Page 40 of The Reckoning of Starlight

The talons at the tips of Jassyn’s wings clenched tight. Serenna and Fenn, perhaps.

And he was the pet.

No memory of speaking to Elashor surfaced, only the unsettling certainty that his mind had been opened and emptied sometime between the sea and Farine’s hands.

Asharyn could already be bleeding from knowledge taken from him whether he remembered surrendering it or not.

Elashor inclined his head. “It does. The city has twenty-three hatchlings across three elements—Emberharts, Tidecrashers, and Stormstrikes.” He grunted. “These ‘druids’ supposedly insist the beasts named their species themselves.”

The king’s mouth thinned. “Riveting.”

“From what we’ve gathered,” Elashor continued, swirling his wine, “the final Warden remains unaccounted for. A Zephyrfang with control over the wind.”

Jassyn’s fingers locked together under the table. Veyrix, another elemental asset waiting to be claimed.

Galaeryn tilted his head. “And the rogue lightning beast? Your scouts haven’t located it?”

Elashor waved the question away. “Irrelevant, if we seize a Stormstrike hatchling from Asharyn.”

Jassyn’s pulse kicked beneath the collar of his coat. Skylash had promised the druids nothing beyond her own vengeance. But with the way Elashor spoke, Asharyn must still be standing, unconquered.

“We’ll see,” Galaeryn said, the words too slight to hold agreement and too cold to invite argument. “Perhaps hatchlings will prove more malleable than the earthbound beast in your possession, which failed at the single task given to it.”

Farine’s laughter chimed beside Jassyn. “It does keep the gardens blooming, though. A charming use for a disappointing creature.”

Blossom. Spoken of like a fountain.

Beastblood stirred in Jassyn’s veins. Scales prickled along his forearms under the jacket sleeves, and he forced the shift down before the fabric split.

Galaeryn’s attention cut toward Farine, unmoved. “Utility comes in many forms. The Aelfyn honor perfection above all.”

His focus passed over the viridian stretch of Jassyn’s wings, then to the scales arranged across his forehead in the shape of a trillium.

Jassyn didn’t breathe until the king looked away.

“We’ll have one of each beast soon enough,” Galaeryn said. “The Aelfyn revealed what this world was made for. When I rise to meet them, I intend to offer it all.”

The pieces aligned in Jassyn’s mind—a dragon of each element, presented as tribute.

The king lifted his goblet, and servants slipped silently along the platform, bearing steaming trays to deliver the first course.

Citrus glaze cut through char and herbal smoke, sweetness layered over heat until the air thickened. Farine’s fingers skimmed the inside of Jassyn’s wrist as a servant set a plate before him.

The cutlery flanking his dish glinted in the drifting illumination—crystal handles, gleaming metal. Jassyn’s attention hooked on the knife, and a pulse of heat locked his hand flat against the table before his mind could finish the thought.

The command was buried deep enough that even a half-formed urge summoned correction.

Jassyn stared at his unmoving fingers. His own body, the enforcer.

Around him, nobles went on murmuring praise for the Drowned Spires. Galaeryn spoke of other sanctums waiting across the realms, Aelfyn ruins he meant to seize for his dominion.

Jassyn focused on every word. If he ever got out, if his memory survived what they did to him, he would need the information—each name, each location, each hint of where the king meant to reach next.

Farine leaned into him, close enough that her perfume clogged the back of his throat. Her grip tightened on his arm, just enough to make him straighten.

Jassyn smiled because the alternative had been trained out of him. The expression settled before he chose it, obedient as his wings when she commanded them open.

He ate because the role required it—gratitude performed in small bites, curated to honor her generosity. The first mouthful scorched his tongue, syrup-laced and searing.