Page 44 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Vesryn’s fingers drummed against his arms, but he hadn’t intervened. He’d drained soldiers on Galaeryn’s ships like it had cost him nothing. Maybe it hadn’t. Lykor never asked. Didn’t care.

Daeryn had remained in the room, his composure uncracked. Whatever he felt about witnessing ten soldiers drained of power and life, he buried behind the same mask Jassyn wore to every council.

“Distribute the talents,” Lykor ordered. “Your people. Kaedryn’s. Whoever needs them.” His gaze flicked to the druid girl still trembling at Daeryn’s shoulder. “Start with her—if she wants to break the next hand that reaches for her throat.”

Daeryn dipped his head and claimed the nearest orb of Essence.

Vesryn pushed off the wall and opened a portal without a word. He tipped his chin toward the void.

Lykor followed him through.

Dawn spilled on the other side of the rift—pale gold, too bright for a morning that had started with a room full of bodies.

Wind rushed across the upper cliffs above Asharyn, where the desert met the city’s edge and the sky stretched wide enough to drown in. Below, druids moved through the streets beyond the lake—patrols changing shifts, families carrying water—the early rhythm of a sanctuary still pretending it had a future.

From up here, Lykor could almost believe the lie.

His boots scuffed the same ledge of sheared stone where he’d snatched Jassyn back mere weeks ago.

Then, Jassyn had been close enough to touch.

Now the ridge was just wind-scoured rock.

Vesryn stood beside him, overlooking the lake. “We should evacuate.”

Lykor watched a patrol of wraith cross a bridge below. “Not yet.”

“How long do you think we have before the elves make them talk?”

Lykor’s hand tightened against the frost crusting his knuckles. Somewhere, Jassyn could be strapped down, his voice flayed from screaming, trying to turn agony into a problem he could solve while Elashor carved information out of him piece by piece.

The thought split something too deep to touch.

Lykor sealed the wound in ice.

“They’ve been gone two days,” Lykor said. “Galaeryn already knows where we are.”

Vesryn blew out a harsh breath. “Then why are we still standing here? What if the king doesn’t wait to strike?”

“Then Kaedryn gets the civilians out before the streets run with blood.” Lykor had spent half the night dividing Asharyn into exits—assigning districts to portals, marking which routes belonged to families and which belonged to fighters. “Thalaesyn and Mara will oversee the evacuation. The rest of us defend the city to buy them time.”

Vesryn’s mouth tightened. “And if holding the city costs us the raid? We could lose our fighters in the streets.”

“We hit the capital tomorrow.” Lykor clenched his jaw. “The wraith need today to map entry points and retreat routes.”

“Tomorrow.” Vesryn scoffed. “While Serenna, Jassyn, and Fenn could be dying.”

“Don’t rush. Plan first. That was your strategy.” Lykor drove a finger into Vesryn’s armor. “That’s what Jassyn would tell us to do, remember?”

Vesryn’s pupils sliced draconic, slitted against the dawn. “Yesterday, I could still pretend we had time. But every hour we spend standing here is an hour Serenna could be tortured. An hour Jassyn spends—”

“Don’t.”

“—in enemy hands because you won’t—”

Lykor snatched the front of Vesryn’s leathers, frost racing up his arm. “I know exactly what’s happening to them.”

Vesryn shoved him back. “Then we strike now. Before it’s too late. You have a legion of wraith armed with talents. You have me. You have yourself. The two strongest Essence-wielders on this side of the war. We need to act before we’re hunting bodies instead of prisoners.”