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Hallowyn looked horrified. “That’s not possible. The Veil must be preserved. Without it—”

“Everything breaks,” I finished. “I know. But Viktor must not believe that.” Her shock was genuine. I stared at her, thinking hard. “Or he wanted to preserve the Veil. Until now. Maybe something’s changed. Maybe now he’s ready.”

“Ready for what?” Hallowyn asked.

“Dragons.” The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “That’s what changed. There were no dragons for generations. Viktor can become one, but it seemed to take a hell of a lot out of him. And maybe one dragon isn’t enough. Whatever it takes to tear down the Veil, it was a power he didn’t have, so he kept shoring it up. Because whatever was on the other side, he wasn’t prepared to meet it head on.”

But now he was.

I looked at the priestess. “Is my mother alive or not?”

She closed her eyes. “You cannot reach her. Whatever essence of her may exist is no longer your mother in any meaningful sense of the word.”

So, that was it, then. Desdemona was dead. I cleared my throat. “Is she suffering?”

“I do not know. Truly. She is no longer highblood. She is … something else. Not of this world.”

“All right.” I turned to the door. “That’s all I needed.”

Maybe it wasn’t very polite, but I didn’t bother saying goodbye. I sped down the spiral staircase leading back to the nave. Neville was still nowhere to be seen, but I wasn’t worried about him. That little rascal knew his way around better than I did. I walked straight down the aisle, ignoring the stares from votaries and priestesses who had returned to the chamber.

As I stepped into the atrium someone was coming through the main doors at the same time. Pendragon. She looked flustered. Her cheeks were flushed and some of her red curls were escaping from the black ribbon she’d used to bind them back with. Her beautiful mouth, wide and full, was set in a stubborn line I knew all too well. My heart hitched as she came toward me. Bloodmaiden, she was beautiful. She was dragon fire made flesh. All fire and spirit, something that could never be tamed. Her hair caught the light like burning embers, the waves cascading over her shoulders. I stared at the constellation of freckles that danced over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and my chest ached.

What a strange thing love was. I suddenly remembered something my mother had once told me as a child. That being a parent was like carrying a piece of your heart outside of your body. I’d felt it for Aenia. But never for Regan. Not even close. Now I felt that same depth of feeling for my consort. Loving Pendragon wasn’t simple. It wasn’t merely joy, it was vulnerability and terror. Pleasure and pain woven together so tightly that I didn’t know where one ended and the other began. And to think I’d never wanted this. That I’d fought and resisted. That I’d half convinced myself I hated her—even as I burned for her, yearned for her. Now standing here in the Sanctum, I knew there was nothing I’d trade for it. Not safety or power or peace. Pendragon was a part of me. She was my heart.

My chest tightened as I thought of Florence Shen. This kind of vulnerability was dangerous. It was exactly how a monster like Viktor won.

“What is it? The meeting with Elaria—”

“It didn’t go well,” Pendragon said bluntly. “But that’s not why I came to find you. Our meeting with Elaria ended early.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because the dwarves arrived.”

My brows shot up. “What do you mean the dwarves—”

The Sanctum doors split open a second time, crashing against the walls like a hammer striking stone, and a creature stepped inside. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. And I’d seen fucking dragons. This thing was huge, easily a head taller than the tallest highblood. It was broad and burly and covered head to toe in gleaming gold armor—dwarven armor. The plates were intricate, finely overlapping, and etched with symbols I only recognized from a rabbit hole into dwarven culture I’d gone down for a few weeks as a child. And beneath the armor? Thick, dark brown fur.

A fucking bear was standing in the Bloodmaiden’s Sanctum. I half laughed, half snorted, trying to imagine Hallowyn’s face.

The bear stopped a few feet away, towering over Pendragon and me. Only then did I realize it was carrying a huge battle-ax in one hand. The bear opened its mouth and spoke. “Are you Blake Drakharrow?”

I swear the stones of the atrium shook. I stepped forward, trying not to think too hard about what was happening. “We like to use our indoor voices in the temple. But yes, that’s me. Who the hell wants to know?”

“Blake.” Pendragon’s voice sounded pained. But I wasn’t going to pretend to be civil when a huge armored bear had just yelled in my face while holding a sharp object.

I couldn’t read the bear’s expression. But it let out a low, rumbling growl, then looked down at Pendragon. “This is he? This uncouth, fanged man is your husband?”

Pendragon’s eyes widened. “Husband? I mean, not exactly—”

“Yes,” I snapped, stepping up and wrapping my arm around her waist possessively, while never taking my eyes off the bear. “I’m her husband. Pendragon is mine. Now, who the fuck wants to know?”

“This pale little man?” Now I was sure I was reading the bear’s expression correctly. And the bear wasn’t impressed.

I snarled, baring my fangs. “Hey, is it the hair? It’s a highblood thing. We all have it. And gotta say, it’s kind of rude to talk about someone’s appearance when they’re standing right there. I mean, we just met, but you don’t see me commenting on how hairy you are.”

The bear stared down at me. “You abducted her. You forced her to wed you.”