Chapter 31
AURA
Lythian returns to the room where I’m being held. The quiet talk with her mates is over. Their disappointment as they left was palpable, but I didn’t hear any of what they said after that.
She extinguishes the candles and incense, her gaze avoiding mine. She’s gone from upright, regal, and totally in control to hunched with gritted teeth.
I remain where they left me, wrists still tethered, the dragon-skin cloak heavy over my body like a prison. My magic is quiet again, smothered beneath it.
“Your display has unsettled them,” she says at last.
“I’m glad.”
Her mouth twitches in irritation. She sits next to me on the bed, close enough to sense the quiet pulse of dragon power under her skin. It’s different to Kelan’s, Ronyn’s, and Darial’s. Hers is more controlled, and darker.
“You shouldn’t mistake us for your enemies,” she says softly. “We are trying to save our kind. We’re not the ones who would take away your magic for good. When we release you, you will be free to use it as you wish.”
“You abducted me. Bound me. Tried to force me into a breeding ritual. You don’t get to call that salvation.”
Her gaze flickers. For the first time since I met her, weariness shadows her eyes.
“I was the last female,” she says. “Do you know what that means? To watch centuries pass and witness no children born? For your body to fail your species? To watch the males grow desperate, reckless, and violent with the knowledge that they are the last of us? To realize that all the stories passed from mother to daughter are true.”
She looks away.
“I love them,” she says quietly. “And I can’t give them what they need. Not a single egg or hatchling. No chance at a family and a future.”
I swallow.
Her shoulders slump and her eyelids lower. The pain she shows is the kind that empties you from the inside out.
“I understand grief,” I say. “I can understand loss. But that doesn’t give you the right to use my body or kill my children. If you’re so bothered about the future of dragonkind, what would killing them achieve?”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “You think this is about rights? About fairness? This is survival. Extinction doesn’t care about consent. We have no choice. That was the goddess's decision.”
My chest tightens. “It’s better to let your kind end,” I whisper, “if the only way you can continue is by becoming monsters.”
My words linger between us, sharp and heavy.
She exhales slowly. “You’re stronger than I expected,” she says. “That’s… promising. The offspring you produce will be strong.”
Before I can answer, the door opens, and the males return.
They stay away from the bed. Instead, they gather around some low sofas and carved tables by the windows. One pours wine into crystal glasses. Another leans back, stretching out his long legs and speaking quietly.
They laugh, and the sound is jarring. They appear relaxed, and comfortable, reminding me of rich men in a penthouse, unwinding after a long day of making money in spurious ways.
Tael stretches, glancing toward me with a crooked smile. “You gave us quite a show,” he says. “Didn’t expect that before the ceremony even began.”
“Leave her.” Lythian’s tone isn't sharp but indulgent.
Loriek, pale-haired and watchful, tilts his head. “We’re not frightening her, are we? We’re showing her we’re civilized.”
I almost laugh, but I couldn’t bear giving them satisfaction.
They talk to each other about the city, old hunts, and how dragon territories are fading. They sound like a family that’s lived together for years. If I didn’t know what they planned for me, I might believe their act. I might think they were good dragons who cared for each other.
But it’s a performance.
They want me to stay calm and go along with their plan. They want me to view them as reasonable, maybe even kind, so that when they finally take what they want from me, I’ll think it’s necessary. I’ll believe in their sad stories of infertility and a desire to save their kind, and go along with it.
They see only my womb, as Gregory did. They crave what my magic has enabled: my potential to bear offspring for whatever purpose they require. Even Lythian, with her quiet sorrow, sees only her own hope to be realized through me.
I can pity her.
I can even understand her a little.
But I will never allow or forgive this.
Eventually, one by one, they rise and leave. Lythian is last. She pauses at the doorway and looks back at me.
“Rest,” she says. “You will need your strength.”
The door closes, and the room goes quiet again. I lie still for a long time, listening and waiting, hoping my dragons are close. The cloak weighs heavily, and the ache in my wrists worsens.
I close my eyes as tears run down my cheeks and into my hair. I let myself cry, releasing some of the tension, but only for a moment.
With a shuddering breath, I reach inward.
My magic is still there, somewhere. It’s faint and hidden, like a heartbeat under heavy blankets. The cloak smothers it, dulling its power but not erasing it completely.
I breathe slowly. In through my nose and out through my mouth.
Again.
Again.
I focus on pushing the magic to my palms.
Nothing happens. I try again and again, pushing so hard my head aches and sweat breaks out on my upper lip.
Then a tiny, weak spark flickers. I gather it carefully, coaxing it upward, guiding it like a thread through the dark. At first it resists, slow under the cloak’s weight, but I keep breathing and focusing.
My palms begin to tingle as warmth gathers there, faint but real.
I open my eyes and stare at the dresser across the room. A ceramic vase rests on its edge, painted with curling dragons.
I focus on it, pushing my magic outward. If I can move it even a little, I’ll know my magic is strong enough to break through the cloak with practice.
The magic shakes, almost slipping away. I grit my teeth and push, gently and carefully, picturing cracks forming in the heavy fabric that surrounds me.
The vase shudders.
Then it slides, moving only a little across the polished wood, but it’s something.
My breath catches, and hope rises. My magic is weak, but it’s there. If I can move a vase, I can do more.
I sink back against the pillows as my magic fades again.
These dragons think I’m contained. They think I’m waiting, subdued until their terrible plans come to pass.
They’re wrong.
I will get out of this place.
And when I do, I will take my children with me.