Chapter 32 #2
Her words washed over me in a gentle tide, soothing the jagged edges of my guilt. I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath as I pictured Navaire’s face. His amber eyes, the curve of his smile, the way he’d always encouraged me to embrace life fully.
Would he truly want me to deny myself happiness? To live in the shadow of what was, rather than reaching for what could be?
After a moment, I let myself look at Brynelle again. “I… I know you’re right,” I said, no more than a whisper. “But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.”
“It’s okay to take your time, Isara,” Brynelle said, her tone gentle. “No one’s rushing you. But don’t let fear hold you back.”
Shaelith adjusted Brynelle’s position in her lap. “What does he make you feel?”
I stared at the grass between my boots, trying to find words for something I’d been running from since the moment I’d met him.
“Safe,” I whispered. “Which is ridiculous, because he’s dangerous.
He’s a High Lord, he’s manipulative, he keeps secrets, and half the time I want to set him on fire just for existing.
But when he—” I swallowed hard. “When he touches me, I feel safe. Like I can stop running for five minutes and just... breathe.” The words came out broken, fractured around the edges.
“I’ve seen how he looks at you,” Shaelith added. “It’s not the way someone looks at a political asset or a weapon to be managed. He looks at you like you’re precious to him.”
My chest tightened. “That’s just—he’s protective. It doesn’t mean—”
“Isara.” Shaelith’s voice was patient but firm. “I’ve known Varyth for centuries. I’ve seen him with allies, enemies, lovers. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
The word ‘lovers’ sent an uncomfortable spike through my chest. Of course he’d had lovers. He was centuries old, powerful, beautiful in that sharp-edged way that probably had people throwing themselves at him regularly.
I tried to keep my expression neutral. Failed spectacularly, if the way heat crawled up my neck was any indication.
Because fine. Yes. The thought of Varyth’s hands on someone else. His mouth, his attention, that devastating focus he turned on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, going to someone else?
It made me want to set things on fire.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unhinged behaviour from someone who had zero claim on him and had spent the better part of our acquaintance oscillating between wanting to murder him and wanting to—
Nope. Not finishing that thought.
“Oh my gods.” Brynelle’s face split into a grin so wide it should’ve been illegal. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” She sat up straighter in Shaelith’s lap, delighted. “You’re jealous of hypothetical past lovers you didn’t even know existed until thirty seconds ago.”
“I’m not jealous,” I said, which would’ve been more convincing if my voice hadn’t gone up half an octave. “I’m just—it’s just—”
“Wildfire.” Kaelen’s voice was absolutely drenched in amusement. “You’re jealous.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“I’m simply observing.” His satisfaction was palpable through the bond. “You spent months insisting you wanted nothing to do with him, and now your heart rate is doing something fascinating because other people may have touched him centuries before you existed.”
“I hate all of you.”
Shaelith’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s been anyone in quite some time. Not since—” She paused, exchanging a glance with Brynelle. “Well. Not for a long while.”
Which somehow made it worse. Made the jealousy twist deeper, because if there hadn’t been anyone, then what did that mean about the way he touched me? About waking up in his arms, about his hands mapping my body like he was trying to memorise every curve and hollow?
I buried my face in my hands again. “I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re falling for him,” Kaelen corrected, far too smug for my liking. “There’s a difference.”
“I’m not—I can’t—” The words tangled in my throat. Because falling implied something gentle, something gradual. And there was nothing gentle about this. It felt like being dragged underwater, like drowning in waters I couldn’t name while simultaneously never wanting to surface.
“It’s alright to want him, Isara.” Shaelith’s smile was soft. Understanding. “Even if it’s terrifying.”
“Terrifying doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I dragged my hands down my face, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Can we please talk about anything else? Like the diplomatic nightmare I’ve volunteered myself for?”
Brynelle’s grin turned knowing, but she let me have the redirect. “Right. The meeting with Nyxaria’s High Lord.” She leaned back against Shaelith, her expression sobering. “You said Varyth wants you there?”
“Apparently.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “He thinks my presence will throw them off. That they won’t be expecting it.”
“He’s right.” Shaelith’s tone had gone thoughtful, strategic. “Ashterion will absolutely expect Varyth to hide you. To keep you locked away and protected like you’re something fragile that needs guarding.”
“Showing up with you at his side, showing that you’re strong, that you’re part of his court—” Brynelle’s eyes gleamed with approval. “It’s a power move. It says we’re not afraid. It says you’re not a weakness to be exploited.”
“Even though I kind of am?” The words came out more bitter than I’d intended. “I don’t know anything about court politics. I barely understand half of what’s happening. And apparently I have a gift that no one wants to talk about.”
“Which makes you unpredictable,” Shaelith countered. “And unpredictability is its own kind of weapon. Ashterion thrives on control, on knowing exactly what cards everyone’s holding. You’re a variable he can’t account for.”
“Lucky me.”
“It is, actually.” Brynelle sat forward, her expression fierce. “Because it means he’ll be too busy trying to figure you out to focus entirely on whatever game he’s actually playing. You’re a distraction. A very effective one.”
I thought about that. About walking into a room with a High Lord known for cruelty and darkness, about being used as a tactical piece in a game I didn’t fully understand.
About Varyth saying I was clever. About Fenric agreeing to train me. About being part of something larger than my own survival for the first time since I’d stumbled into this realm covered in blood and ash.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted quietly.
“None of us did, at first.” Shaelith’s smile was gentle. “But you’ll learn. And you’ll have help. Fenric’s training, Darian’s fashion tyranny, Cindrissian’s insights—”
“Who is apparently Fenric’s brother,” I interrupted. “Did everyone know that except me?”
