20. Chapter 20
AMARIA
The morning light crept through the window slit. Accusatory. Unforgiving.
I stared at the two chest pieces with matching holes burned straight through the center. The edges still faintly warm.
Evidence.
Eryndor sat on the edge of the bed—the bed we hadn't ended up using for its intended purpose—running a hand through his hair. The welts on his chest had faded to pink, but they were still visible. Still damning.
"We have to go out there eventually," he said.
"I know."
"Get new armor."
"I know."
"Face people."
"I'm aware."
Neither of us moved.
"Maybe everyone's still asleep," I offered. "It's early. We could just—slip out. Get to the armory before anyone sees us."
"It's Skal'Varin. Warriors rise before dawn."
"Then maybe they're all at training."
"The armory is past the great hall."
I groaned. Dropped my head into my hands.
"We could wait until tonight," Eryndor suggested. "Move under cover of darkness."
I snorted. "We have training today. We need the armor."
"Right."
Silence.
"Okay." I stood. Squared my shoulders. "We go fast. We don't make eye contact. We don't stop to talk. In and out. Simple."
"Simple."
We looked at each other. Neither of us believed it for a second.
I gathered what little dignity I had left and picked up the ruined chest piece. Tucked them under my arm. Eryndor did the same with his.
We cracked open the door, peeking down the hallway.
The corridor was empty.
"See?" I whispered. "Everyone's busy. We just—"
"Go. Yes. Let’s just go for it."
We slipped out. Moved quickly down the hall. Our footsteps echoed off the stone—too loud, way too loud—but no one appeared.
The great hall loomed ahead. We'd have to pass the entrance to reach the armory corridor. Just walk past. Don't look in. Don't engage.
We were ten feet from the entrance when Maxx's voice boomed out.
"IS THAT SMOKE I SMELL?"
I froze.
Eryndor froze.
"IT IS! I DEFINITELY SMELL BURNING!" His voice carried through the open doorway, projected for maximum coverage. "SOMEONE'S BEEN PLAYING WITH FIRE!"
I grabbed Eryndor's arm and yanked him forward.
"AMARIA! ERYNDOR! IS THAT YOU TWO SNEAKING PAST?" Maxx appeared in the doorway, tankard in hand, grinning like a demon. "Come in! Tell us about your evening! How did the testing go?"
Behind him, the great hall was packed. Warriors. Councilors. Trainers. Every single one of them now staring at us.
At the burned armor tucked under our arms.
At our matching welts and singed tunics.
"We're busy," I managed.
"Too busy to eat?" Maxx pressed a hand to his chest. "After all that vigorous... calibration?"
Someone in the hall snorted.
"The armor malfunctioned," Eryndor said stiffly.
"Malfunctioned. Fascinating. And did the malfunction require you both to be... in close proximity?"
The snorting had spread. Multiple warriors were now openly laughing.
"We need new armor," I said through gritted teeth. "For training."
"Of course you do!" Maxx beamed. "Might I suggest something flame-retardant this time?"
"Goodbye, Maxx." I grabbed Eryndor's hand and ran.
"MAYBE A BUCKET OF COLD WATER NEARBY—"
Behind us, Maxx's laughter chased us down the corridor. The sound of the entire great hall joining in followed.
We didn't stop until we reached the armory.
The warrior from yesterday was already there. She took one look at the destroyed armor in our arms, one look at our flushed faces, and sighed.
"Pushed it too far?"
"Don't," I said.
"I warned you it wouldn't fix—"
"Please. Just. New armor."
She pulled two fresh chest pieces from the rack. Her eyes were practically sparkling.
"Try to make these last more than one night."
I snatched them from her hands and fled.
The dragon roost carved into the eastern cliff face. It was a series of massive stone platforms and alcoves where the dragons came and went as they pleased.
We'd wandered there after training. Serenya wanted to check on Veyra—the Mist-Walker had been circling the peaks all morning, and she couldn't shake the pull toward her.
Maxx followed because Maxx always followed.
Eryndor walked three feet to my left, the new armor a steady pressure against my chest.
The roost was quieter than I expected. A few dragons dozed on the upper platforms. One preened its wings in the afternoon sun. The smell of smoke and musk hung in the air.
A Mirror-Fire caught my eye.
