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The room around us was quiet. For a moment, I thought the bear would challenge me and we’d have to duel right then and there. But instead, they said in a softer rumble, “You say you would die.”

“I would,” I said immediately. “Happily.”

The Bearkin’s head tilted. “Would you live for her, too?”

The question hit hard. I swallowed. “Yes. That’s all I want, to give her a good life. The one she deserves.”

Hawl stared at me. Then, slowly, they shifted to the side. My way was no longer blocked. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Funny how that tended to happen in these situations. I hesitated. Strangely, I felt I owed the bear something in return. “I love her,” I said at last. “And she loves me.”

“So I have gathered,” the bear growled, as if they didn’t appreciate the annoying reminder.

“But,” I said quickly, “she needs you. I know she’s happy you’re here. I hope …” I hesitated, feeling fierce and tender and protective toward Pendragon all at once. After all, this was her family. If I couldn’t be gracious to her family, then what the fuck was I even doing claiming I loved her? “I hope you know you’re welcome here. You are a guest of my house and kin to my consort. I hope we can be … friends.” The bear said nothing. I started to move past. Then I paused, glancing over my shoulder at the bear, unable to help myself. “Glad I didn’t have to kill you to get to her.”

Hawl’s eyes narrowed. “You would not have succeeded had you tried. Now, go. She is waiting.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” I muttered, turning back to the stairs. “You’ve never fought a dragon.”

I opened the door. Pendragon had asked for me. Maybe that should have made me feel like a hero. So why did I feel like a sinner walking toward something pure and holy with dirty hands? The room smelled like us. Jasmine and mint. Apples and autumn leaves. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving the room enveloped in a soft, warm light. Pendragon was curled up in an armchair by the fire, her knees pulled up to her chest. I could see the letter, dropped on the floor by the foot of the chair. I wanted to throw the blood-damned thing in the fire, as if it was the guilty party in all of this.

I closed the door and moved slowly across the room, taking in my girl’s blotchy face, her lashes wet with tears. Her lower lip looked pinker than usual, as if she’d been biting it to keep herself from crying too hard. She looked up at me, and my heart tightened painfully. It didn’t matter that I’d been expecting this, that I’d braced myself for it. It hit me anyway. Her pain was visceral to me, like someone had reached into my ribs and twisted.

“Little dragon,” I said softly. Maybe it was strange to still be calling her that, considering what I was, but it felt right. Maybe I was the dragon, but she’d always brought the fire.

Pendragon looked up at me, and I saw the way the letter had broken right through her armor. I saw the little girl she used to be. I dropped to my knees beside her chair and gathered her into my arms as if she weighed nothing at all. For a moment, her body was stiff. Then she went soft against me. Her surrender felt like a gift.

“I’ve got you, Pendragon,” I said, my voice husky. “I’ve got you, little dragon.”

She clutched my shirt with both hands as I lifted her, carrying her to the couch. The cushions sank under my weight as I half sat, half lay back and pulled her down on top of me, cradling her in my arms. She made a small, broken sound and looked up at me. I kissed the corner of her eye, tasting salt.

“You’re so strong, Pendragon,” I murmured. “But you don’t have to always be strong with me. Let yourself cry.”

Her body shook. The tears came, silent at first, then harder. She tried to turn her face away, as if embarrassed by them, but I wouldn’t let her do that. I slid my hand into her hair, smoothing it back from her damp cheeks. Her hair might have been wild like flames, but it was soft to the touch.

“I hate this,” she said finally, her voice breaking. “I hate that it hurts.”

“I know, little dragon, I know.” I wouldn’t ask her questions. She’d tell me when she was ready.

Her fingers twisted in my shirt. I could feel her skin warm against my chest. “I don’t know why I’m so sad. They’re alive. All of them.”

I felt a strange swell of relief. “Thank the Bloodmaiden.” Another expression that would never be the same, but time and tradition made it roll off my tongue, nevertheless.

“They have children. Morgan and Draven have twins. A little boy and girl. I have cousins, and I didn’t even know. Orcades didn’t tell me. I don’t think she even knew herself. For years, I didn’t know if they were dead or alive. And they didn’t know if I was either,” she whispered.

“Your mother did a good thing, then,” I murmured, smoothing down her curls. We’d table the topic of Orcades bringing down the wrath of Pendragon’s uncle and Hawl on my head.

“I thought I’d left them to die,” she whispered.

My chest clenched. “You didn’t leave them to die—you saved them. You gave up everything. Absolutely fucking everything. You don’t think they know that? If they love you, they know that, little dragon.”

She shifted, settling against me with a little sigh that sounded more like contentment than sadness. “They love me. They mourned me.”

I thought about that for a few minutes. Then I kissed her hair. “I’m sorry. That’s really messed up.”

“When I was reading the letter,” she whispered, “it felt like they were in the room with me. It felt like having a family again. I’d forgotten what that felt like.” She twisted, looking up at me as I brushed the back of my hand gently over her cheekbone. “They wanted to come. But they couldn’t. The Veil …” She gave a bitter laugh.

I groaned. “The world found another way to fuck us over?”

“Basically, yes.”