Chapter 28 Zephyra
TWENTY-EIGHT
ZEPHYRA
The Arbiter’s stronghold floats.
Three days of hunting led us here—following trails of shattered ice and dead soldiers until we found the source.
Now I’m staring up at a fortress that shouldn’t exist. Black ice rises against the gray sky, sharp-edged and massive.
The whole structure hovers above the frozen ground, casting a shadow that seems to swallow the light.
My neck aches from looking up at it. The thing is enormous—a floating mountain of frozen darkness.
“There.” Tyr’s hand rests on my lower back, a touch that’s become habit over the past days. Possessive. Grounding. He nods toward the blue flames burning along the walls. “That’s where it forges the crowns.”
The furnaces glow with cold fire. Even from here, I feel the wrongness of that light—power being shaped into chains, into control. Every crown the Arbiter has ever used to bind a ruler was made in those flames.
“It knows we’re coming.”
“Good.” His fingers press harder against my spine. “Saves us the trouble of announcing ourselves.”
I lean into him briefly, stealing a moment of contact before we walk into a fight that might kill us both. His grip tightens in response before he releases me. His thumb drags across my hip as his hand falls away—lingering. A reminder of what we are to each other.
Time for comfort later. If there is a later.
We approach the entrance—a gaping archway of black ice that pulses with dim light. No guards. No traps I can see. The Arbiter wants us inside.
My boots crunch on frozen ground. Each step feels heavier than the last, the air thickening as we get closer. Tyr moves beside me, so close our arms press together with every stride. Neither of us speaks. There’s nothing left to say.
The moment we cross the threshold, cold slams into me like a wall.
My breath turns to ice crystals. The pressure in my skull doubles, triples—the weight of divine power pressing down on every inch of my body. I stumble. Tyr catches my elbow, steadies me.
“Breathe.” His voice cuts through the pressure. “Stay with me.”
I force air into my lungs. The cold burns, but I can function. Barely.
Tyr’s power pushes outward, creating a bubble of relative calm around us both. Ice cracks beneath his boots, fractures spreading in all directions. The citadel resists—I see it trying to reform, trying to hold itself together—but his presence forces it to give ground.
“Better?”
“Better.” I straighten, though my head still pounds. “Let’s move.”
The corridors twist and turn, designed to confuse anyone who enters. Stairs that appear to climb deposit us back where we started. Hallways fold back on themselves. The Arbiter built this place to trap intruders, to wear them down before the real fight even starts.
But my Auric Veil cuts through the illusions. I see the real path underneath the lies.
“This way.” I take the lead, guiding us left when the corridor seems to go right. “Through here.”
“You’re sure?”
“I see what’s real and what isn’t.” I push through what looks like a solid wall—my hand passes through empty air. “This is just tricks. Distractions.”
He follows without question. The trust lands heavily—a dragon letting a witch guide him into danger. Before the mating, he would have shouldered past me. Now he watches my back and lets me lead.
We move deeper into the citadel. The pressure builds with every step, squeezing my skull like a vise. Blood trickles from my nose—I wipe it away before Tyr can notice.
He notices anyway. His hand catches my chin, tilts my face toward him.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. The divine pressure. It’ll stop when we kill the thing causing it.”
His thumb swipes across my upper lip, clearing the blood. His grip on my chin doesn’t loosen.
“Stay close to me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The crown-forge chamber stops us both.
Crowns hang from the ceiling. Hundreds of them. Golden and gleaming, each one a chain waiting to wrap around some ruler’s throat. Some are half-formed, still being shaped in the blue flames of the forges. Others pulse with finished power, ready to be placed on whatever head the Arbiter chooses.
I’ve read about these. Studied them in archives and ancient texts. But seeing them in person—hundreds of instruments of control dangling overhead like grotesque decorations—makes my stomach turn.
“Every one of these…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“A kingdom controlled.” Tyr’s voice is flat. Hard. “A future stolen.”
“Gods.”
“Not gods. Their tools.” His palm presses between my shoulder blades, steering me forward. “And tools can be broken.”
We move through the chamber without speaking. The crowns seem to track our passage, swaying slightly even though there’s no wind. My skin crawls. I want out of this room.