It lay curled on a lower platform, obsidian scales gleaming like polished volcanic glass. Massive. Easily twice Umbra's size. Its eyes were closed, chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.
Beautiful. Terrifying. The kind of creature that made you understand why fae of old had worshipped dragons as gods.
I stepped closer. Couldn't help it. The scales seemed to shift as I moved—colors rippling beneath the black surface like oil on water.
"Careful." Dreadscale's voice came from behind me. "Mirror-Fires don't like being watched while they sleep."
"I'm not—"
The dragon stirred. Stretched one massive wing.
And revealed Caden underneath.
He lay curled against the dragon's side, tucked into the space where its wing met its body. Fast asleep. Face slack. Peaceful in a way I hadn't seen since before—since before everything.
I gasped.
The sound—or maybe the movement of the wing—woke him. His eyes blinked open. Unfocused at first, then sharpening as he registered us standing there.
"Amaria." He sat up slowly. The dragon's wing resettled over him like a blanket, then lifted again as he moved to stand. "What time is it?"
"Past midday." I stared at him. At the dragon. At the casual way they existed in each other's space. "What are you—how long have you been—"
"A few hours." He climbed off the platform, brushing scales-dust from his clothes. "Maybe more. I lose track."
The Mirror-Fire opened one eye. Studied our group with sedimentary stillness. Then closed it again, apparently deeming us unworthy of full attention.
"This is how you've been healing," I said slowly. "Not the healing chambers. This."
Caden nodded. "The healers helped at first. But this..." He looked back at the dragon. The knot between his eyebrows unraveled. "This is what's actually fixing me."
"I don't understand."
Dreadscale stepped forward. His eyes were on the Mirror-Fire—respectful, assessing.
"Mirror-Fires reflect truth," he said. "When you look into their scales, you see not your face but your nature. The parts you hide from. The lies you tell yourself."
"That sounds..." Maxx grimaced. "Horrible, actually."
"For most, it is. The confrontation with one's own denied self—it breaks minds. Warriors have gone mad staring too long into Mirror-Fire scales. The reflection shows no mercy."
"Then why is Caden sleeping under one like it's a heated blanket?"
Dreadscale's gaze moved to my brother, his eyes shining with respect.
"Because Caden doesn't need to be broken. He needs to be rebuilt." He paused. "The King didn't just imprison him. He rewrote him. Fed him lies until Caden couldn't tell truth from fabrication. Made him believe he was a weapon. A monster."
Caden's jaw tightened. He didn't deny it.
"The Mirror-Fire strips all that away," Dreadscale continued. "Every lie the King planted. Every false belief. Every piece of poison embedded in his mind. The dragon's reflection burns it out."
"Burns it out," Serenya repeated quietly. "That sounds painful."
"It is," Caden replied matter-of-factly. "The first time, I screamed for hours. Couldn't tell what was real. Every memory I had felt like a lie because so many of them were."
My chest ached. I wanted to reach for him. Hold him. Fix something that couldn't be fixed with a hug.
"But now?" I asked.
Caden looked at the dragon. The Mirror-Fire's flank rose and fell with each breath. Steady. Patient.
"Now it's quieter. The lies are mostly gone. What's left is just..." He searched for the word. "Me. Whatever that is. I'm still figuring it out."
He turned back to us. For the first time since I'd gotten him back, he looked almost whole.
"She helps," he said simply. "I sleep better with her than anywhere else. No nightmares. No voices. Just silence and warmth and the truth of what I actually am."
The Mirror-Fire rumbled in agreement. A low, resonant sound.
"She doesn't have a rider," Dreadscale said. "Hasn't chosen one in nearly a century. Too volatile. Too demanding. Most who try to bond with her lose themselves in the reflection."
"But not Caden," Eryndor said quietly.
"No. Not Caden." Dreadscale studied my brother with new eyes. "A male who has already been stripped of himself has nothing left to lose in the mirror. He's already faced the worst truths. The dragon sees that. Respects it."
The Mirror-Fire's eye opened again. Found Caden. Held him.
A silent understanding passed between them and Caden smiled.
A low, keening sound came from the upper platforms and echoed off the cliff face. Veyra. The Mist-Walker had landed while we'd been talking, folding her pale wings against the stone, her silver eyes already fixed on Serenya.
Serenya's head turned. That pull again—the one she couldn't name, the one she pretended was curiosity. I'd watched it sharpen over the past few days. The way her breathing changed when the Mist-Walker was near. The way her hands stilled.
