Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
AUREN
The interior of Morrigan’s fortress is a continuing nightmare made into stone.
Corridors twist at angles that make my balance uncertain.
Shadows pool in corners that shouldn’t have shadows, stretching toward us as we pass.
The air tastes wrong—thick with old magic and older malice, the accumulated hatred of decades seeping from the walls themselves.
The temperature drops with each step deeper, cold that has nothing to do with climate and everything to do with dark magic concentrated in one place for too long.
Shadow constructs emerge from the darkness every few steps. Not quite alive, not quite dead—creatures of pure dark magic given form and hunger. They reform after being destroyed, pulling themselves back together from wisps of shadow, relentless and patient.
Against normal Fire-Bringer flame, they’d be a serious threat. Against Tamsin—
White fire erupts from her hands, and the constructs evaporate. They annihilate. Where gold or orange fire would push them back temporarily, her flames erase them from existence. No reformation. No recovery. Just absence where shadow used to be.
I watch her fight, and something in my chest tightens.
She moves with a grace that betrays her Valdorian training—every gesture efficient, purposeful, no wasted motion.
Her dark hair whips around her as she spins to face a construct that tried to flank us, white fire already arcing from her fingertips before she’s fully turned.
The copper highlights glow like molten metal.
Her amber eyes burn with focused determination.
There’s nothing cold about the way she fights. She burns with righteous fury, with protective rage, with power that should be terrifying but is instead—
Beautiful.
The word surfaces before I can suppress it. This woman who should need my protection is carving a path through enemy forces like she was born for it. This princess who should be fragile is the most dangerous thing in this fortress. And I can’t look away.
Magnificent. Terrifying. Stunning in a way that has nothing to do with her face and everything to do with who she is.
My dragon rumbles approval deep in my chest. For once, we’re in perfect agreement.
“Auren.” Her voice snaps me back to tactical reality. “Door ahead. Warded.”
I force myself to focus. The door she’s indicating is massive—iron-bound wood carved with symbols that pulse with dark magic. Pain wards designed to punish anyone who touches them. Behind it, according to my mental map of the structure, should be the great hall.
“Can you burn through?”
She studies the door with eyes that have gone distant, reading magical signatures I can’t perceive. “These wards are different. Keyed specifically to Fire-Bringer flame. If I touch them, they’ll absorb the energy and redirect it.”
“Into what?”
“Me, probably.” Her mouth twists. “Morrigan’s been preparing for my arrival for a long time.”
I step forward, calling frost to my hands. “Then we do this the old-fashioned way.”
Dragon ice isn’t just cold—it’s the absence of energy, the nullification of magical heat.
I press my palms against the door and let my power spread through the wood, the metal, the wards themselves.
Where Tamsin’s fire would feed the trap, my frost starves it.
The dark magic sputters, struggles, dies.
The wards crack. Shatter. Fall away in pieces of frozen darkness that crumble to nothing before they hit the floor.
Tamsin’s hand touches my shoulder—brief, warm. Her fire whispers against my cold. “Not just a pretty face, then.”
“I have many hidden talents.” I kick the door open, frost still crackling from my fingers. “Stay close.”
The great hall is a throne room for a queen who was never crowned.
Dark and cold, lit by flames that burn without heat—witch-fire, purely decorative, casting dancing shadows across walls hung with salvaged Valdorian tapestries.
I recognize the weaving style from the intelligence reports.
These are pieces Morrigan took when the Shadow Clan destroyed her former home.
Trophies from a kingdom she helped burn.
The furniture is expensive, elegant pieces that clearly came from a palace.
Tables carved with the Valdorian royal crest. Chairs upholstered in what was once fine fabric, now faded from years in this forsaken place.
At the far end of the hall, a throne sits on a raised dais, its high back carved with symbols of authority.
Tamsin goes rigid beside me.
“That’s my father’s chair.” Her voice is barely a whisper. The controlled warrior from moments ago is gone, replaced by a daughter staring at evidence of her family’s murder. “She took it. When she helped destroy everything, she took the throne as a trophy.”
Rage flickers across her features—hot, immediate, justified. Her fire flares in response, white light pushing back the witch-flame shadows. The temperature in the hall spikes.
“Tamsin.” I grip her arm, forcing her to meet my gaze. “She wants you angry. Wants you off-balance. Don’t give her the advantage.”
She takes a breath. Another. The fire dims to a controlled glow around her hands. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” Her jaw tightens. “It’s just—seeing it. Proof that she was there when they died. That she watched and took souvenirs.”
“Use it later. When it serves the mission.”
A harsh laugh escapes her. “When did you become my emotional handler?”
“When you asked me to be your contingency.” I release her arm, but the warmth of her skin lingers on my palm. “The ritual chamber is through there.” I nod toward a door behind the throne—smaller than the one we entered through, more personal. “Can you feel her?”
Tamsin closes her eyes, her power reaching out in ways I can sense but not see. The air shivers as her magic extends through the walls, searching. When she opens her eyes again, her expression has gone hard.
“She’s waiting. The ritual circle is already active.” A pause. “She knew we’d come this way. Knew I’d burn through her outer defenses. This whole layout—it’s designed to funnel us exactly where she wants us.”
“Then we proceed with eyes open.” I check my sword, verify the frost charges I’ve prepared. “She expects you to walk in afraid. Show her differently.”
