Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ADELE
Back in the council chamber, maps covered every available surface. Queen Mortiven had assembled her best people, including dragon shifters who’d spent lifetimes navigating these peaks, advisors who understood weather patterns, and scholars who’d studied the mountains’ geological history.
I stood at the head of the table, feeling the weight of every eye in the room.
“Based on the tremor’s epicenter and known fault lines,” I said, tracing my finger along a map, “the exposed formations should be concentrated here, here, and here.” I marked three locations on the highest peaks. “But there could be smaller exposures along these ridgelines.”
A grizzled dragon shifter named Warren leaned forward, studying my marks. “That’s treacherous terrain. Updrafts are unpredictable. Ice shelves unstable.”
“Which is why we’ll need your expertise,” Raoul said from nearby. “You know these peaks better than anyone.”
Warren’s weathered face creased into something that might’ve been respect. “I can get you there safely. But the magic part is all yours, Queen Adele.”
“Magic is the easy part,” I said. “It’s just atmospheric manipulation on a slightly larger scale than usual.”
Raoul’s hand found the small of my back. You’re terrified this won’t solve the problem.
Only a little. If I’m wrong, war becomes inevitable.
You’re not wrong.
Queen Mortiven pushed a leather satchel across the table. “Supplies. Food, water, warming stones for the heights. Take whatever you need from our stores.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased by her offer. Not long ago, this court had viewed us with suspicion. Now they were offering us everything they had.
“Thank you,” Mortiven said. “For caring enough about our children to risk yourselves in those peaks.”
“We’re not risking ourselves,” Raoul said. “We’re being careful and thorough.”
I shot him a look. He’d spent the last hour fussing over safety equipment. Three coils of rope in case two failed. Extra warming stones. Climbing harnesses that I’d probably never use since I’d be riding on his back.
“His Majesty is very prepared,” one of the younger advisors said diplomatically.
“His Majesty is paranoid,” I said, earning startled looks from the council and a grin from my husband.
“I prefer appropriately cautious,” he said.
“You brought four blankets for a day trip.”
“The peaks are cold.”
“I have my dragonfire ring.” I held up my hand. “And you’ll stay close, right?”
“Humor me.”
The way he said it, warm and fond and entirely too charming, made heat spiral through my chest. I wanted to kiss him and throttle him at the same time.
Somewhere between insisting this would remain professional and practical and solving magical mysteries together, we’d stumbled into what looked like love.
A terrifying thought.
“We’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” Raoul said.
Everyone left, leaving us to check and recheck every item. I admired how competent and sure he was, how he anticipated needs before they arose. How he double-checked my weather instruments without touching them, knowing I’d arranged them how I wanted.
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“At packing?”
“At leading. Preparing. Making people feel safe.” I gestured at the organized supplies. “You think through every contingency.”
“Years of practice.” Pleasure colored his voice. “My father used to say proper preparation prevents poor performance.”
“That’s a lot of P’s.”
“He liked alliteration.”
I laughed, and his expression softened, making my belly flip.
“I love your laugh,” he said. “The real one, not the polite one you use in council meetings.”
Oh.
“We should sleep,” I said, because my heart was flip-flopping, and I needed time to process the feelings threatening to overwhelm me.
He nodded, but his eyes said he knew exactly what I was feeling.
And that he just might be feeling it too.
Dawn colored the sky as I climbed onto Raoul’s back. He’d shifted in the courtyard again.
Warren and two other dragon shifters stood ready in their dragon forms. All three were larger than average, built for the mountains’ harsh conditions.
When I nodded, Raoul launched skyward, the other dragons following. Cold air hit my face, sharp enough to steal my breath. I tucked closer to his neck, grateful for his warmth.
We climbed higher than we’d flown before, past where most dragons bothered to go. The air thinned until each breath felt insufficient. My weather magic stirred, recognizing the atmospheric changes, cataloging pressure and temperature and moisture content.
The peaks here were savage and beautiful. Jagged spires of stone thrust toward the sky, their surfaces scoured by relentless wind. Snow clung to impossible angles. Ice gleamed in crevices that may have never seen direct sunlight.
Warren shot flames to gain our attention and tipped a wing toward one area.
The main formation, Raoul said.
