Prologue
The black stone under my boots is starting to hairline fracture.
I don't blame it. I'm vibrating with enough contained violence to level the west wing of the palace. My skin hums with that deep, tectonic itch under my ribs, the one that has been begging me to stop being polite, to stop playing nice, to stop letting the court dress me up like a puppet while they vote on my future like it isn't my life and my mate on the line.
I want out.
I want to rend.
And I'm flat-out refusing the play they are forcing me to make.
"She isn't going to back down, Zyrax."
Valen's voice is a cool blade against the back of my neck. I don't turn. If I look at my second-in-command right now, the gold in my eyes will burn the answer out of him before he can talk me out of something I already decided.
"She wants a circus," I bite out, the words scraping my throat like gravel. "She wants me to parade in front of those vipers and pretend I'm choosing a Queen. Four candidates, Valen. All High-Wing. All from families that have been circling the throne for the last three centuries like starving wolves."
"Then let them circle." Valen steps around me, careful, always careful, his boots finding the only intact piece of floor. He is cool the way ice is cool, a steady blue presence in a room that is quickly turning into a furnace. "Walk the Trial. Let the candidates swoon and posture. When it's over, name your mate and dare the Council to do a damn thing about it."
"And if they hurt her while I'm busy pretending?"
"They won't. They don't know who she is. The Queen Mother may suspect, but she can't prove anything. No one outside this room has scented the bond."
"You think Mother needs proof?" I laugh, but it comes out like a snarl. "She has been in this game longer than both of us combined. She already knows I found someone. That is exactly why she is forcing the Trial before the Twin Moon Festival. She wants me to publicly offer my name to another female before I can claim my actual mate. If I play their game, I am tied to a candidate. If I refuse, they declare me feral, strip my claim, and hunt down whatever I love."
"You don't know that."
"I know those vultures." I look down at my hands, at the gold already bleeding across my knuckles. "Riven Stormheart wants a weakness in me. Vexiron Ironscale is already circling the throne. If they find her before I do, they will not bring her to me in chains. They will bring her to me in pieces."
Valen goes quiet.
The furs on the bed start to singe.
I force my fists to uncurl before I set the whole chamber on fire. "The Sorcerer. Is he here?"
"He is waiting in the antechamber, like you ordered." Valen's brow pulls tight. "You are really going to do this. You are going to open a door to a human woman who has never seen a dragon in her life."
"I am not going to leave her out there while Mother runs out the clock."
"And if the door terrifies her?" Valen's voice is quiet, and that is worse than if he yelled. "I know you feel her through the bond. I know the pull is already tearing you apart. But she is human, Zyrax. She doesn't understand what is happening to her. Every time you reach for her from this side, she probably thinks she is going mad."
The room goes still.
I have been trying not to think about that. Her face, red hair, sharp chin, the way she frowned at nothing and pressed a hand to her chest like something had just touched her. She felt me. And she didn't know what I was. She doesn't know yet.
"I don't even know her name," I admit, the words scraping worse than gravel. "I don't know where she lives or what she does when the suns rise in her world. I only know the exact sound of her heartbeat through the bond, and I know it races every time I reach for her."
"Then how will you find her?"
"The blood." I look at him. "I already had you cut me at the base of my wing. The Sorcerer will use my blood to anchor the door and point it straight at her. That is how I find her."
Valen pulls the glass vial from his coat. My blood swims inside it, dark and thick, still glowing faintly at the edges with the heat I poured into it. One quick slice while I was shifted. Sharp, bright, and worth every second of pain.
"Take me to him," I say.
The Sorcerer's chambers are in the lower levels, tucked into the mountain like a whispered secret. Old smoke and older magic fill my nose. The walls are covered in scratches that look like claw marks at first glance, but they are actually symbols in a language the court tried to bury centuries ago.
The Sorcerer does not bow.
He is thin, bent, with braids of silver and black hanging to his waist and rings on every finger. He looks at the vial in Valen's hand, then at me, then at the smoke still leaking off my shoulders.
"You want me to open a door to your mate."
"I want you to bring her home."
"Home." His voice is dry as ash. "Highness, she has never seen this mountain. She has never smelled the fire of the Volcano Heart. She has never once dreamed of dragons, and if she has, she has told herself it was only a nightmare. I can open the door, but I cannot make her believe what she sees on the other side. You will walk into her world like a god out of an old story, and she will not know whether to worship you or run."
"Then I will make her run toward me."
"Will you?" The Sorcerer tilts his head. "You are not patient, Highness. You are fire. If she screams, you will burn. If she runs, you will chase. If she says no, you will hear the no and still want. She is human. She is soft. She is mortal in ways your blood cannot understand. The bond is only a shadow to her, but you will be a living flame in a world made of paper."
The words land like a blade between my ribs. I don't answer.
Valen steps forward. "Will the door hold if he goes through?"
"It will hold as long as his blood burns. But once he steps into her world, the magic will not follow him. No shift. No soul-fire. No bond shield. He will have to find her, convince her, and bring her back before the door closes. If it closes while he is still over there, he will be stranded. And the Council will declare him feral before the sun rises."
"Then I will be back before dawn," I say.
"You do not know that."
"I know her." I meet his eyes. "And I know if I stay here playing their games, someone else will find her first. Someone who will use her to break me. So either you open the door, or I tear a hole in this mountain with my bare hands and walk until the world ends."
The chamber goes quiet.
The Sorcerer studies me for a long moment. Then he takes the vial.
He pours my blood into a shallow iron bowl. It hisses and bursts into gold sparks that spiral upward like tiny wings. The air tightens until the world presses down on me. The brazier roars from red to white. My skin feels too small.
The Sorcerer begins to chant in that language older than old. I don't understand the words, but my blood does. It answers him. It sings.
The smoke twists, thickens, and then it rips open.
A doorway.
No wood. No stone. Just a tear in the air, shimmering like heat rising off molten rock. On the other side I see a small room. Posters on the walls. A bed with rumpled blankets. A desk covered with textbooks and cheap coffee cups. A half-eaten bag of chips.
And her.
She is sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in her hand, screen lit but she is not looking at it. Red hair. Wild, messy, gorgeous red hair. A worn t-shirt. Bare shoulders. She looks exhausted and beautiful and so heartbreakingly human that my chest actually caves in.
"That's her," I breathe.
Valen moves to my shoulder. "She is young. Human. And she has no idea."
"I know."
"Zyrax." His voice is quiet. "She will be scared of you."
"I know."
"If she runs, you cannot force her. You will not even have your fire."
"I know." I look at him. "I am not going to force her. I am going to make it so she never has to run from anything again."
The Sorcerer holds up a hand. "The door stays open until your blood burns out. Maybe two sunrises. Maybe less. Bring her back before it dies, or you die with it."
I step toward the tear.
The heat of my world presses against my back. The cold of hers pulls at my chest. The bond is a live wire under my sternum, pulsing with her heartbeat, and for the first time in eight hundred years I feel it pulling me somewhere I actually want to go.
I walk through.
