“You give birth,” she said simply. “There will be enough blood. Together, we finish the ritual.
The mountain rumbled again, shaking us.
Ronan’s hand found mine. Benedict’s wing brushed my back. Kieran returned with towels, giving them to Ronan and kneeling next to him. Canavar returned with a pot of water, and Nasi was behind him, Yazmine and Mara hot on his heels.
“Enya! My stars?—”
“The queen, tend to the queen!” she demanded, trying to push herself upright as they stared at her mangled legs.
“Enya.”
Warren landed last, oldest out of anything draken among us. His dark scales had long turned silver, and his hair mostly white. His tired eyes were sad as he took her in, moving to her side and taking her hand.
“Do not fuss,” she chided him.
I lost focus as another contraction ripped through me. I couldn’t help it, I screamed. And deep beneath our feet, the volcano pulsed again as if waiting. The mountain groaned in time with me, it felt like, but that was ridiculous.
Nerissa lifted her blood-coated hands and said the words I never thought I would hear her say: “Let’s begin.”
Benedict snapped a claw across his palm without hesitation. Ronan followed, jaw clenched. Kieran took a steadying breath and drew a line diagonally across his own arm.
I swallowed and extended my wrist. Kieran drew blood, letting it run down to the ground.
“Looks like the queen gets to help with the wards after all,” Benedict remarked, running his claws through my hair. His tongue brushed my skin first—soft, grounding—and then his fang pierced me. My breath hitched, but the pain melted instantly into a warm swell of power as blood welled up. The contractions dulled, and impossible, I relaxed.
Nerissa raised her knife with its edge glowing with old magic, and she stepped toward us.
“Hold still,” she warned, not waiting for our agreement. Quickly she carved with sharp, swift strokes into the ground, marking ancient rules and sigils that had once meant something to the drakens, but the knowledge was fractured and torn now.
Lines of power hummed the moment they touched our blood.
I hissed in pain but didn’t pull away. Ronan gritted his teeth so hard his jaw snapped audibly. Kieran’s breathing went ragged. Benedict didn’t make a sound, but his wings shook violently.
Nerissa carved matching runes onto her own arms, her golden blood glowing like molten fire.
“It’s up to you, Wren.”
Yazmine knelt with Kieran and Ronan between my legs, Mara kneeling nearby with a blanket. Kaida steadied my shoulders when the next contraction hit—hard, deep, ripping up through my spine. The few bloodmagick runes I had rippled with golden light across my skin.
I tried to breathe.
I tried to remember the instructions.
I can bear anything for one more second. Just one more. And another one after that.
I tried to stay conscious through the white-hot pain tearing inside my belly, but the moment the door slammed open, everything inside me stilled.
“I can’t!” I gasped out.
“Wren.” Kieran dropped to his knees at my side, his hands trembling as he brushed hair from my face. “We’re here. We’re right here.”
I swallowed, trying to speak, but the next contraction stole the strength from my lungs.
Benedict crossed the room in two steps. He gripped my hand—firm, grounding, warm—his eyes locked on mine like he could keep me breathing just by staring hard enough.
“Love,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well. Just breathe. Do you want blood?”
I shook my head. This was my battle.
