Page 32 of The Reckoning of Starlight

The power moved through him like root through soil, planting deep in his chest where Cinderax’s ember burned.

His wings flared wide behind him. Maroon drained from the membranes in branching threads, and viridian flooded after it, sweeping through the leather in a green tide.

The flame in his chest dimmed, flickered, and dissolved.

What replaced it grew in silence—a seed cracking open in loam, a forest stirring beneath his ribs, roots taking hold in the dark where fire had once kept vigil.

Jassyn didn’t realize he’d moved until his arms closed around Blossom’s snout.

Her scales were cool at first. Then warmth rose through them, slow and steady as a heartbeat through bedrock.

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting herself be held.

A tear slipped down Jassyn’s cheek.

The estate still confined them. Elashor’s compulsion still waited in the dark of his mind. Farine’s manor still slept beyond the garden, and all its reaching hands would soon begin to stir.

But another captive breathed against his chest now, ancient and alive.

Jassyn held tighter.

He knew what he would fight for.

And how deep he would drive the roots before the Vallendes realized the ground beneath their legacy had begun to rot.

CHAPTER 7

SERENNA

“Wings,” Ayla said as she snapped her fingers.

Serenna flinched and shifted before the Starshard could force it.

Bones cracked one by one up her spine as her wings tore free. The initiate uniform Ayla had commissioned pinched where the slits had been cut too narrow, fabric sawing into tender joints as the violet membranes stretched taut.

Since their return the day before, Ayla had given Serenna and Fenn no reprieve. Between rounds of questioning, menders had sealed their wounds only so the interrogation could continue, each answer pried out under the threat of Serenna’s lightning searing Fenn’s chest or his fire scorching her skin.

Ayla sniffed as she circled, inspecting Serenna’s wings.

Serenna fixed her attention on the windows overlooking Centarya. Beyond the glass, morning sun struck the water pouring from the portal above the Spire, gilding the endless fall as it spilled over the island’s edge.

She glanced away before her mind could turn the rift into a way out.

These quarters had once belonged to Vesryn, though the room had been gutted of his presence. His dragon sigils were stripped away along with his armor and Aesar’s books he’d salvaged from another life.

Only crimson remained, an erasure that didn’t need blood to call itself conquest. The color claimed the furniture, walls, and tapestries, each marked with Ayla’s sigil—a shrike clutching her Starshard diadem in its talons.

“I have the perfect use for you,” Ayla mused, drawing to a halt in front of her. “My forces need live training. They’ll learn faster facing creatures that can summon flame and storm and shift into this…” Her lip curled as her attention returned to Serenna’s wings. “…beast form.”

Serenna went still before her face could betray her. Live training. That meant Fenn too. The last she’d seen of him was the night before, vanishing into Taryn’s quarters across the hall, his Starshard in his sister’s grip—both prisoners kept close.

“And if you survive,” Ayla continued, “you might even be worth keeping.”

Serenna swallowed. Ayla knew enough now—dragons, hatchlings, Asharyn. Their secrets had been extracted piece by piece, each answer given to keep their own power from being turned against the other.

But Ayla was still here, hoarding what she’d learned instead of delivering it to the throne.

“Why haven’t you told the king Rimeclaw kept his gift from him?” Serenna asked before caution could stop her. “Or sent Elashor to Asharyn?”