Page 70 of The Reckoning of Starlight

“Aesar’s interest.” The correction scraped between Lykor’s teeth before he could stifle it. “You never could accept what you did to him.”

Galaeryn’s attention slid to Lykor.

Lykor searched those silver eyes for the male who’d once walked this library with his sons, turning pages of ancient texts with careful hands, naming constellations as if they were kin.

He found nothing.

Aesar’s memories knew that male. Lykor saw only the ambition that had consumed him—the scholar replaced, the father burned away, the king left standing with the Tidecrasher’s prison clutched in his fist.

“Aesar could never see the end.” Galaeryn gave the name no weight, a footnote already filed. “Only what was in front of him.”

The part of Lykor that had guarded Aesar for a century wanted to lunge for Galaeryn’s throat. He shoved the urge away and held still, frost snapping across his clenched fingers.

Galaeryn would keep talking. He always did. In the prisons, Lykor had learned the king liked his grand designs witnessed, even if the only witness was chained to a marble slab and bleeding.

“I’ve always been patient,” the king continued. Right on time. “Two of the dragons have already been brought to heel. The others will when the stars deem it time.”

Rimeclaw’s roar broke across the horizon, deep enough to rattle the windowpanes. Lykor’s talons punched into his palm. Violation carried through the sound, command driven into every scale. The Tidecrasher should’ve belonged to the deep, to frost, to the old violence of the sea.

Galaeryn had bent that vast body into rain over rooftops, into cold sent down to smother flame.

“You pity it.” Galaeryn’s disgust sharpened every word.

Lykor ground his teeth. He’d learned silence was invitation enough.

Galaeryn’s attention raked over the scales on Lykor’s arms, the frost sheathing his fists, the druid gift imprinted in a body the king had tried to perfect. He sneered.

“That bestial corruption you’ve soiled your pristine blood with?” Galaeryn said, the words hissing with the first real edge Lykor had heard from him. “I’ll rise to the Aelfyn without fouling myself. Pure and worthy.”

Lykor’s beastblood snarled beneath his ribs. He kept his face still and hunted the crack—the king’s composure had a seam, and it ran along the word pure.

He’d heard fragments of Galaeryn’s plans before, divulged between his own screams. The king had never hoarded truth, perhaps because he considered himself beyond consequence.

“You still believe they speak to you.” Lykor held his gaze. “That their ancient kind waits among the stars.”

He let the accusation stand, bait sharpened for whatever vanity Galaeryn might spill. Vesryn and Serenna both claimed to hear the Aelfyn’s whispers as well, when sunfire burned through them.

But only Galaeryn had crowned himself their chosen.

“They’re out there.” The gleam in Galaeryn’s eyes brightened, silver catching light that wasn’t in the library. “But they’ve fallen far from their former glory. Those who came to this world failed to return with its power.” Galaeryn’s gaze drifted past Lykor, over Kyansari’s drowning fires, over the rooftops soaked beneath Rimeclaw’s rain. “The dragons will be my offering—every crude element this world has bred.” Only then did he look higher, past the city, past the smoke, to the sky. “Then I’ll ascend to my seat among the starborn.”

Lykor went still. Vesryn had spoken to Aesar of the Bramblemaw den, where buried Aelfyn had whispered of denied ascension, of returning to the stars.

A thread of ugly hope twisted in Lykor’s chest. “You’ll leave this world behind?”

“Behind?” Galaeryn scoffed and lifted his empty palm. Illumination spiraled from his fingertips, stars unfurling into constellations, a galaxy blooming in blue whorls. “Beneath. This world is only the first altar. Once I rise, it’ll keep breeding power. I’ll return to reap what ripens.” The galaxy rotated slowly over his palm. “Why be satisfied with one throne when the universe waits endless above it?”

Beyond the window, Rimeclaw circled over Kyansari’s outermost tiers. Rain drove with him, street by street, turning wraith fires to steam. His warriors broke formation beneath the deluge, wings scattering through the palace spires.

None of the wraith turned to battle the dragon. They knew better.

“Then why are you still here?” Lykor muttered.

Galaeryn closed his fist, collapsing the stars. “My work isn’t finished. I won’t risk crossing the expanse until I am more than flesh. Until the stars dim beside me.”

Lykor almost laughed. Madness, polished into arrogance.

Still, one fact remained—for all the power the king had amassed, it wasn’t enough. Yet. That was the only reason any of them still drew breath.