Chapter 73

“I’m sorry,” Yveth said, her voice carrying a weight that made the ice around us seem heavier.

We sat within the grieving goddess’s lair - Adhaneth, Yveth, and I - around a table carved from a single slab of flawless ice. Frost filigree spiraled through its legs and across its surface in patterns too delicate to be anything but deliberate. Behind Yveth, a perfect circular opening had been shaped into the cavern wall. It framed the moonlit mountains beyond like a painting - peaks washed in pale green, valleys drowned in blue shadow.

“It is I who should apologize,” Adhaneth replied softly. “In my sorrow, I withdrew when we should have stood together. You were my friend. My lover. I should not have abandoned you.”

Yveth’s pale fingers tightened against the edge of the table. “You lost more than most,” she said. “Your children. Your friends. A-” She hesitated. “Him.”

“We were all wounded,” Adhaneth answered. Her charcoal skin caught the cold light; her silver wings shifted faintly behind her. “We all lost something. Someone.”

“It broke me,” Yveth confessed. “Shattered my Faith.” Her gaze drifted toward the mountains beyond the window. “I was once the goddess of winter’s beauty. But in the months and years that followed, that goddess died. I changed. The woman - the goddess - I was is gone. Some things cannot be repaired.”

“You endured,” I said quietly.

I had spoken little since arriving. This was their reunion, their reckoning. They had insisted I remain, but I felt more witness than participant.

“I gave up,” Yveth replied.

“You once told me that when we give up, we fade,” I reminded her. “You’re still here. Maybe you wished for **** - but you chose to remain. You endured. Suffering shapes us. Those were your words.”

I held her gaze. “You are not only the goddess of sorrow. You are still the goddess of winter’s beauty.”

She shook her head. “No longer.”

“You told me that when Caelith died, the world burned for years until Ashira rose to take her place,” I said. “But look behind you.” I gestured toward the moonlit mountains. “There is still beauty in winter. No one replaced you.”

I paused, choosing my words carefully.

“When I found my Faith, my demesne transformed - drastically. But some things remained. Roads. Bridges. The foundations beneath it all. You may have changed - but the core of you is still here. These halls of ice aren’t a monument to suffering. They are winter given form.”

Adhaneth regarded me with a faint smile. “He is wise for one so young,” she said. “Much like Arthyr.”

Yveth flinched at the name.

“He was the glue that held us together,” she said after a moment. “But you were our heart.” Her voice softened. “I came to you once, Adhaneth. I tried to wake you from your slumber. When you did not stir, I believed you lost.”

“I was lost,” Adhaneth admitted. “Afraid to wake. Afraid to face a world without Arthyr.” Her silver wings dipped slightly. “While I slept, the world healed. Beauty bloomed. And I missed it because I chose to hide inside my grief. I was selfish.”

“We are all selfish,” Yveth said. “Or at least most of us are.”

Both of them turned to look at me.

I lifted my hands. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m plenty selfish.”

Adhaneth’s lips curved into a smirk. Yveth rolled her eyes - but for the first time since we’d sat down, there was the faintest hint of warmth in her expression.

* * *

Master Nightwell stood near the summit of the Great Arcane Tower - seat of the Circle of Wizards, heart of Morentis’ governance, and home to a hundred promising students. From the open colonnade where he lingered, he could see the entirety of Spellmarch spread beneath him - slate roofs and narrow streets, spired academies and market squares, all giving way to the dark, fertile fields that fed the kingdom.

As the sun slipped behind the western hills, magical lamps winked to life one by one. The city became a constellation of golden lights trembling in the growing dusk.

He did not admire it.

His attention remained fixed on the courtyard far below.

Elise stepped from the tower’s main doors into the walled enclosure. Her plain white dress - proper for an apprentice of Void - caught the rising wind and snapped sharply around her legs. The cold cut through Spellmarch with winter’s teeth, and snow fell in thin, slanting sheets as the gusts strengthened.

A ripple disturbed the air at the courtyard’s center - a subtle warping, as though reality itself had been nudged aside. From that distortion stepped a man with copper hair that fell nearly to his shoulders.

He wore dark leathers and carried a dark staff. His beard was trimmed neatly, his posture relaxed. Tall. Lean. Clean. Unremarkable.

If not for the striking copper of his hair, he might have vanished into any crowd.