The central chamber opens before us.
The space is massive—bigger than any throne room I’ve ever seen. Black ice stretches in every direction, polished to a mirror shine. Our reflections stare back at us, distorted and dark.
And there, at the center, sits the Arbiter of Crowns.
It’s huge. Fifteen feet of black ice shaped into something almost human. Armor that gleams like frozen obsidian. A face that’s wrong in ways I can’t quite name—too smooth, too still, no expression at all. No eyes, but I feel it watching us.
And in its chest, a lattice of golden light pulses like a heartbeat. The crown-heart. The source of everything it is. Every crown it’s forged, every ruler it’s bound, every city it’s frozen—all of it flows from that golden glow.
Through my sight, I see what others can’t. The crown-heart isn’t real authority. It’s a lie made solid. Power that only works because everyone believes it does.
“Dragon.” The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. Cold. Empty. “You have returned.”
“For the last time.”
“You have always been a flaw.” The Arbiter rises from its throne, unfolding to its full height. Bigger than I thought. Bigger than should be possible. “A mistake that should have been corrected long ago.”
“And yet here I am.”
The massive head turns toward me. No eyes, but I feel its attention like ice water down my spine.
“You brought the witch. The one who sees.” A pause. “Interesting.”
“She does more than see.” Tyr’s voice carries an edge of warning.
“Yes.” The Arbiter takes a step forward. The ground shudders beneath its weight. “She has changed. You both have. The mating altered you.”
“Enough talking.” Tyr’s power flares, shattering the ice beneath his feet. “You’ve been hunting me for centuries. I’m done running.”
“You were never running.” The Arbiter’s voice holds no emotion. No anger. No satisfaction. Just a cold statement. “You were being herded. Every escape, every near miss—I let you go. I wanted you strong. Desperate. Willing to bond with the truth-seer when survival demanded it.”
My blood goes cold. “What?”
I push my sight outward without thinking—a reflex, the Auric Veil reaching for the lie I desperately need to find there. But the claim sits solid and unchanged under my scrutiny. No fractures. No false authority. The Arbiter is not lying.
“You’re lying,” Tyr growls.
“I do not lie.” The Arbiter tilts its massive head. “I saw the potential. A dragon who rejects control, bonded to a witch who sees through lies. Together, you might threaten me. Apart, you were merely inconvenient.”
“If you wanted us together, why hunt us at all?”
“To force the bond. To make you desperate enough to mate before you were ready.” Another step forward. “I underestimated how much the mating would change you both. That was my error. I will correct it now.”
It moves.
One second, it’s twenty feet away. The next, it’s on us—a massive arm swinging toward Tyr with killing force. He shoves me sideways, takes the blow on his forearm. The impact sounds like breaking stone.
He doesn’t fall. But his boots scrape backward across the ice.
“Move!” He roars it while catching the Arbiter’s next strike, the collision driving him to one knee.
I run. Not away—around. Circling the fight, searching for an opening, watching how the Arbiter moves. It’s fast. Too fast for its size. And here, in its own territory, every advantage belongs to it.
Tyr fights like a force of nature. His power splinters the ice beneath their feet, forces the divine magic to hesitate. Every punch he throws sends shockwaves through the chamber. Every block makes the walls shake.
But the Arbiter is relentless.
Its fist catches Tyr in the ribs. I hear bones crack—the sound cutting through the chaos like a gunshot. He staggers. Blood sprays from his mouth, dark against the pale ice.
“Tyr!”
“Stay back!” He catches the Arbiter’s next blow on crossed arms, the impact driving him to his knees. “Find the weakness! I can’t hold it forever!”
The crown-heart. That’s the weakness. It has to be.
I push my sight deeper, ignore the screaming pressure in my skull, force myself to look past the blinding golden light.
If I can break that belief—
The Arbiter hits Tyr again. And again. Each blow drives him farther back, closer to the ground. Blood streams from his nose, his mouth, a gash on his forehead. He’s losing.
No. Not losing. Buying time.
He’s letting the Arbiter beat him so I can find the weakness.
Tyr screams.