“I mean, yes?” Brynelle’s grin was apologetic. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Cindrissian’s odd about sharing it though,” Shaelith added. “Perhaps because he got all the brooding and Fenric got all the charm.”
Kaelen rumbled something that might’ve been laughter.
“They really did split it evenly,” I muttered, which earned me actual laughter from both of them.
The sound eased something in my chest. Made the world feel slightly less like it was actively collapsing around me.
“Have either of you—” I hesitated, then pushed forward because there was no point in pretending I wasn’t terrified. “Have either of you met him? Ashterion?”
Brynelle shook her head immediately. “Thank the gods, no. I’ve managed to avoid that particular nightmare for my entire existence and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Helpful,” I said dryly.
“I have.” Shaelith’s voice went quieter. “A few centuries ago now. But yes.”
I leaned forward, hands gripping the rough bark of the log beneath me. “What’s he like?”
Shaelith exchanged a glance with Brynelle, who’d gone still in her lap.
“Dangerous,” Shaelith said finally. “But you already knew that.”
“I knew that about Varyth too. And he’s not what I expected.” I sighed, already resigned to the inevitable. “So what kind of dangerous are we talking about? The ‘will murder you for looking at him wrong’ kind, or the ‘plays games with people’s lives for entertainment’ kind?”
“Both,” Shaelith interrupted gently. “And worse.”
Fantastic.
“Ashterion isn’t like Varyth,” she continued. “Varyth’s ruthless when he needs to be, but there’s lines he won’t cross. A core of something almost decent buried under all that calculated control.” Her mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ashterion has no such lines.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you.” Her tone was apologetic but firm. “I’m trying to prepare you. Because walking in there thinking you can predict him, or charm him, or outmanoeuvre him the way you’re learning to navigate Varyth’s court?” She shook her head. “That will get you killed.”
The black fire under my skin stirred, responding to the spike of fear in my chest. I shoved it down with effort, focusing on Shaelith’s face instead of the panic trying to crawl up my throat.
“What does he look like?” I asked, because somehow knowing felt important. Like if I could picture him, he’d be less terrifying. Less abstract.
Shaelith tilted her head, considering. “Beautiful,” she said slowly.
“In the way a blade is beautiful right before it cuts you open. Dark hair. Eyes like winter night, all shadows and starlight and absolutely nothing warm in them.” She paused.
“He’s tall. Elegant. Moves like violence wrapped in silk. ”
“Sounds delightful.”
“He’s everything they say about Nyxaria made flesh,” Brynelle added quietly, her usual humour gone. “Cold. Cruel. The kind of power that doesn’t just kill you, it makes you wish you were dead first.”
“Well.” Kaelen’s voice was dry as ash in my mind. “This is going splendidly.”
“Shut up.”
“And Varyth wants me to sit across from this nightmare and—what, exactly?” I looked between them, trying to keep my tone steady. “Smile? Look threatening? Not spontaneously combust from sheer terror?”
“Be yourself,” Shaelith said simply. “That’s what Varyth’s counting on.”
I laughed, the sound slightly unhinged. “Myself. Right. Because ‘disaster wrapped in trauma with a side of uncontrolled fire magic’ is exactly the diplomatic presence we’re going for.”
“Isara.” Shaelith’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “You survived your husband’s murder. You crossed realms. You bonded with a dragon. You’ve faced Varyth at his most dangerous and came out standing.” She held my gaze. “Ashterion is terrifying, yes. But so are you.”
“I really don’t feel terrifying right now,” I muttered, but something in my chest loosened slightly at her words. At the absolute certainty in them.
“That’s because you haven’t weaponised it yet,” Brynelle said, her grin returning with feral edges. “But you will. Fenric and Cindrissian will make sure of it.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You think Varyth’s going to send you into that meeting unprepared?
” Shaelith’s eyebrows rose. “He’ll have Fenric drilling you on court protocol until you could navigate a diplomatic dinner in your sleep.
” Her smile turned knowing. “And Cindrissian will teach you how to read people. How to spot the lies before they’re fully formed. ”
“They’ll arm you with everything you need,” Brynelle added. “And then some. By the time that meeting happens, you’ll walk in there looking like you belong at Varyth’s side.”
“Even if I’m internally screaming the entire time?”
“Especially then.” Brynelle’s grin was wicked. “Half of court politics is looking composed while everything inside you is on fire. You’ll fit right in.”
“See?” Kaelen’s satisfaction rippled through the bond. “I told you you’d be fine.”
“You told me I was emotionally unstable.”
“That too. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“We should head back,” Shaelith said, already starting to rise with Brynelle in her arms. “Before Varyth realises you left the castle without telling anyone and loses his mind.”
My stomach dropped. “Oh gods. I didn’t think. I just needed to get out, I wasn’t thinking about—”
“He’s going to be furious,” Brynelle said cheerfully, untangling herself from Shaelith. “In that very controlled, very terrifying way he does.”
“Wonderful. That’s exactly what I need right now.”
“You did flee his chambers at dawn without a word,” Kaelen pointed out helpfully. “After spending the night in his bed. Again. While he’s already on edge about you spontaneously manifesting an uncontrollable power.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“You say that a lot. Have you considered that perhaps you simply hate being wrong?”
I hauled myself up onto Kaelen, my legs protesting the movement. Everything protested, actually. My body was very insistent that I’d had approximately three hours of sleep and had spent most of those tangled up with a High Lord who’d had his hands all over me.
Don’t think about his hands, I told myself firmly.
“You’re thinking about his hands,” Kaelen supplied.
“I’m going to let Brynelle’s dragon eat you.”
“You love me too much.”
He wasn’t wrong about that either, damn him.