Page 51 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Serenna obeyed, relief striking so sharp it almost hurt. She staggered upright, hands shaking as she dragged her leathers back into place.

She reached for Jassyn as he struggled to his feet. His hand tensed against hers before his fingers closed, but he didn’t pull away.

Ayla planted herself in front of Elashor, arms folded across her crimson armor, chin lifted—somehow managing to look down her nose at a male who towered over her by a head.

“Explain,” Ayla clipped, not even sparing them a glance. “You have no business on Centarya. Your campaign is realms away.”

“My business,” Elashor replied without inflection, “was set in motion centuries before you were born.”

Ayla’s gaze flicked to the velvet rug. Then to Elashor.

“And yet you choose my chambers to rut your legacy into my thrall.” She sneered, and Serenna couldn’t tell who the disgust was for. “If you want access to my assets, you will submit a request through the proper channels. Authorization will not be granted while the king’s expedition remains unfinished.” Her gaze sharpened. “Or do you believe your ambitions carry more weight than Galaeryn’s orders?”

Elashor stepped close enough to make her tilt her chin farther.

Ayla didn’t yield.

“You forget who placed you where you stand.” His gaze dropped to Serenna’s Starshard, reclasped at Ayla’s throat, then lifted to the diadem at her brow. “A half-breed queen. Commander of Centarya. A womb with a crown.” His eyes settled on her middle. “Do not mistake elevation for worth.”

“And yet,” Ayla said, “I can provide the king with something you cannot.” She smiled, though nothing behind it reached her eyes. “So by every measure that matters, General, I’m worth more than you.”

She pivoted on her heel and claimed the space behind her desk.

“I expect a formal missive before you set foot on this island again,” Ayla said, rearranging her papers as though the matter were already settled. “Centarya remains under my command. Your campaign does not grant you leave to trespass here.” She didn’t look up. “Next time, I will treat your presence as an incursion.”

Serenna’s fingers tightened around Jassyn’s. Elashor’s gaze skimmed over them before returning to Ayla.

“Perhaps it would be prudent,” he said, voice lowering, “to remember who this legacy is meant to serve. Try not to confuse position with power.”

He jerked his chin at the door.

Jassyn’s body went rigid before his hand slipped from hers. He followed Elashor into the hall without looking back.

There was nothing Serenna could do but watch him go. Back to the Vallende estate. Back to whatever waited there.

Ayla’s boots sliced across the marble toward her private quarters. The door snapped shut behind her.

Serenna didn’t move, her limbs refusing to steady.

She wouldn’t be grateful for Ayla’s intervention. Her sister hadn’t saved her, only defended a claim by forcing Elashor to step back from what she considered hers.

Serenna and Jassyn had only been the contested property between them. Nothing more.

A retch broke the silence from beyond Ayla’s door. Then another, wet and gagging around a cough.

For one cruel second, Serenna took satisfaction in Ayla’s body betraying her.

Then the feeling turned on her.

She could be the one behind the door, vomiting over a basin while the legacy Elashor had nearly forced into her took root. Still could be, if he came back with Jassyn to finish what Ayla had interrupted.

Serenna shoved into Ayla’s chambers before she could decide why she was going in at all.

The scent of mint and bile clashed in the air.

Ayla stood at the porcelain sink, bracing herself with one hand, rinsing her mouth with the other. Her crimson hair hung half-unbound, a single damp lock clinging to her cheek.

Serenna froze in the doorway. Whatever had driven her inside faltered when their eyes collided in the mirror.