Chapter 23
JASSYN
Jassyn’s lips parted, but no sound came.
Daeryn watched him with eyes nearly an echo of his own, the proof made flesh. The same dark curl of hair. The angled line of cheek and jaw. A rangy frame already shadowed by an invisible weight Jassyn had never meant to pass on.
The likeness struck deep, twisting through him before thought could catch up.
He was supposed to stand without shaking. Steady the moment. Speak with clarity. Keep the fragile chance of alliance alive.
Not unravel the instant the past haunted and named him.
But he’d already begun to fray. The glade clenched around him like a fist, crushing the air from his lungs.
He’d known—from those family trees he and Vesryn had stolen from the Vallende estate—that others in Asharyn carried his blood. Scattered branches from the same corrupted root that none of them had chosen. Sired for their magic, their names plotted like coordinates on the capital’s map of power.
Yet none had sought him. And he hadn’t sought them. Safer that way. Easier to forget. Easier to deny.
But this male before him—spine straight, voice steady, daring to call him sire—cleaved through the walls Jassyn had built to keep the past contained.
Jassyn’s pulse pounded in his temples as the world narrowed and tilted. Even sound folded inward, swallowed by the tide breaking in his skull.
He didn’t move, limbs locking in that strange stillness that happened when instinct fled. When there was nothing left to reach for. No anger. No magic. Not even a lie. Only the hum of panic devouring him.
Where was that scorching beastblood now, when he needed its strength the most?
Someone moved beside him. Solid. Warm. Silent.
Lykor.
He didn’t touch Jassyn or speak, only stepped to his shoulder, a wall of heat and shadow anchoring him while the world threatened to spiral away.
Jassyn didn’t look at him, yet the nearness braced him, sealing the fault line inside him before it could fracture further. In the quiet of that stance, Jassyn heard everything Lykor didn’t say—he wouldn’t let him fall.
Jassyn exhaled, ragged and trembling. Still unsteady, but not breaking with Lykor holding the line beside him.
The rain had gone quiet, but only around the two of them. It continued to fall on the others, drumming against cloaks, dripping through hair, slicking the trees.
Jassyn sensed it then, the water bending around Lykor as if the weather knew better than to intrude. Of course Lykor had drawn on Rimeclaw’s gift to give him a breath, a space where he could stand without drowning.
But he felt their eyes upon him, hunting for weakness. He wouldn’t give them that opening. Not when the fragile thread of alliance—and the chance to sever Galaeryn’s hold on Daeryn’s people—might depend on it.
So Jassyn gathered all the ache, the grief, the shock, and buried it deep. He adjusted his bracers as he straightened, forging a spine of borrowed steel and the will to stand tall.
He’d come undone later. When the stares were gone. When breathing no longer scraped his chest raw. But not now.
With a stabilizing breath, Jassyn brought his awareness back to the clearing, focusing on Daeryn once more. The resemblance still burned, but this time he didn’t cower.
“You’re not following Galaeryn,” Jassyn said quietly, the words carrying understanding rather than blame. He cleared his throat, finding iron to bolster his voice. “You’re surviving him. Like us.”
Daeryn shifted his weight but didn’t look away.
The pause stretched. Long enough for the rain to measure the silence between them before Jassyn reached across it. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have stopped to hear what we had to say. You’re here—at the edge of the world, following a dragon—because you didn’t have a choice.”
His gaze swept the camp, catching the truth unmasked in expressionless faces and shoulders drawn straight. Obedience worn smooth by repetition. These weren’t soldiers answering a cause. They complied only to keep the next command from exacting its price in the blood of someone they loved.
“And what happens if we don’t follow orders?
” Bhreena snapped—not at Jassyn, but at Daeryn.
“You think the king won’t notice? For all we know, he sees through that dragon’s eyes just like his commands pour through General Elashor’s mouth.
” Her voice cracked past anger, wavering with bitterness.
“It wouldn’t be the first time they punished others in our place.
And you know it won’t be the last, Daeryn. ”
“I know.” A muscle ticked in Daeryn’s jaw. “But when Jassyn and the prince broke free—when someone like us fought back—it proved the crown’s control isn’t absolute.”
Jassyn turned toward Bhreena, giving her fury room to breathe in the heart of the conversation.
“Rimeclaw didn’t give us names,” he said, acknowledging the storm she carried, “but he said the capital tore away those you love.” Bhreena scowled, but he didn’t stop.
