Chapter 29 Nasyra
TWENTY-NINE
NASYRA
The stronghold burns behind us.
Flames climb the black stone walls, devouring centuries of shadow magic, reducing Lakhu’s fortress to ash and memory. The Brotherhood dragons circle overhead, ensuring no one escapes, while the rest of us begin the long flight home.
I ride on Zyphon’s back, pressed against his obsidian scales, my cheek resting between his wings. His heartbeat pulses steady beneath my palm—alive, alive, alive. The rhythm soothes something in my chest that’s been tight with fear since the moment I left him to face Lakhu alone.
He didn’t die. Neither did I. We won.
The words feel strange, even now. After everything—the altar, the resurrection, the manipulated memories, the battle—we actually won. Lakhu is dead. The Dominion Heart is sealed. Selene is safe, flying with Drayke just ahead of us, her arms wrapped around his bronze neck.
Three Relics down. One remaining. King Ulrik is still out there, waiting to avenge his son.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we go home.
The fortress welcomes us with fire.
Torches blaze along the walls, lighting our approach.
Dragons land in waves on the main platform, exhausted warriors returning from battle.
The air fills with the sounds of relief—roars of greeting, calls between brothers, the particular silence that comes when survivors finally stop fighting and start breathing.
Drayke shifts the moment he lands, catching Selene before her feet touch the ground. He crushes her against his chest, his face buried in her hair, his massive body shaking with something that might be sobs. She holds him just as tightly, murmuring words too soft for anyone else to hear.
“Dramatic as always,” Selene says when he finally pulls back. But her voice is hoarse, and tears track on her cheeks. “You know, most couples just do dinner and a movie for date night. They don’t stage full-scale military assaults.”
Drayke growls, low and possessive. “You were on an altar. They were draining your blood.”
“Yes, well,” she pats his chest with exaggerated patience. “I’ve had worse first dates.”
Aisling snorts from somewhere behind me. “That might be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You haven’t heard about my college years.” Selene grins, though it’s shaky around the edges. “Lots of terrible choices. Very educational.”
Rurik pulls Aisling close, his arms wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting on her hair. “Tell me about these terrible choices later. In detail. With illustrations.”
“In your dreams.”
“Frequently.”
I slide from Zyphon’s back as he shifts, his scales rippling into skin. He catches me before I stumble, his hands warm on my waist, his shadows curling around us both.
“You’re hurt.” He touches the cut on my cheek, the dried blood on my temple. “The infirmary—“
“Later.” I lean into him, letting his presence anchor me. “Right now I just want to breathe.”
The three of us find each other in the chaos.
Selene, Aisling, and me—Fire-Bringers who fought together, bled together, sealed a Relic together. We stand in a loose circle near the fortress doors, our dragons hovering protectively nearby, and for a moment, no one speaks.
“We did it.” Selene breaks the silence first, her voice wondering. “We actually did it.”
“The Relic is sealed,” Aisling confirms. “Our combined fire forced it into dormancy. Auren says it should stay that way for centuries, at minimum.”
“And Lakhu is dead.” I can still feel the echo of Zyphon’s satisfaction when the prince’s neck snapped. “Truly dead.”
Selene reaches out, takes my hand, then Aisling’s. The three of us stand connected, fire flickering at our fingertips—her warm gold, Aisling’s steady orange, my shadow-touched darkness.
“Sisters,” Selene says. “That’s what we are now. Fire-Bringer sisters.”
“I’ve never had sisters.” Aisling’s voice is quiet. “Only child. Parents who wanted me to be a lawyer.”
“I had a brother.” The words come out before I can stop them. “He sold me to shadow cultists.”
Selene squeezes my hand. “Blood doesn’t make family. Choice does. And I choose you. Both of you.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. Not fire—or not just fire. Something deeper. The feeling of belonging somewhere, to someone, after death and weeks of manipulation and a lifetime of learning that love can be a weapon.
“Sisters,” I agree. “I choose you too.”
