shoulders despite the blood dripping from his wound. “Anyone else alive?”

  One of the warriors, a female with soot streaked across her face, shook her head. “If they are, they’ve already retreated.”

  Lincatheron exhaled sharply through his nose. “Right then. Let’s go. Has anyone signalled for a squad to search for survivors?”

  A male soldier nodded. “Yes. Already done.”

  “Good,” Lincatheron said. He pressed a hand against his bleeding shoulder and turned to me.

  I looked at him with narrowed eyes, taking in the ashen cast to his skin beneath the blood, the way he held himself too carefully straight.

  “You’re flying with me,” I said, crossing my arms.

  Lincatheron’s jaw went tight. “I’m perfectly capable of flying my own dragon.”

  I snorted. “Right. And I’m perfectly capable of explaining to Fenric why you fell off your mount and splattered across the countryside like some tragic war ballad. That’ll go over well.”

  “I’m not going to⁠—”

  “Like hell you’re not.” I stepped closer, letting him see exactly how serious I was. “You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you just went head-to-head with someone insane enough to call herself Bloodwitch. You’re not flying alone.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Isara⁠—”

  “Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Don’t you dare ‘Isara’ me in that reasonable commander tone. I watched you nearly die today. I watched that bitch carve you open like she was peeling fruit. So no, you don’t get to play the stoic military hero right now.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “It’s a flesh wound that’s still bleeding.” I gestured at the crimson spreading across his leathers. “And we both know what happens when people lose too much blood at altitude.”

  Lincatheron was quiet for a long moment, his gaze flicking between me and his dragon. I could practically see him weighing his options, his pride warring with whatever practical voice in his head was probably screaming at him to accept help.

  Finally, he let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. But I’m not riding behind you like some helpless⁠—”

  “You’re riding with Kaelen and me,” I interrupted. “Your dragon can fly formation.”

  He grumbled something under his breath that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary, but nodded.

  “Good. Now sit.” I pointed to a relatively clean patch of ground. “Let me see that shoulder properly.”

  “I’m fine.” Lincatheron huffed, swaying. “But Isara,” his voice dropped lower, “what you did back there was incredibly reckless.”

  I stiffened, preparing for a lecture. “I know, but⁠—”

  He held up a hand, cutting me off. “Let me finish. It was reckless, and dangerous, and...”

  He dragged a hand through his blood-matted hair. His jaw clenched once, twice.

  Then, with visible effort, he added, “And incredibly brave.” He said it like the words tasted foreign in his mouth. “Thank you.”

  A warmth bloomed in my chest. Not just from the words, but from who they came from. Lincatheron was a warrior. A leader. A male who did not offer thanks lightly. And yet, here he was, looking me dead in the eye, saying it anyway.