Chapter 12
The dining hall was excessive. That was my first thought when Shaelith led me through the carved double doors—that whoever had designed this room had never heard the word “restraint” and wouldn’t have cared if they had.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from vaulted ceilings like frozen waterfalls. The table stretched long enough to seat a small army, dark wood polished to a mirror shine and set with enough silverware to fund a modest kingdom.
I hated it immediately.
Too big. Too open. Too many fucking exits to watch.
“Relax,” Shaelith murmured, catching my inventory of escape routes. “We swept the room three times. Brynelle’s got wards on every entrance. You’re safe.”
“I’ll feel safe when my children are sleeping in a room with one door and no windows.”
“That’s called a prison cell.”
“Your point?”
She snorted but didn’t argue, just steered me toward the cluster of bodies already assembled near the table.
I’d already put Mireth and Eryx to bed an hour ago—a process that had involved three stories, two glasses of water, one check under the bed for monsters, and approximately forty-seven promises that I would be here in the morning.
Mireth had clung longer than usual, her small fingers twisted in my shirt like she was trying to anchor me to the world.
Eryx had fallen asleep mid-sentence, exhaustion finally claiming him.
Two guards were stationed outside their room, Lira along with them. I’d tried to persuade her to join me for dinner, but she’d declined.
The others were already arranging themselves around the table.
Varyth was at the head because of course he was, Darian and Eilrys together on one side looking unfairly comfortable with each other, Brynelle moving to claim a seat near the middle.
She spotted me and offered a small smile that looked like it cost her.
The binding burns, probably. Still healing.
I started toward an empty chair near Shaelith when movement caught my eye.
Lincatheron stood near the window, dark wings folded tight against his back, having a low conversation with Fenric.
The third-in-command’s ink black hair caught the light, but his posture was off.
Too still. As though he was holding himself together by force of will alone, every muscle locked in place.
Whatever Lincatheron was saying, Fenric didn’t like it.
Or maybe he liked it too much. Hard to tell with him.
I claimed the chair across from Brynelle, positioning myself so I could see all the entrances. Shaelith settled beside her wife with enviable grace, an arm draped over the back of Brynelle’s chair.
I stared at the spread. Roasted something. Vegetables that looked like they’d been painted. Bread that probably had a fucking pedigree.
“You need to eat.” Varyth’s voice cut across the table, silver eyes pinning me in place.
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“It’s basic survival.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
His jaw tightened fractionally. Good. I hoped I was annoying the shit out of him.
Lincatheron and Fenric finished their conversation and moved toward the table.
Lincatheron settled across from me with the kind of controlled movement that spoke of military training and too many battlefields.
Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders, brutal hands, those dark wings a constant reminder that he could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
Fenric took the seat beside him, already scanning the room.
The conversation started light. Safer that way. Small talk about the food, the weather, whether the west wing needed repairs. Meaningless chatter that filled space without demanding anything.
I picked at my plate. Forced down a few bites of something that probably tasted excellent but turned to ash in my mouth anyway.
“So,” Darian said, leaning back with that easy smile that made him look younger than he was. “How long do you think before Mireth and Eryx convince the dragons to let them ride?”
“They already tried,” Brynelle said, and I caught the edge of laughter in her voice. “This afternoon. Mireth and Fionn climbed halfway up Velithor’s tail before Lira caught them.”
“They what?”
“The dragon seemed delighted,” Eilrys added, green eyes bright with amusement. “Didn’t move an inch.”
“Oh gods.” I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Please tell me Eryx wasn’t involved.”
“Eryx was the lookout,” Brynelle said. “They posted him by the gate to warn them if any adults were coming.”
“Of course they did.”
“Give them another year and they’ll have the entire dragon flight organised into a strategic aerial unit.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed. Almost. “Don’t give them ideas.”
“Too late,” Darian said. “Mireth was already asking Velithor about flying.”
“Fucking hells.” I reached for my wine. Drained half the glass. “What’s next? Are there any other mystical creatures I should be worried about them befriending? Please tell me we’re out of options.”
“Well,” Brynelle said thoughtfully. “There are the phoenixes in the southern mountains—”
“The shapeshifters in the western forests,” Eilrys offered.
“Wyverns, but they’re assholes,” Darian added. “Wouldn’t recommend.”
