Page 45 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Every word out of the prince’s mouth was a thought Lykor had already strangled.

“What I have is an alliance one argument from collapse,” he said. “Kaedryn’s druids only trust their children of earth and starlight. Daeryn’s people don’t trust anyone. Half the guildmasters want to scatter into caves and pray to the stars.” He bared his fangs. “I’ve spent hours in councils that make me want to claw my own ears off, listening to every faction argue over which disaster should kill us first.”

Frost crawled over his talons and shattered as fast as it formed. He flexed his fingers like he could wring the city into obedience if he only found the right throat.

“And that fire-breathing whelp still hasn’t granted his boon to Daeryn’s soldiers who bled beside us in the Maw. If I can’t drag Cinderax into action today, the next council is the one where Bhreena walks and takes half the shamans with her.”

Lykor’s breath came ragged, snow billowing around him.

“You think I don’t want to portal into the capital right now and tear it apart? Every hour I spend holding Asharyn together is an hour I’m not looking for him. I know that.”

The recklessness in Vesryn’s eyes glinted feral in the rising sun. “Then stop waiting. We take the fight to them. Now.”

The word yes lodged behind Lykor’s teeth.

Every instinct he’d honed wanted to spit it out and be done. Open the portal. Raid the capital. Teach Kyansari what grief could do with claws.

But the wraith needed another day. Flying in blind before they were ready meant throwing his people into the jaws of a city they didn’t know. And the ones who’d pay with their lives wouldn’t be him or Vesryn.

Lykor held the line because Jassyn would have.

And that was the only leash still strong enough to make him wait.

“No.”

Vesryn scoffed. “You’re not a diplomat. You’re a killer. You drained ten soldiers before dawn. Stop sitting in councils pretending you’re him.” His voice dropped. “Jassyn would’ve never—”

The ice wreathing Lykor’s arms shattered. Shadows erupted from his fists. They hammered the stone at Vesryn’s feet, splitting the ledge in a spray of broken rock.

Vesryn launched, shifting into wings. Fire flared from the clawed tips as he shot into the air. The updraft slammed into Lykor’s face like a furnace door swinging open.

Scales ripped down Lykor’s arms.

Involuntary.

The prince punched skyward out of reach, and Lykor’s instincts responded with pursuit. Worse, some feral, grief-mad part of him wanted to strike Vesryn from the sky.

Lykor’s wings tore free next, membranes snapping wide as he hurled himself off the crumbling ledge after the prince.

They collided above the lake.

Vesryn’s fist cracked into Lykor’s jaw. The impact spun him sideways, and Lykor used the momentum, driving a wing into the prince’s shoulder. His talons sliced through leather, biting deep.

Vesryn snarled. Flames poured from his palms as he slammed both hands into Lykor’s chest.

Heat detonated between them. Lykor’s ice hissed against the blast, but the backlash sent them both plummeting, wings tangled, the lake wheeling below.

They hit a lower shelf of stone hard enough to crater it, dust devouring them both.

Vesryn rolled free first and came up swinging, fire spilling from his knuckles.

Lykor warped and met him head-on. Fist to jaw. Knee to ribs. Vesryn’s fire scorched across his scales, but Lykor hammered a slab of ice into the prince’s middle and drove him across the ledge.

Vesryn skidded to a stop, boots grinding through loose rock, then charged.

They traded blows without art. Without strategy. A brawl on a spur of stone above a city neither of them knew how to save.

Lykor drove his shoulder into Vesryn’s sternum, felt ribs flex under the impact, and took an elbow to the spine that buckled him to one knee. He surged up, slamming a fist of ice beneath Vesryn’s chin.