He smiled when he saw her. Placed a hand on her shoulder. She flushed.

Nightwell’s eyes narrowed. He was too distant to hear their words, but the exchange was unmistakable. Warm. Familiar. Intimate.

“Do you think she will do as she’s told?” Nightwell asked. His gold robes were enchanted to keep the biting wind from his aging bones.

From the shadow between two columns, another figure stepped forward - indigo robes stirring like ink in water. Master Rookhaven folded his hands within his sleeves.

“Well enough for our purposes,” he replied smoothly. “She is young. And naïve.”

“She is in love,” Nightwell corrected, watching as Seth leaned closer to Elise, their heads bowed toward one another. “That makes her unpredictable.”

Rookhaven’s lips curved faintly.

“Then we will make her predictable,” he said. “If she fears he is infected, she will do as we ask.” His gaze flicked toward the copper-haired man below. “For the good of the world.”

* * *

I started my search for the missing merchant in Reedwatch, gathering everything I could - his route, his wagon, his habits. Anything that might leave a trail.

His name was Jaymes. A half-goblin.

Aside from Grams, I’d never heard of another. They assured me it was rare, though I couldn’t understand why. Biology didn’t seem like the issue. Was it stigma? Suspicion? Old grudges wearing new faces?

Jaymes stood just over five feet - tall for a goblin, short for a human. His skin leaned pale and pink, more his mother than his father. Brown hair. Dark eyes. Long-limbed and a little lanky. He traveled alone in a modest wagon pulled by a single pony, bringing goods up from Northgate once a month - even through winter’s bite.

And now he was nine days late.

A day or two would have meant nothing, not even with the recent snow. But a week? That was worrisome. He usually took the south road into Reedwatch, branching from the old trade road that ran west to Northgate and east toward Iilvarion.

The trip to Northgate would take a week on foot. I wasn’t confident enough in our safety to leave home unguarded for half a month.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to.

South of the village and well out of sight, Serah removed her clothes, folding them neatly before handing them to me. Trusting me to take care of them.

Then she changed.

Her human guise unraveled - bones lengthening, shoulders broadening, skin hardening into crimson scale that caught the light like polished gemstones. Wings burst from her back in a sweeping arc of scarlet membrane and corded muscle. Her spine curved, tail unfurling long and whip-thin behind her. Claws replaced elegant fingers - her neck rose, sleek and regal.

Ruby hair streamed from her crown, trailing down her spine and stopping just short of her tail. Her amber eyes - huge and bright - locked onto mine.

In moments, where a woman had stood, an enormous red dragon towered instead. Second in size only to her father - Pyraeth, the first Flamefather.

She was power sculpted into grace - a sinuous neck built for precision, a narrow tail made for speed, wings vast and commanding, long limbs designed for sky and slaughter alike. Even at rest she seemed poised for motion, like a blade drawn but not yet swung.

Heat rolled from her in steady waves, melting frost into hissing rivulets.

She lowered her head.

I stepped close and kissed her cheek - my lips brushing warm scale. Then I climbed onto her neck, wrapping my hand in that river of crimson hair to steady myself.

She leapt.

Her wings beat - snow exploding outward in a white storm beneath us as the ground fell away.

I’d flown before. Airplanes - stuffy, cramped, uncomfortable. I’d flown under my own power once with Mirri - and it was magical, both figuratively and literally.

This was different.

The wind roared past us, cold and sharp, stealing my breath as we cut through a sky so blue it looked painted. The sensation wasn’t just movement - it was ****. Freedom. Raw, unrestrained power beneath me.

We climbed a few hundred feet - high enough to see the land unfold in detail, low enough to pick out details below us. The plains rushed toward us as Serah covered the distance in record time.

Far to the east I spotted a village. They would have seen us too - a red shape crossing the sky. I hoped we didn’t give them too much of a scare.

We followed the southern road first. It was empty.

Even in winter I’d expected something - a hunter, a wanderer, another merchant. Instead, the road lay abandoned, wind carving thin patterns through drifting snow.

Hours later we reached the old trade road and turned west. There we found life in sparse pockets - a man leading a cow, a trio of men trudging through the rolling hills, a small wagon creaking along under heavy blankets. Few and far between - but at least there were people.

By late afternoon, Northgate rose on the horizon.