“Gryphons,” Shaelith said. “Though they’re territorial.”
I was warming to this now, ticking them off on my fingers.
“What about the classics? Basilisks? Sea serpents? Maybe a nice friendly unicorn?” I paused.
“Oh, krakens. There used to be stories in Braerlith about krakens in the deep harbors. Sailors would leave offerings so they wouldn’t drag ships down. ”
“There’s a kraken in the lake,” Shaelith said, completely deadpan.
The table went silent.
I stared at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The lake,” she repeated, gesturing vaguely toward the courtyard. “In the main garden. There’s a kraken in it.”
“There’s a—” I looked around the table, waiting for someone to laugh. “You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m really not.”
“It’s quite small,” Brynelle assured me. “Only about twelve feet across when it’s fully extended.”
“Only twelve feet.”
“Very docile,” Varyth added, silver eyes gleaming with amusement. Bastard. “Hasn’t eaten anyone in decades.”
“Hasn’t eaten anyone in decades,” I repeated. “That’s your metric for safe?”
Lincatheron’s mouth twitched. “It mostly eats fish.”
“Sometimes bread,” Fenric said. “If you throw it from the bridge.”
I drained the rest of my wine. Set the glass down harder than necessary. “Spectacular. Wonderful. My children are going to make friends with a kraken.”
“Probably,” Shaelith agreed.
“I hate all of you.”
“You should see it when it’s happy,” Eilrys said. “It does this little dance—”
“No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to know.” But I was fighting a smile now, the absurdity of it cracking through my defences like light through stone. “A kraken. In the lake. Why do you even have a kraken?”
“It was here when my predecessors arrived,” Varyth said with a smirk. “Seems rude to evict it.”
The laughter that escaped me felt strange. Foreign. Like wearing someone else’s skin. But it was there, bubbling up despite everything. And for a moment, just one fragile, crystalline moment, the weight lifted.
Lincatheron had been quiet through most of the exchange, that dark gaze tracking the conversation with the focus of someone used to gathering intelligence. Now his attention settled on me, the way a general might evaluate a soldier fresh from the field.
“You look better than the other day,” he said. Direct. No preamble.
The laughter died in my throat.
“Low bar.”
“True.” He reached for his wine, movements economical. “The breach has been sealed. I’ve doubled patrols on the eastern perimeter and implemented rotating guard schedules to prevent pattern recognition. We’re also installing additional ward anchors at fifty-meter intervals.”
I blinked at him. “You’re just—telling me this?”
“You asked about security measures earlier. I’m providing them.”
“Most people would consider that classified information.”
“Most people didn’t just incinerate four attackers to protect their children.” He took a sip of wine, utterly unbothered. “I respect competence. You demonstrated competence. Therefore, you’ve earned transparency regarding your safety.”
It was possibly the most straightforward thing anyone had said to me since I’d crossed the Veil.
I almost didn’t know what to do with it.
“The ward anchors,” I said slowly, testing. “How do they work?”
“Crystallised magic keyed to specific signatures. They create a resonance field that alerts us to unauthorised crossings. Think of it as a magical tripwire system, but three-dimensional and significantly more sensitive.”
“Can they be bypassed?”
“Everything can be bypassed given enough time and resources.” Lincatheron’s scarred features settled into approval. “But it would require either intimate knowledge of our ward frequencies or enough raw power to simply shatter them. Both scenarios would give us advance warning.”
“So you’d know they were coming, but not necessarily be able to stop them.”
“Correct. Which is why we’re also implementing physical countermeasures. Increased aerial surveillance, magical scrying posts, and—” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Me.”
“You’re a countermeasure?”
“I’m a complication,” he corrected. “Most people think twice before attempting infiltration when they know the Master of Arms is actively hunting them.”
I studied him over the rim of my glass. “You enjoy it. The hunting.”
“I’m good at it. There’s satisfaction in competence.”
The way he said it—flat, certain, utterly without ego—made me reassess him.
Before I could respond, his gaze flicked to Fenric, weighted with meaning I couldn’t parse. And Lincatheron’s expression did something complicated.
A conversation happening in the space between them. Silent. Private.
My instincts prickled.
“What was that?” I asked.
“What was what?” Fenric’s attention swung to me, innocent as a knife.