Page 87 of The Reckoning of Starlight

Jassyn hooked his awareness into the guard’s mind again, just enough to feel the thread of coercion stretch taut. She stepped to his side, blade lifting toward Farine, becoming the violence his limbs refused.

He only had to give the command.

One order, and the guard would slit Farine’s throat.

Jassyn’s jaw unlocked.

The earth exhaled, wind stirring through leaves.

Blossom’s head snapped skyward just as a shadow cleaved the canopy above.

The soldier at his side detonated.

Flesh and bone burst outward in a red concussion. Jassyn flared a shield on instinct, blood and splintered bone hammering the ward hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Boots struck the moss beside Jassyn, wings veiled in frost, shadows writhing from armor.

Lykor.

His attention landed on Jassyn first, a single searing sweep, cataloging damage. Then it cut across the clearing—the trees consuming the vault, Blossom with Elashor clenched in her jaws, Farine swaying where she stood, chin tilted, already measuring Lykor as another body to command.

Crimson eyes returned to Jassyn, burning with fury and promise.

Jassyn’s shield collapsed. His knees followed.

Lykor caught him. Arms closed around him, scorched armor pressing against his cheek and smelling of frost and smoke. The only person in the grove who’d never required anything from him.

Jassyn buried his face into the crook of Lykor’s neck and let himself stay there, just for a moment.

Blossom growled.

The sound rippled through the glade, low and thunderous. The leathery fringes on her spine lifted.

Jassyn forced himself upright, his remaining strength shuddering back into his limbs. “It’s alright,” he said, lifting his hands to soothe her.

Ice pounding into her hide. Shadows splitting scale. The blinding, burning fire in the mountain. She hadn’t forgotten the scent of those who’d harmed her.

“Lykor didn’t know,” Jassyn said quietly. “He won’t hurt you now.”

Lykor’s wings twitched. His attention slid to the wraith still dangling from her jaws.

“Elashor,” Jassyn whispered.

Lykor went still. From the way his eyes ignited, Jassyn thought he would tear the general from her fangs and finish what the dragon had begun.

“No,” Jassyn rasped. “We need him alive.”

Shadows writhed around Lykor’s fists, frost cracking at the edges of his armor. Then his fury found the only Vallende left unclaimed.

He stalked forward and Farine scrambled back, palms raised as her back hit a tree.

“I made him,” she hissed as Lykor cornered her. Essence flickered in a broken halo as she tried to summon it. “No one will ever love him as I have.”

Jassyn’s breath caught. Old wounds tightened around his lungs, places she’d stitched over with praise but kept festering with poison.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, voice breaking as he reached Lykor’s side. “I wanted to. I just…”

“You’re not a killer,” Lykor said. Warmth bled from his gaze, icing over. “But I am.”