Chapter 3
ESME
Iturn my head, my neck clicking with a protest of stiff muscles, and lock eyes with Dayn. He’s standing there with his arms crossed, his silhouette a dark, imposing cut against the shimmering, moss-lit walls.
“Well?” I prompt. “Rayala seems to think you’re a walking encyclopedia for inner spirit-damage. Are you going to share with the class, or are you too busy admiring your brooding reflection in those jars?”
Dayn’s mouth twitches, a micro-movement that would be a smirk if he weren't so committed to his ‘Ancient Authority’ persona. “My knowledge is vast, Esme. It simply requires a certain level of... cooperation to access. Something you aren't exactly famous for.”
“That's rich coming from you,” I reply. “Cooperation is a two-way street, and usually your streets are one-way alleys.”
“This time is different,” he says, voice dropping lower. “This would require both of us to be... fully invested.”
“I'll take my leave,” Rayala interrupts. “The hour grows late, and these old bones need rest. There's food in the kitchen when you're ready to depart.”
“Depart?” I echo, my chest tightening.
“Thank you, Rayala,” Dayn says with a slight bow of his head. “For trying.”
The old scryer shuffles away, her footsteps fading until I'm alone with the dragon whose heat seems to fill every corner of the grotto.
I should be furious at being once again spirited away to some strange location, but the anger feels distant, muted.
Is this what my grandmother's meddling has done—dulled my edges, filed down my rage?
I'm certainly not numb around Dayn, but there's an unfamiliar hollowness where stronger emotions should live.
Though strangely, I’m not sure that’s all bad. With a war on the horizon, a calm heart might be a blessing—life would certainly be simpler without every feeling tied in knots.
Still, I never agreed to this. My grandmother never asked my consent. For that reason alone, I want her work undone, to reclaim the person I was.
I don’t know when it began, but I’m done dancing to others’ tunes, even as a member of Darkbirch’s military.
A burning, primal need courses through me: I will chart my own course, free of anyone else’s control.
I can’t name the spark that ignited this conviction, only that it’s here now, unshakeable.
I swipe my tongue across my lower lip, guarding my expression. Dayn’s presence radiates against me, heat so intense I taste it.
I don’t have the knowhow to undo whatever my grandmother did to me, which means I have two options: ask Dayn to help me remove the block or return to Darkbirch for help.
The latter feels like a nonstarter—Darkbirch is where Esther’s power is strongest and where she intercepted me in the first place.
She wouldn’t allow me to undo her work and she’d probably mess with any attempt.
Confronting Dayn’s methods, outside of Darkbirch, would be harder for her to control, given his own… talents.
So I guess I’ll at least hear Dayn out. As much as I hate to admit it, he may be my only solid option. For better or worse, I can’t deny his skill. He freed himself from Heathborne’s bonds, and though I’d never say it aloud, I trust him more now than when we first met. A little.
“So what’s the deal?” I murmur, cutting through the hush.
“No deal,” he replies, voice low. “Only action. But first, you need to decide if you truly want this path.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Spiritual unblocking is not a simple process, and it’s going to require you to get closer to me... Closer than you’re perhaps prepared for.”
He steps closer, the warmth of him pressing into my skin like a brand. “The block your grandmother placed isn’t just a wall. It’s a lock. And locks like these don’t open with keys. They open with resonance.”
I narrow my eyes. “Resonance?”
He nods once, slow. “Your soul was tuned to a specific frequency—hers. To break it, we have to first retune it. To mine.”
“Oh, how convenient,” I murmur, heat crawling up my neck despite my flat tone. “Are you sure that’s the only option? Or is this just the one you’ve chosen?”
Dayn’s eyes darken, the gold bleeding into liquid amber. “You think I want this?” His voice scrapes lower, rougher. “Why do you think I’d want it?”
The challenge in his voice feels like a physical weight, pressing against my chest until the air between us feels thin and dangerously overcharged.
He takes another step, closing the final distance until the heat radiating from his body is a fever-dream against my skin.
I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, my pulse hammered into a sharp, uneven rhythm by the quiet gravity of him.
“You tell me,” I breathe. “You’ve been circling me like a predator since the moment we met. Why would this be any different?”
Dayn’s gaze flickers for a second to my mouth, the gold in his eyes receding as his pupils dilate.
“You've misunderstood,” he says. His hand rises, not quite touching the pulse point at my throat, but close enough that I feel the air between us charge with his magic.
“This isn't about controlling you. Perhaps what truly frightens you is what remains when your walls come down.”
His words hang in the air, and my mind can’t help flash back to the frantic, fragmented message Helena shrieked before she disappeared: Complete your union.
My stomach folds in on itself at the memory.
Complete your union. From the very beginning, Dayn wanted to find another way to deal with the war, one that wouldn’t involve Ide power or mass slaughter.
But is that even relevant anymore? The Ide’s power has already manifested at Darkbirch.
And it was terrifying—but if we can use it in a localized way to shield our covens, that’s all my people would need to prevent further war.
Anees and his army would have to be utter fools to try attacking us again.
So would the clearbloods. Which would just leave the dragons and the clearbloods to attack each other over territory and whatever else they wanted to fight about…
and maybe they wouldn’t even find it as incentivizing without darkbloods in the mix too.
“Let’s not overcomplicate this with metaphors, Dayn,” I say, trying to steady my voice despite the riot in my chest. “What exactly are you saying?”
His eyes narrow, gold flaring at the edges. “You want my help removing Esther's chains. I'm telling you the process isn't simple. Also, by the way, releasing the Ides won't end this war—it will ignite something far worse.”
The certainty in his voice sends a chill snaking through me. It's unsettling how he seems to have plucked the thought straight from my mind. How did he know what I was thinking just then?
“What makes you so sure?” I ask.
“History,” he replies. One word, sounding heavy with centuries I can’t fathom. “When has power ever brought peace? It doesn't extinguish conflict. It feeds it. Makes the hunger deeper.”
Something cold slithers down my spine as he extends his hand. “We’re not rolling in time, so we should begin. That is... if you're committed. We'll need to gather certain ingredients first.”
Then he turns, golden eyes holding mine a heartbeat too long before gesturing to the corridor. “Though perhaps a fresh outfit and something in your stomach first. You'll find Rayala's table surprisingly worth the detour.”