"Go," I said.
She hesitated. "Are you sure? I wanted to—"
"Go be with your dragon, Serenya."
She opened her mouth to argue—she's not my dragon—but Veyra called again, and whatever protest she'd been forming dissolved. She gave my arm a quick squeeze and moved toward the upper platforms, Maxx trailing after her.
I watched her climb. Watched Veyra's massive head lower toward her, nostrils flaring, taking in her scent. The careful, tender movements of the dragon made my chest tighten.
Not yet bonded. But close.
Then movement at the edge of the roost. A figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove. Female. Elder. I recognized her—the one from the war council who'd watched me defend Serenya. Who'd studied my Fury when I'd threatened the warrior who dismissed her.
She wasn't alone. Two warriors flanked her. Armed. Faces hard.
A chill ran up my spine. The elder's gaze swept past me. Past Eryndor. Past Serenya and Maxx.
Landed on Caden.
"The Hunter." Her voice carried across the stone. Flat. Assessing. "The King's prized weapon. His perfect soldier."
Caden's eyes opened. The peace drained from his face.
"He's not—" I started.
"How do we know he's not still on the King's leash?
" She stepped closer. The warriors moved with her.
"Years of conditioning. Years of service.
A mind that was broken and rebuilt to the Crown's specifications.
" Her lip curled. "He could be deep under cover.
A blade waiting to gut us the moment we trust him. "
"That's not true." My voice came out hard. "The Mirror-Fire—Dreadscale just explained—"
"Dragons can be fooled. Even Mirror-Fires." The elder nodded to her warriors. "Restrain him. We'll conduct a proper interrogation."
The warriors moved.
Caden scrambled backward, pressing against the Mirror-Fire's flank. The dragon rumbled—a warning—but didn't strike. Wouldn't strike. Not against dragonborn.
"Wait—" Caden's voice cracked. "I'm not—I would never—"
One warrior grabbed his arm. Wrenched it behind his back.
The other drew a blade. Pressed it to his throat.
Caden's eyes found mine. Wide. Terrified. The peace from moments ago shattered.
Don't let them take me back. Don't let them put me in the dark again.
He didn't say it. Didn't have to.
My Fury roared to life—heat flooding my veins, my hair lifting, fangs descending. The stone beneath my feet groaned. Two stars snapped into my palms.
"Let. Him. Go."
My voice came out layered. Three tones speaking through one throat. The walls hummed with it. Dust shook loose from the rafters.
The warriors hesitated. The one holding the blade looked at his hand—at the way the metal was vibrating against Caden's skin.
"I said—" stepping forward. The air around me shimmered, warped, bent. Time itself seemed to thicken. "—let him GO."
My power exploded outward.
A shockwave rippled from my body and slammed into the warriors. They flew backward, hit the stone ten feet away, weapons spinning from their grip and clattering across the roost.
The dragons screamed. Wings flared across the cliffside—dozens of them, scales catching the light, heads turning toward me with keen interest.
Caden dropped to his knees, gasping. The Mirror-Fire rose behind him, wings flaring, a roar building in her throat.
I stood in the center of it. Shaking. Burning. Power crackling along my skin like lightning looking for ground.
The elder hadn't moved.
She was smiling.
"There it is." Her voice was soft. Satisfied. "I wondered how deep it ran."
The rage sputtered. Confusion crept in.
"What—"
"The Fury." She stepped toward me. Unafraid. "I suspected it the moment I saw you in the war council. The way your anger builds. The way it feeds on injustice. The way it begs to be unleashed."
I stared at her. The power still hummed beneath my skin, but the murderous edge had faded.
"This was a test."
"Yes."
"You threatened my brother to—to what? See if I'd snap?"
"To see if the bloodline held true." Her eyes gleamed. "You carry the mark of the Red Wolf, child. The primordial Fury that once protected the weak and punished the cruel. It hasn't manifested in two centuries."
She looked at the warriors climbing to their feet. At the scorch marks on the stone where my power had struck.
"Until now."
"The Red Wolf?" I shook my head. "The Crown-Chosen from the old stories? What does she have to do with me?"
The elder didn't answer. She turned toward the far passage, the one carved deeper into the mountain.
"My name is Orryn Vask, child. Follow me."