Hours later, when the celebrations have faded and the fortress has grown quiet, I go looking for Zyphon.
He’s not in his chambers. Not in the war room, where Auren is already plotting next steps. Not in the training yards or the library or any of the usual places a brooding dragon might lurk.
But I know where he is. I’ve always known, somehow. The same instinct that makes my fire reach for his shadows, that makes my heart beat faster when he’s near.
The hidden garden.
I find the passage behind the tapestry in his quarters, follow the narrow corridor until it opens into moonlight and flowers.
The garden is even more beautiful at night—moonflowers glowing silver, fire lilies flickering with inner light, the fountain catching starlight and holding it like liquid diamonds.
This place. This impossible, heartbreaking place. He built it for me. Maintained it for centuries while I was dead. Tended these flowers because he couldn’t bear to let go of the woman who loved them.
Zyphon kneels among the roses, his back to me, his shadows flickering unstably around him. He looks broken. Diminished. Like a man who’s won a war and isn’t sure he deserved to survive it.
“I killed your brother.” His voice is raw, rough. He doesn’t turn around. “I couldn’t save you. I’ve carried your death, and now you’re alive, and I don’t—“ His voice breaks. “I don’t know how to stop being the monster who failed you.”
I cross to him. Kneel beside him in the soft earth, careless of my clothes, my wounds, anything except the pain radiating from him. The moonflowers lean toward us, as if they too want to comfort him.
“Look at me.”
He shakes his head. “Nasyra—“
“Look at me.” I take his face in my hands—the same hands that tried to kill him weeks ago, the same hands that held him while we made love, the same hands that saved his life today. I turn his head until he has no choice but to meet my gaze.
His eyes are wet. The man who’s spent years as the Brotherhood’s executioner, the dragon who terrifies enemies into surrender, is crying in a garden.
Something in my chest cracks open at the sight. This is what I do to him. This is what loving me costs.
And this is what I want to spend the rest of my life making up for.
“You didn’t fail me.” I hold his gaze, willing him to believe. “Balroth failed me. The Shadow Clan failed me. You came for me. You fought to reach me. You killed the man who betrayed me and carried the guilt, even though it was never yours to carry.”
“I was too late—“
“You were too late to save my body. But you kept my memory alive.” I gesture at the garden around us. “You kept these flowers blooming. You kept hoping, even when hope seemed impossible. That’s not failure. That’s love.”
“The curse—“
“The curse was punishment for loving me. Not your crime—theirs. They wanted to destroy you for daring to love a Fire-Bringer as an equal. And you survived it.” My thumbs brush the tears from his cheeks. “You’re not a monster, Zyphon. You’re the man who loved me enough to tend a garden of flowers.”
“Nasyra...” His voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m here.” I lean forward and press my lips to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Ever again.”
“Claim me.”
The words fall from my lips before I consciously choose them. But once they’re spoken, I know they’re right. This is what I want. What we both need.
“Let me be what anchors you. What transforms you. What you should have had centuries ago.”
Zyphon stares at me, something raw and desperate flickering in his gaze. “Nasyra, claiming is permanent. Once it’s done—“
“I know what it is.” I pull him closer, pressing my forehead to his. “I’ve seen Drayke with Selene. Rurik with Aisling. I know what claiming means—the marks, the bond, the permanence.” My fire flickers at my fingertips, reaching for his shadows. “I want it. I want you. Forever.”
“Forever is a long time.”
“I’ve already been dead. I think I can handle forever.”
Something breaks in his expression. The last wall, the final defense, the centuries of believing he didn’t deserve happiness crumbling away.
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not careful. A kiss of desperation and devotion and years of wanting. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me against him until there’s no space between us. His shadows surge around us both, wrapping us in darkness that feels like home.
I kiss him back with equal ferocity. My fire rises to meet his shadows, shadow-flame dancing between us, our powers finding each other the way they have from the beginning.
“Inside,” he growls against my mouth. “Not in the garden. I want you in my bed.”
“Then take me there.”