We cross the great hall, footsteps echoing on stone floors that have felt only Morrigan’s feet for decades. The stolen throne looms as we pass it—a monument to jealousy, to betrayal, to a family destroyed by one of its own. Tamsin doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t let herself.
The door behind the throne is small. The entrance to the heart of everything Morrigan has built.
Tamsin pauses with her hand on the latch. Turns to look at me.
“Whatever happens in there—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “Don’t say goodbye. Don’t give me final words. We’re going to walk in there, you’re going to end your sister, and then we’re going to walk out. That’s the only acceptable outcome.”
Something flickers in her amber eyes—surprise, maybe. Or something warmer. “That’s not very strategic. A good commander accounts for all possibilities.”
“I’m accounting for the only possibility I’m willing to accept.” I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I’m not saying. Everything I’ve been feeling since she arrived at my gate. “You come out of this alive. That’s not negotiable.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiles—not the battle grin from earlier, but something softer. Something that makes my chest ache in ways I thought I’d forgotten how to feel.
“Acceptable losses don’t include me?”
“No.” The admission costs more than it should. “They don’t.”
She pushes open the door.
The ritual chamber is exactly as Nasyra described—circular, fifty feet across, the floor carved with channels designed for blood and inlaid with silver for magical conductivity.
Focusing crystals ring the space, positioned to amplify power transfer.
Chains hang from the ceiling, enchanted manacles designed to suppress Fire-Bringer flame while allowing a drain to proceed.
And at the center, standing in a ritual circle that pulses with dark magic, is Morrigan.
She looks like Tamsin. That’s the first thing I register—the family resemblance undeniable despite years of dark magic twisting her features.
Same bone structure, same regal bearing, same height and grace.
But where Tamsin holds warmth, Morrigan radiates cold hunger.
Black hair streaked with white falls past her shoulders.
Her eyes shift between colors as magic moves beneath her skin—pale blue to deep violet to something that might be blood red.
Beautiful in a way that sets the teeth on edge. The beauty of poisonous flowers. Of predators in moonlight.
“Hello, little sister.” Morrigan’s voice echoes strangely in the chamber, amplified by the ritual circle’s power. “I was beginning to think you’d never arrive. Did you enjoy my welcome?”
“The shadow constructs?” Tamsin’s voice is steady. Controlled. “They were barely a warm-up.”
“Oh, those weren’t for you.” Morrigan’s gaze slides to me, and something cold and satisfied settles in her expression. “The ice dragon himself. Auren Valek, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
My hand tightens on my sword. “Have you.”
“Lyric spoke of you often, near the end.” The words are designed to wound, delivered with precise cruelty.
“Called for you while I worked. Seemed to think her big brother would save her.” She smiles—a predator’s smile, all teeth and malice.
“He didn’t, of course. You were too late.
How does that feel, I wonder? Knowing she died waiting for you? ”
The ice in my chest cracks. Rage floods through me—hot, immediate, exactly what she wants. My frost flares, spreading across the floor toward the ritual circle.
Tamsin’s hand finds mine. Squeezes once. Brief. Grounding.
“You’re trying to make him angry.” Tamsin’s voice cuts through my fury. “Make him sloppy. It won’t work, Morrigan. He’s not the one you should be worried about.”
“Should I be worried about you, little sister?” Morrigan laughs—a sound like breaking glass.
“You, who I’ve been preparing for since you were born?
Every ward in this fortress, every trap, every defense—built specifically to counter your precious white fire.
You think you’re walking into a confrontation. You’re walking into a cage.”
“Then let’s find out how strong the bars are.” Tamsin releases my hand and steps forward, white fire beginning to glow around her fists. “Auren.”
I know what she’s about to say before she says it. Have known since we walked through that door. But hearing the words still hits me like a physical blow.
“Go. This part I have to do alone.”
Every instinct screams against it. Leave her here? With this monster who murdered my sister, who destroyed her kingdom, who has been building toward this moment for decades? Walk away and trust that she can handle what’s coming?
I look at Tamsin—really look. At the determination in her amber eyes. At the power coiled beneath her skin, ready to unleash. At the woman who threw herself off a rampart to save me, who burned through wards that should have been impenetrable, who has proven herself over and over again.
She doesn’t need me to save her. She needs me to trust her.
“I’ll be right outside.” The words scrape against my throat. “If you need me—”
“I know.” She turns to face me, and for just a moment, the fierce warrior softens into something else. Her hand rises to touch my face—brief, tender, her fire warming my skin. “I know.”
I want to say something. Want to tell her what she’s come to mean to me, what it would do to me if she doesn’t walk out of this room. But the words stick in my throat, frozen by emotional control that chooses now of all moments to fail me.
Instead, I catch her hand before she can pull away. Press my lips to her palm—a gesture that says everything I can’t put into words. Her breath catches. Her fire flares, and mine rises to meet it, frost and flame mingling for just an instant.
“End her.” I release her hand. Step back. Force myself to turn toward the door. “And then come back to me.”
I don’t see her expression as I leave. Don’t let myself look back. If I look back, I won’t be able to leave, and she needs to do this alone. Needs to close this chapter herself.
The door closes behind me.
And I stand in Morrigan’s throne room, surrounded by stolen treasures and burning witch-light, and wait.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done.