No wreckage. No blood. No broken wagon wheels. No sign of Jaymes.

Serah landed beyond sight of the road, shifted back into her human form, and dressed. We continued on foot, reaching the gates by dusk. The guards barely glanced at us before waving us through.

We found an inn near the marketplace and took a room, planning to ask questions the next morning.

Before settling in, I stepped home briefly - checked on everyone - then returned.

Serah and I shared a quiet dinner. Later, we shared a less quiet bed.

Dawn broke and after a light breakfast, we began asking around the marketplace. It didn’t take long to learn that Jaymes hadn’t gone north at all. A few weeks ago, he’d headed south instead.

Worse, we learned trade to the north had been cut off by royal decree. Officially, it was because of dragon sightings. Maybe that was true. But after my last exchange with the royal messenger, I couldn’t help but wonder if dragons were only part of the story.

* * *

We stopped in to see Nanders first, finding him exactly where I expected - holed up in his laboratory. Glassware steamed. Crystals hummed faintly on their stands. He looked up from whatever arcano-machine thing he’d been working on and greeted us.

As brilliant as he was, politics meant nothing to him. He had no sense of the city’s mood, no rumors or news. Still, it was good to see a familiar face. I didn’t know many people in Northgate, and fewer still I trusted.

From there we headed to the marketplace. Winter was still in full swing, and without Jaymes - or any other merchant - making the northern run, both the keep and Reedwatch would feel it. I had thirty-nine gold coins in my pocket. I spent a little over ten on flour, lamp oil, dried fruit, and anything else that might stretch through lean weeks ahead. The goods vanished into my demesne as quickly as I bought them.

We checked in on Dur and Orrik next. Dur lit up the moment he saw Serah, practically vibrating with excitement. In that enthusiasm he let slip that she was a dragon.

Orrik went pale.

To his credit, he recovered quickly - eyes flicking between Serah and his nephew. Dur’s admiration was impossible to miss, and Serah’s fondness for the boy just as obvious. Whatever fear he felt, he swallowed it. We shared lunch together, simple fare and warm bread, and afterward I pressed a small pouch of coins into Dur’s hand.

“Give that to your uncle after we leave,” I told him quietly. He nodded with solemn importance.

We managed to track down Jess before evening. She hadn’t stood on the shore when Brand tried to kill me, but she’d been there in her own way. I’d paid her half my last bounty - twenty-five gold - to teach Mirri and Serah the illusions needed to conjure Ozzy Osourn’s rallying cry. Without that focus for my magic - without that surge of chaos and sound - I wouldn’t have fared as well as I did.

Considering I almost died, that meant she’d saved my life.

We told her how the battle unfolded - how close it had come - and how important her role had been. She blushed, her rose-petaled cheeks deepening to crimson, and tried to wave off her part. She seemed overwhelmed by the scale of it all.

“We all played our part,” I told her. “I don’t get to take all the credit.”

I never liked being set above the others. Serah had a habit of highlighting my feats as though I’d done it alone. I hadn’t.

Jess told us war was brewing in the west. Many of the posted commissions were scouting contracts aimed toward the Iron Nation. Tension was rising.

She asked about the dragons up north.

“It’s handled,” I told her. At least, I hoped it was.

We treated her to dinner before saying our goodbyes.

There was one last stop I wanted to make.

We made our way northeast to the House of Healing - the large white building where the chirurgeons practiced their craft. The young blonde woman with burn scars across her neck and jaw stood at the desk. She recognized me and disappeared to fetch Administrator Ashkettle when I inquired.

When Ashkettle emerged, she looked as tired as ever. Her hair - mostly gray with stubborn streaks of brown - was pulled into a tight bun that seemed to hold her composure together. Her features were sharp, intelligent - her bright eyes carried the echo of a beauty that had hardened into authority with time.

She smiled when she saw me and led us into a small office to the side.

“I won’t keep you long,” I said. I told her the children were well. That I was checking on Dur whenever I could. Then I placed ten gold coins on her desk.

“I’m not sure how the House is funded,” I admitted. “State coffers, donations, fees. But I imagine this won’t hurt.”

She accepted the coins with quiet grace, no false modesty, no effusive thanks. Just a firm nod and the look of someone who understood what it meant to give when you didn’t have much to spare.

We parted shortly after.