Chapter 4

“Why?” Cecilia repeated as if I had asked the stupidest question in the world.

“Do you know what it was like to be dragged out of an orphanage and brought into a house where you already had everything? A name. Parents. A fated Dragon Lord.”

“You were too weak to form wings, but fate handed you the Dragon Queen’s place anyway. Why did Cassian’s bond have to choose you?”

She caught my chin, years of buried envy blazing in her eyes.

“I’m stronger than you. More obedient. Better suited to stand beside him. House Ashton and the Obsidian Court should have been mine.”

She leaned close enough that her breath brushed my ear. “You’ve always wondered why your dragonfire kept fading, haven’t you?”

“Since you were twelve, I’ve been adding ash-thorn extract to your tonics. Only a few drops at a time—too little for a healer to notice, but enough to rot your dragon core slowly.”

“The cold-iron powder in your training clothes, the push in the canyon, the switched medicines—that was all me.”

“And last winter’s cold-iron crossbow trap? Mine too. Shame that merchant caravan found you.”

For the first time in years, anger burned hotter than the weakness in my limbs.

I raised my hand to strike her. She caught my wrist without effort.

Cecilia laughed and shoved me to the floor. “What’s this? You finally grew a spine?”

“You can’t even stand.”

Her boot drove into my ribs. I curled around the pain, tasting blood with every breath.

“Watching you lose a little more strength every year was the best part. Watching your parents grow disappointed in you. Watching Cassian push you away with his own hands.”

“When you die, I’ll be the only woman left to become Dragon Queen.”

She kicked me until I stopped making any sound, then straightened her cloak with a satisfied smile.

“Try to die quietly, Evelyn.”

The door shut. Her footsteps faded down the hall.

She had never noticed the dull gray stone on the bedside table glowing faintly red.

It was an echo stone. The innkeeper had given it to me the night before, explaining that if anyone caused trouble, breaking the wax seal would preserve every sound in the room.

Every word Cecilia had confessed was trapped inside it.

I pulled myself up by the bedframe. Blood dripped from my palms and knees, and every breath felt as if a broken rib were piercing my lung.

Still, when I saw the red memory-runes turning inside the stone, I smiled.

Not because I could finally punish her.

Because my parents would finally know I had never lied.

Cassian would finally see what kind of woman he had protected again and again.

I pressed the echo stone to the message array and sent the memory to Cassian, my parents, and all seven elders of the Court.

Red light flashed.

Delivered.

Then I pulled the bond-sigil chip from my message crystal and dropped it into the candle flame. The tiny shard cracked apart, cutting off bond-speech and every message channel at once.

Less than twenty hours remained.

The truth was out. I had no wish to explain anything else, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for apologies.

After nightfall, I left the inn and followed the border road to the Copper Kettle.

Only a few amber lamps burned inside. The tavern mistress, Maeve, was wiping down a table when she saw me. The cloth fell from her hand.

“Gods above, child. What happened to you?”

“May I stay here for a while?” I held the doorframe, my voice barely audible.

Maeve didn’t ask who I was or demand an explanation. “Of course. Sit down before you fall. I’ll get hot water.”

She cleaned the blood from my face with a warm cloth, then brought roasted pumpkin soup and fresh rye bread.

It wasn’t expensive food, but it put a little warmth back into my frozen body.

“Where is your family?” Maeve tucked a blanket around me.

“I don’t have one anymore.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Grief softened her lined face. “I had a daughter about your age. The fever took her ten years ago.”

“If she had lived, I think she might have been like you—hurt and still apologizing for being a bother.”

She reached out and smoothed my tangled hair. There was no hesitation and no price attached to the gesture. It was simply what a mother’s hand did when her child was hurting.

“Would you let me take care of you tonight?” Her smile trembled. “Let an old woman pretend she has her girl back for a few hours.”

The tears I had held in for years finally broke free.

My parents had loved me once. Their love had simply been buried beneath doubt, disappointment, and Cecilia’s endless tears.

This woman knew nothing about me, yet she offered the gentleness I had spent half my life begging to earn.

Maeve helped me into the small loft above the tavern. The room was plain, but the fire was warm. A portrait of her daughter hung on the wall, showing a laughing girl with bright gray-blue eyes.

Maeve changed me into a clean nightgown and combed my hair with slow, careful strokes.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Like silver birch leaves in morning mist.”

I rested against her shoulder. For the first time in years, I didn’t have to brace for the next accusation.

“Thank you, Aunt Maeve.”

“Don’t thank me.” She kissed my forehead. “You gave me the chance to be a mother again.”

The dragonfire in my chest cooled by degrees.

Strangely, the pain went with it. My body became lighter, as if every chain I had carried was finally falling away.

Maeve held me tighter, her voice unsteady with tears. “Sleep, sweetheart. You’re safe here.”

I wanted to tell her how long it had been since anyone had said those words to me.

But the last spark of my dragonfire went out.

As my soul slipped free, the final words I heard were Maeve’s whisper against my hair.

“Good night, my daughter.”