“And each year, on that same new moon, Hadrian returned to his foster father and mother. He stayed that same fortnight with them, helping them, breathing fire for their forge, taking them on dragon flights, until the day he arrived to find only silence. He found them still abed, for they hadn’t awakened that morning, their bodies curled together and their hands entwined. Their posture was the same as that of his own parents, all those years before. What he didn’t know was that Loreena had been ill and Darian had finally told her that he loved her with all his heart. The confession had been her greatest joy and she had died, after hearing it, thanks to Maeve’s curse. Darian hadn’t been able to imagine his life without her, and he had passed in his sleep, holding his beloved close to his heart. Hadrian buried them beside his parents and fashioned a marker for their grave, using the skills Darian had taught him and his own dragonfire. He made a heart of steel and fire, not unlike the one that was already there.”
Rania recognized the second marker that she’d seen in the clearing. The vision changed quickly, the cottage becoming a mill and then the lair that she recognized as Hadrian’s home.
“And then Hadrian claimed that hut as his home and his lair, for his people had lived there since the dawn of time, and they would remain there ever after.”
A bright orb appeared in the middle of the vision. It became brighter and whiter until Rania had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the vision had faded along with the light. Alasdair exhaled and the cloud of fog vanished, as if it had been dissipated in the wind.
There was a shimmer of blue light and Alasdair shifted shape, taking his human form once again. He appealed to Rania. “So, you see, my cousin has a legacy to defend, and the firestorm, once it sparks, has to be fulfilled. Take me instead. Fulfill your quota, free your brothers, and make a partnership with Hadrian.”
“But...”
“Give me the kiss of death, Rania,” Alasdair insisted as Balthasar looked on. “I volunteer to be the Pyr who dies. Just as our fathers defended each other’s firestorms, I would defend Hadrian’s.”
“You don’t understand,” she told him. “I can’t do that, not anymore.”
But before she could explain, Balthasar tilted his head, listening. “There’s no sound from the studio. Do you think Hadrian’s okay?”
Alasdair straightened with alarm. “Do you smell smoke?”
Nine
The door to Hadrian’s studio was locked. Smoke emerged from the gap under the door and Rania could hear the crackle of flames on the other side. Alasdair and Balthasar broke down the door by force, then kicked it into Hadrian’s studio.
They were greeted by a wall of flames. It was impossible to believe that anyone could survive such an inferno. Rania was amazed they hadn’t heard the fire start. She stepped forward, even as Alasdair held her back, then pointed at a fallen figure before the forge. “There!” Hadrian could just be discerned through the smoke.
Balthasar had already run to get the hose from the garden and he turned it on the fire, slowly creating a path toward the glowing forge. Alasdair and Rania were right behind him, even though Alasdair wanted her to wait behind. She felt responsible for Hadrian’s injury, whatever it was, and negligent for listening to a story instead of paying closer attention. Alasdair cleared away wood and burning debris, ensuring that they’d have a safe path back out of the studio. As they made their way closer, Rania saw that work tables had been tipped and smashed. How could they have missed the sound of this destruction? The Pyr had keen senses and she was observant. It made no sense, but she’d think about it later.
She saw the crucible in the forge, filled with molten metal, and turned to look for Hadrian’s blades. There was no sign of them.
Was this her fault? Had there been no sound because the Fae had come to interfere with Hadrian’s work, because of what she’d told Maeve? Or had they come for vengeance? She couldn’t see the Fae sword either.
They reached Hadrian just as the roof crackled overhead.
Balthasar shouted a warning and Alasdair shifted shape in a flash of pale blue light, taking his dragon form in a flash. He scooped up Hadrian’s inert form and grabbed Rania too, then jumped toward the breaking roof. He shattered the joists with his back and sent burning rafters tumbling back into the studio as he soared into the sky. Balthasar abandoned the hose and shifted shape, as well, his citrine and gold form appearing through the hole in the roof immediately after Alasdair.
Alasdair landed in the river with a splash, letting the water run over his back where the fire had singed his scales. Balthasar shifted shape before he landed and immediately went to Hadrian.
Rania feared that she knew what he would find. She’d already noticed that there wasn’t a glimmer of white light between herself and Hadrian. She could guess that the firestorm was extinguished because Hadrian was dead.
He also appeared to be frozen. He was in his human form, coated with a layer of ice. That also made no sense, given conditions in the studio. The Fae had definitely been at work. Hadrian’s skin was pale and his eyes were closed, his features strangely impassive.
Rania was surprised to feel a mix of helplessness and grief welling up inside her, and found tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t remember ever weeping over anything. She couldn’t remember ever mourning the loss of anyone, but she wanted to wail that Hadrian was dead.
She’d been assigned to kill him and now she mourned him. Was it just because she’d never be able to strike the final blow? Rania knew that wasn’t it.
As Balthasar tried to revive his friend, she realized that she could never have taken the life of this dragon shifter.
But it had happened anyway.
She admired Hadrian too much. She didn’t want to think of a world without his crooked grin or his confident dares. She recalled Alasdair’s story, of the Pyr cousins and how they had helped each other, how they had won the hearts of their destined mates and fulfilled the promise of their respective firestorms, and Rania realized that she wanted to believe that she and Hadrian were meant for each other.
She wished she’d had the chance to be with him in every way, and she even wished she had conceived his son. She wasn’t sure how that could work out, not with Maeve hunting Others, but Hadrian’s death made her question her loyalty to the Dark Queen.
His death felt wrong.
It was wrong.
And Maeve had commanded it.
Worse, Rania had been at least partly responsible. She should never have told Maeve about the gloves. Was it worth serving the Dark Queen if it meant a noble shifter like Hadrian had to die?
Balthasar had shifted shape again and was breathing a slow stream of dragonfire, gradually thawing the ice from Hadrian’s body. Alasdair mimicked his actions, the two massive dragons bracing themselves against the running water of the stream. Their scales glistened and gleamed in the fading light of the day. Rania wondered whether Hadrian would melt away, but he didn’t—he thawed.
He didn’t wake up, though.
Once the ice was gone, she put her fingertips to his throat. There was no pulse. He was still cold. Balthasar changed back to his human form and tried to revive Hadrian, but Rania knew it was too late. She folded her arms across her chest, hating this new sensation of being ineffective.