Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Dyfri
This dragon rider castle feels like stepping into ancient human history.
The stone walls around us are thick enough to withstand a siege, carved from the living rock of the Welsh mountains centuries ago.
Each block fits so perfectly with its neighbours that I can barely make out the joints, a testament to craftsmanship that puts modern human construction to shame.
The air itself feels heavy with age and magic, pressing against my skin like a tangible presence.
Deep within the castle, in this windowless chamber lit by floating orbs of magelight, I can almost forget the modern human world exists at all.
The orbs cast dancing shadows across walls covered in carved runes and symbols, some so old I can barely recognise their meaning.
Others glow faintly with their own inner light, responding to the magical energies that permeate this place.
Jack stands close beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
After this morning’s revelations, after the way he held me and promised to protect me, I’m hyperaware of every inch of space between us.
The memory of his fierce declaration, his willingness to give up everything for my safety, sits in my chest like a warm ember that threatens to ignite into something larger and more dangerous.
I can smell his soap, something clean and masculine that speaks of the human world I’m still learning to navigate.
When he shifts his weight, the fabric of his shirt rustles softly, and I have to resist the urge to move closer still.
There’s something addictive about his presence, something that makes me feel more grounded and more unsettled all at once.
Cai lounges against the stone table with casual grace, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
Leading the dragon riders is aging him, carving lines around his eyes that speak of difficult decisions and harder compromises.
The weight of leadership sits differently on him than royal status ever did on me.
He carries his authority like a burden he’s still learning to bear.
His two husbands flank him like twin guardians, but there’s nothing subservient in their positioning.
They stand as equals, partners in every sense.
Kirby with his waist-length red hair gleaming like fire in the magical light, every inch the powerful mage whose strength could reshape nations.
Harlen all muscle and dark curls and easy grins, but I can see the sharp intelligence in his dark eyes.
These men chose each other, fought for each other, built something together that defied prophecy.
Another young dragon rider, barely more than a boy really, sits cross-legged on the floor beside the most unusual person in the room. His earnest face is creased with concentration as he tries to bridge the gap between languages that were never meant to communicate.
I know of the tylwyth, of course. Everyone in the fey courts knows what we did to them, though it’s not something we discuss in polite company. It’s filed away with all the other necessary cruelties, the prices paid for fey advancement.
Eerie is smaller than I expected. Short and slight, with amethyst eyes that seem to hold depths I can’t fathom.
There’s something ethereal about him, something that speaks of wide skies and freedom that was stolen away.
His shoulder-length dark hair is woven into intricate beaded braids that catch the light when he moves his head, each one a work of art that speaks of a culture I helped destroy.
When he speaks, the sounds that emerge are nothing like any language I’ve ever heard.
Musical and strange, all trills and whistles and harmonics that seem to resonate in my bones.
The young rider translates his words into halting English, his brow furrowed with concentration as he struggles to convey concepts that clearly don’t translate well. “He says the anchor points must be set at precise celestial alignments. The mathematics are... complex.”
I watch Eerie’s hands as he gestures, trying to convey concepts that clearly don’t translate well.
There’s something graceful about his movements, something that speaks of a people who were meant to soar.
The wings folded against his back twitch occasionally, as if responding to thoughts of flight.
I wonder if he dreams of open skies, if being trapped on this world feels like a cage even when he’s helping to seal it away from further invasion.
The guilt surges to a level that hits me like a physical blow, so sudden and sharp that I have to lock my knees to stay upright.
This being should hate me. Should spit in my face and refuse to be near anyone of fey blood.
His people were enslaved, tortured, broken for our magical advancement.
I remember the reports. Cold descriptions of experiments, of information extracted through methods I didn’t want to think about too closely.
Everything I know about portal magic was built on the suffering of Eerie’s people.
The knowledge that my own education, my own power, was paid for in tylwyth blood makes my stomach churn.
How many of his people died screaming so that I could learn to step between worlds?
How many wings were clipped, how many voices silenced, so that the fey could master the magic that made us unstoppable?
Yet here he sits, patiently explaining how to seal Earth away from my people forever. Trusting me with knowledge that could save this world from fey interference. The trust in those amethyst eyes is devastating.
All the more so because of how much I need it. There is absolutely no point in sending my people home, and destroying the existing portals, if the fey can simply turn around and create new ones.
“The plan requires perfect coordination to cover all the anchor points,” the young rider continues, struggling to keep up with Eerie’s rapid speech. “All the tylwyth refugees on Earth, working with all the dragon riders simultaneously. Miss the timing by even minutes and the whole thing fails.”
I lean forward, forcing myself to focus on the tactical implications rather than my churning guilt. “How many anchor points are we talking about?”
Eerie’s response is a complex series of sounds that seem to paint pictures in the air. The young rider frowns, clearly struggling with the translation.
“Seventeen? No, seventy... he’s trying to show me numbers but we don’t have enough shared vocabulary for this.”
I turn to Cai, studying the careful neutrality of his expression. He’s learned to hide his thoughts well, but I can read the uncertainty in the set of his shoulders. “Do you have the authority to order such a coordinated effort?”
Cai’s frown deepens, and I see echoes of the young man who once made impossible choices for love. The weight of leadership doesn’t sit easily on him, especially when it requires asking others to risk everything.
“I’m working on it. I’ve only just won back the trust of my people after.
..” He trails off, but I know what he’s not saying.
After choosing love over duty. After letting the world face the fey invasion rather than sacrifice his beloved.
After proving that sometimes personal happiness matters more than prophecy.
His gaze shifts to Kirby, and the look that passes between them is so intimate I feel like an intruder witnessing it.
There’s an entire conversation in that glance, years of understanding and acceptance and absolute devotion.
Kirby’s hand finds Cai’s, their fingers intertwining with the easy comfort of long partnership.
Even now, when discussing matters of such grave importance, they strengthen each other.
The prophecy rings in my memory, clear as the day I first heard it spoken.
Kill the red-haired mage for the power to seal all portals forever.
Stop the fey invasion before it begins. Save Earth through death.
The prophecy that could have prevented everything, if only Cai had been willing to sacrifice the man he loved.
Cai looks at Kirby with such soft devotion that it makes my chest ache. There’s no remorse in his expression, no shadow of what-if or if-only. Just pure, uncomplicated love.
“I don’t regret a thing.”
The words are quiet, but they carry the weight of absolute certainty. This man would let worlds burn before harming the person he loves. There’s something both beautiful and terrifying about that level of devotion.
I find myself staring at them, trying to understand what that kind of love must feel like.
To be so cherished that someone would sacrifice everything, face any consequence, choose you over duty and honour and the fate of worlds.
What would it be like to inspire that kind of devotion?
To matter so much to another person that their entire moral universe reorganises itself around your wellbeing?
My gaze drifts to Jack almost without conscious thought.
He’s listening intently to the translation, his brow furrowed as he tries to follow the complex magical theory.
There’s something endearing about his concentration, the way he leans forward slightly when trying to understand something new.
The morning light from the high windows catches the gold in his hair, and I remember the way he held me when I confessed about the poisoning.
The fury in his voice when he learned about the wedding morrow healers.
The promises he made with such fierce conviction.
I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes, wherever we have to go. I’ll protect you.
The words echo in my memory with crystal clarity. He’d said them like an oath, like a sacred vow that nothing could break. And in that moment, with my secrets spilled between us and my worst fears laid bare, I’d almost believed him.