We banked toward a massive cliff face where the tremor had split the rock, revealing ancient ice beneath. So simple. Why had I missed it the first time we’d flown this way?
It didn’t look like normal ice. This was compressed, dense, layered like tree rings marking many years of accumulation.
Blues and greens swirled through it, minerals creating patterns that spoke of unimaginable age.
The exposed section had to be a dragon’s height tall, maybe more, and it jutted from the cliff like a frozen wound.
Fates, I breathed. It’s enormous.
Can you handle something this large?
I think so. Doubt crept in. This was so much more than I’d anticipated. What if I couldn’t generate enough heat? What if I lost control of the thermal barrier?
Adele.
It’s alright. I’m fine.
You are. Focus on one part of the task at a time, not the entire structure.
Just give me a moment.
Raoul flew short passes over the formation while I studied it, letting my weather sense map the air currents, the temperature gradients, the way wind moved around the exposed ice. Science. Data. Things I understood.
My confidence rebuilt itself one observation at a time.
Land on that ledge to the side of the formation, I said.
He descended, his claws grinding across the slab of stone, the other dragons landing nearby.
I slid off his back, and he shifted.
Curious, I started forward. My boots hit ice-slicked rock. I started to slide—
Fear spiked through me as I tipped backward toward the edge, toward a drop that would end very badly.
Raoul caught my wrist and yanked me against his chest. We stumbled together, his other arm wrapping around my waist, holding me steady.
My heart surged against my ribs. “That was—”
“We’re not doing that again,” he said, his voice rough. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just clumsy.” I was shaking.
He held me tighter, his body warm and strong. “Careful, sweet. Please.”
“I will be. Promise.”
He didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away. We stood on the ledge, breathing together, while my pulse slowly returned to normal.
When he finally released me, I busied myself unpacking my instruments, trying to ignore how my hands still trembled. The cold bit through my clothes despite the warming stones in my pockets and my dragonfire ring. Up here, the temperature was well below freezing, and the wind cut like knives.
Raoul pulled out one of his many blankets, wrapping it around my shoulders.
I pulled the blanket closer, grateful for his help. “Overprotective dragon.”
“Stubborn witch.”
The familiar banter settled my nerves. I could do this. I just needed to center myself in the task.
I set up my workspace on a flat section of the ledge that was probably still dangerously precarious but would have to do. I cast a quick spell, and the readings confirmed what I already knew.
Perfect conditions for sublimation.
“What do you need from me?” Raoul asked, crouching beside me.
“Stay close. And maybe provide some body heat. This is going to take concentration, and I’d rather not freeze while I work.”
He settled behind me, his chest against my back, his arms loose around my waist. Heat radiated from him, chasing away the worst of the cold. Better?
Much.
I closed my eyes, reaching for my magic. It came eagerly. Wind, pressure, and temperature danced around me in patterns I could sense and shape.
Start small. Build carefully.
I pulled heat from the air currents below, where the temperature was marginally warmer, then drew it up, concentrating it, shaping it into a focused wave of warmth directed at the exposed ice. I infused it with magic and sent it toward the huge slab of ice.
The temperature around the formation began to rise.
The ice responded immediately. Sublimation accelerated, solid becoming gas, skipping the liquid phase entirely. I watched, fascinated, as particles lifted from the surface, sparkling in the morning light.
It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so dangerous.
Time for the hard part.
I expanded my awareness, feeling the thermal currents above and around the formation until I found the natural updraft created by the peaks’ geography. Then I fed it power, warming the air directly above the ice, creating a column of rising heat.
The particles followed, pulled upward by the thermal barrier I was building.
It was like conducting an orchestra. Every element had to work in harmony. Too much heat and I’d destabilize the cliff face. Too little, and the particles would escape my control.
“That’s incredible,” Raoul said, awe blazing in his voice.
The particles rose higher, carried by the thermal column I was maintaining. They sparkled like diamond dust, catching the sunlight as they climbed above the peaks, above where anyone lived, dispersing harmlessly into the upper atmosphere.
Perfect.
Sweat ran down my back despite the cold. This level of magical precision took every bit of training, every scrap of power, and every moment of focus.
But it was working.
The ice continued to release its trapped particles, and I guided them upward, away, safe.