“And you’re not alone. Prince Saundyl said the same in Vaelyn—how they took his family to twist his compliance. ”
Jassyn studied Daeryn’s forces. “I imagine it’s simpler for Galaeryn to tighten a noose than to waste power compelling every soldier beneath his banner.”
Somewhere to the left, a breath hitched. A girl dropped her gaze, fingers knotting in the sleeve of her cloak. Another slid an arm around her shoulders, as if holding each other were the only strength they had left.
“And I’d wager,” Jassyn said, meeting Daeryn’s eyes again, “most of you are only here because Galaeryn is holding a life you’d burn any realm to protect.”
Daeryn didn’t deny it. He shared a look with Bhreena before her nostrils flared and her head snapped toward Jassyn.
“For those of us from the mortal realms—not the capital—they took whoever couldn’t fight.
” Her chin trembled, but her mouth drew taut, grief hardening into anger.
“The elderly. The young. It didn’t matter.
General Elashor marched them through our training rings like trophies.
Swore we’d see them again—if we crossed these stars-cursed mountains and opened the western front.
He never needed to say what happens if we fail. ”
“They already showed us,” Daeryn said quietly.
“The king portaled that dragon into our ranks and commanded it to freeze the weakest ten percent.” His eyes went distant, as if the scene replayed itself.
“Their bodies shattered before we understood. Galaeryn culled us just to prove he could.” His attention cut to Bhreena.
“To remind us that we’re all expendable. I know the risks.”
Her eyes narrowed, sliding toward Jassyn. The ground beneath her boots trembled as Essence gathered, shadows thickening around her heels. Half the soldiers moved with her, armor creaking, Essence and earth lurching at the ready.
A show of power. Fear, forged into defiance.
“Do you know what it costs to keep hoping?” Bhreena hissed. A flame leapt to her palm, drawn from the nearest fire. Her hand stayed steady, but her voice shook. “To believe we’ll see them again, just because General Elashor said we might?”
She swallowed hard. “My sister is six,” she whispered.
“Still counts the stars with her fingers.” The flame sputtered in her grasp.
“And I had to watch dead-eyed soldiers parade her with the rest. They didn’t even blink when she screamed for me.
” Steam curled where the rain struck her skin.
“I’m the only one with the power to protect her. And I don’t even know where she is.”
Bhreena closed half the distance between them, but Jassyn held his ground. He knew that fear, the helpless ache of being unable to stop it.
She squared her shoulders, still coiled for a fight. “Your presence—us speaking instead of handing you over—risks her life.”
Daeryn lifted a hand. “Bhreena.”
Her eyes, still bright with unshed violence, didn’t so much as glance his way. But the shadows around her feet stilled, the flame in her palm flickering low.
“The mountain prisons,” Lykor muttered, a curse buried in his breath. “That has to be the place.”
His voice roughened as he addressed Daeryn directly. “Where Galaeryn kept the wraith. There’s no way in or out except by portal. It’s impenetrable.”
Bhreena’s eyes thinned. “Why would he keep innocents there?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Lykor growled. “He doesn’t waste cruelty, he perfects it. That place is a stars-forsaken vault he keeps alive just to hear echoes of screams. And you think he’ll simply offer freedom while there’s still blood left to spill on his growing map?”
Daeryn moved closer to Bhreena’s side. “But if we do what he demands—navigate the Wastes, find more dragons…”
Lykor barked a bitter laugh. “Galaeryn will use you until you bleed every drop. You’re not getting your people back. Not if he—”
Bhreena snarled and hurled the fireball without warning.
It never landed.
Jassyn shot his hand out, yanking the blaze mid-flight. It struck his palm with a hiss, heat slicing the rain before curling to smoke around his knuckles. Scales ripped up his arm, the shimmer of them cutting like molten glass.
His lip curled as the beastblood reared its head—furious, protective, feral. Power clawed at his ribs, a roar begging to be freed. It would be easy—too easy—to let the fire answer. To strike. To burn her to ash.
Lykor didn’t even blink. He held himself like a fortress as he had when lightning had carved its path down his spine, unyielding and utterly unmoved. As if fire itself weren’t worth acknowledgment.
Jassyn exhaled sharply through his nose. If Lykor could hold his silence, then Jassyn could drag his fury back into its cage. He drew in a breath, the air acrid with smoke, and wrestled back the surge of power before it answered for him—incinerating Bhreena on the spot.
The heat drained away, leaving only a tremor beneath his skin.