Chapter 7 #4
The politics of that statement were delicate—a bonded mate directing her Dragon Lord, but in a way that preserved his authority by making it his choice.
Davoren's eyes flashed with something that might have been pride in her diplomatic instincts, and he moved toward Sereis with the careful steps of someone approaching a wounded predator.
"This will hurt," Davoren warned, kneeling beside the Ice Lord. His hands began to glow with controlled fire—not the wild destruction of before but something precise, medical, careful.
"Everything hurts," Sereis replied with the ghost of his usual precision. "Get on with it."
The fire that healed was nothing like the fire that destroyed, though both came from Davoren's hands with equal ease.
I watched as he worked, his palms hovering over Sereis's shoulder wound, flames dancing between his fingers in patterns that looked almost like embroidery.
This was controlled burn, the kind that cauterized without destroying, that sealed without scarring.
The fire knew exactly how deep to go, how hot to burn, which vessels to close and which to leave open for proper healing.
Sereis's jaw locked against the pain, but he didn't pull away.
The aurora blood stopped flowing, the edges of the wound drawing together like time reversing.
Where the fire touched, his pale skin flushed with returning warmth, life flooding back into flesh that had been approaching corpse-cold.
The entire process took maybe three minutes, but I felt each second stretch like winter afternoons, long and still and waiting.
"There," Davoren said, sitting back on his heels. A thin line of sweat traced his temple—healing took more effort than destroying, apparently. "You'll have a scar. Dragon weapons always leave marks, even with the best healing."
"It’s far from my first," Sereis replied, his voice already stronger. He pushed himself to standing with the kind of dignity that made his blood-soaked robes look like formal wear. "We have more important matters to discuss than my collection of battle souvenirs."
Kara had settled herself on one of the few intact divans, her hand resting protective over her belly in a gesture I recognized with sudden clarity.
The slight swell was barely visible beneath her travel clothes, but the way she held herself, the way Davoren's eyes tracked to her every few seconds—she was carrying.
"Solmar has been working against dragon-human relations for longer than just this attempt," she said, her voice carrying the kind of authority that came from lived experience.
"When I was his contracted bride—" she paused, disgust flickering across her features, "—he spoke often to my father about the 'dragon problem.
' How you'd accumulated too much power, controlled too much territory.
He saw your servants as abominations, humans enslaved to dragon will. "
"Ironic," Zephyron interjected, "considering he tried to purchase you like cargo."
Garruk had been examining the ruined walls, running his massive hands over cracks in the eternal ice.
Now he turned, his expression grim. "Ore shipments have been going missing from my mines.
Not randomly—specifically the ones containing star-iron, the only metal that holds enchantment well enough to pierce dragon scale.
I thought it was bandits, but the thefts were too precise, too knowledgeable. "
"He's been buying weapons," Caelus added, uncharacteristically serious.
"I've seen them in the wind markets—lightning-glass spears, storm-caught blades.
Weapons designed to channel elemental energy against its source.
A lightning blade could cut through Zephyron's storms. An ice-caught spear could pierce Sereis's winter armor. "
Each revelation built the picture larger. This wasn't just revenge for a lost bride or a single ambitious merchant's power grab. This was systematic, planned, a campaign designed to destabilize the balance that had held for millennia.
Sereis moved to a wall that had somehow survived the battle, pressing his palm against what looked like smooth ice.
The surface shimmered and became transparent, revealing maps etched directly into the frozen water.
Not just one map but dozens, layered at different depths, showing trade routes and territorial boundaries and something else—thin red lines that crossed through spaces that shouldn't be crossable.
"These are Solmar's routes," he said, tracing one red line with his finger.
"My ice-speakers have been tracking his caravans for months, trying to understand how he moves goods so quickly between territories.
He's using reality tears—places where the world is worn thin from old magic.
Dangerous passages that dragons avoid instinctively but humans, with the right protection, can navigate. "
"Protection he learned from the Ghost Monks," Morgrith said, speaking for the first time. His voice was shadow given sound, making everyone lean in to hear properly. "I've seen their work in the between-spaces. Wards that smell of old magic."
The weight of what we faced settled over the room like winter fog. Solmar wasn't just a merchant with a grudge—he was a revolutionary with the knowledge and resources to actually threaten the Dragon Lords' dominion.
"Wine," Sereis said suddenly, looking at me. "Our guests require refreshment while we plan. Mira, please serve."
My legs felt unsteady as I left the safety of the barrier, but I moved with the practiced grace Caelus had beaten into me through endless repetition.
The wine storage had survived behind a wall of reinforced ice, seventeen different variations arranged in perfect order.
My hands moved without conscious thought, selecting each vintage based on the Dragon Lord it would serve.
For Davoren, the volcanic wine that could only be aged in lava tubes, served at exactly the temperature of blood.
For Zephyron, the storm-caught vintage that sparkled with captured lightning, poured during the exhale so the electricity would dance properly.
For Garruk, the mountain wine that took centuries to ferment, heavy with minerals that made it taste of deep earth.
For Morgrith, the shadow wine that existed more in possibility than reality, poured between heartbeats when the recipient wasn't quite looking.
And for Caelus, who had trained me in this art with his typical casual humour, all seventeen variations in a flight of perfect measures, each one exactly 2.
3 ounces, arranged in order from lightest to most complex.
His eyes widened slightly when I set it before him—surprise that I'd remembered, that I'd perfected what he'd taught even after escaping his service.
Kara received the gentle vintage reserved for those carrying—sweet but not cloying, strengthening without intoxicating. And for Sereis, nothing. He never drank in company, considering it a weakness to let any substance alter his control.
"Your mate is well-trained," Davoren observed, and I nearly dropped the bottle I was holding. Mate. He'd said it so casually, acknowledging what Sereis and I had begun but hadn't sealed, what existed between us without the formal Pact.
"She survived Caelus's household," Sereis replied with a tone dry as winter wind. "That speaks to both her resilience and her intelligence."
Caelus actually laughed—a sound like wind chimes in a hurricane. "She was wasted as a servant. Too much fire in her for proper submission. Or ice, should I say? Better suited to standing beside a Dragon Lord than serving one."
The compliment was so unexpected I had to focus on not showing my shock. Caelus, who'd treated me like furniture that occasionally needed discipline, was acknowledging me as worthy of more?
"The point," Zephyron said, bringing them back to focus, "is that Solmar must be stopped. His network dismantled. His weapons destroyed or claimed. And it will take all of us working together—something that hasn't happened in five hundred years."
"Six hundred," Garruk corrected. "Not since the Meridian Uprising."
They all fell silent at that, remembering something I had no context for, some event that had required their combined might. The silence stretched until Kara broke it with practicality that cut through nostalgia.
"We know his routes now. His methods. His goals.
" She stood despite Davoren's protective gesture, her hand still on her belly but her spine straight with determination.
"He wants to spark war between dragons and humans, to use that chaos to seize power.
Instead, we give him the opposite—Dragon Lords united, working with bonded pairs to show that cooperation is possible. "
"A public alliance," Morgrith mused, shadows gathering around him as he thought. "Visible, undeniable. Every human settlement would see that we stand together."
"And Solmar would see his life's work destroyed," Davoren added with deep satisfaction. "His revolution would die before it could properly begin."
"Then we're agreed?" Sereis asked, looking at each Dragon Lord in turn. "We stand together against this threat?"
One by one, they nodded. No formal oaths or blood pacts—when Dragon Lords gave their word, reality itself bore witness. The alliance was sealed by intention, by will, by the simple act of five beings who hadn't agreed on anything in centuries finding common cause.