Page 23

T he greenhouse looms before us, a massive cathedral of glass that captures the full moon’s light in its thousand panes.

I flex my fingers, readying myself for what comes next.

Breaking into Heathborne’s restricted botanical collection isn’t exactly sanctioned curriculum, but then again, Professor Dayn isn’t exactly a conventional teacher.

Of course, after we obtained the relic, Dayn reminded me that we have certain… ingredients to collect, in order to perform the actual ritual.

His amber eyes catch the moonlight as he turns to me. “The wards are strongest at the entrance,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the whisper of wind through the trees. “We’ll use the service door on the eastern side.”

I follow him along the perimeter, staying close to the shadows. My cover identity as a timid scholarship student feels impossibly thin right now. One wrong move, and I’ll be explaining to my coven why I got caught stealing botanical components with a dragon masquerading as a combat instructor.

“Moonfire essence is essential,” Dayn had explained earlier. “Without it, the binding spell won’t take hold.”

Now, as we reach the small door nestled among climbing ivy, I watch him place his palm against the lock. A muted red glow emanates from beneath his fingers, and I catch the acrid scent of melting metal.

“Crude,” I mutter.

His lips twitch slightly. “Efficiency, Salem. Something you might learn from.”

I hold back my reply as the door swings open.

We slip inside, and I’m immediately engulfed by humid, perfumed air that clings to my skin like a second layer of clothing.

The interior of the greenhouse stretches before us, a labyrinth of exotic plants bathed in ethereal moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling.

Pathways wind between beds of vegetation—some familiar, many not.

“The moonfire lilies will be in the center,” Dayn says, already moving forward. “They only bloom directly beneath the full moon.”

Great. Plants as stubborn as you.

I follow him down the narrow path, careful not to brush against any of the specimens. Some of these plants could kill a witch with a single touch—a fact I’m acutely aware of from my own botanical training at Darkbirch.

“Watch the vines near your feet,” Dayn warns without turning. “Strangling ivy doesn’t distinguish between enemies and trespassers.”

As if on cue, a tendril unfurls from a nearby pot, reaching lazily toward my ankle. I step over it, noticing how it recoils. I wonder if it can somehow sense the subtle death essence that clings to my aura—my darkblood signature that the silver tablets are supposed to conceal.

“The ivy seems to dislike me,” I observe.

“I won’t comment on that,” Dayn mutters.

I follow, keeping my steps light on the stone path. “Maybe I should push you into them,” I say, absentmindedly toying with the idea. “Would save a whole load of trouble.”

“You have an open invitation to try.”

I almost feel like getting into another tangle with him…

but maybe somewhere less deadly. All around us, plants rustle and shift in ways that have nothing to do with wind.

The Heathborne botanical collection is infamous for its carnivorous specimens, cultivated over centuries for research and, occasionally, punishment.

As we navigate deeper into the greenhouse, I notice Dayn’s gaze lingering on a cluster of black-petaled flowers nestled in a bed of ash.

“Widow’s Lament,” he says, unexpectedly. “Your grandmother would appreciate these. They’re particularly effective in death chants when harvested during the dark moon.”

I stop mid-step, narrowing my eyes. “How would you know?”

His voice drops lower. “Dragons have long memories, Salem.”

Before I can respond, a nearby plant—something resembling a pitcher but large enough to consume a small child—lunges toward us. Its maw opens, revealing rows of thorn-like teeth dripping with digestive acid.

Dayn moves with inhuman speed, shoving me against the stone wall while extending his other hand toward the plant. A burst of concentrated heat hits the predatory flora, and it recoils with a hiss that sounds disturbingly sentient.

For a moment, neither of us moves. His body is pressed against mine and the sheer proximity sends an unwelcome jolt through my system—my senses suddenly hyperaware of everything about him: the scent of ember and something ancient beneath it, the unnatural heat radiating like a furnace pressed against my chest. I feel the solid contours of him, the tension in his muscles as he remains alert for further threats.

I push away from him with more force than necessary, reclaiming my personal space.

He looks at me in mild surprise at my rather violent motion, but doesn’t say anything.

“Let’s keep moving,” I mutter, straightening my jacket.

After a moment, he asks, “Did I offend your delicate sensibilities, Salem?” His voice carries that insufferable edge of amusement.

“I could list exactly how you offend me but we’d be here all night,” I reply coolly.

I continue down the winding path and turn my thoughts to another subject. One I’ve been curious about for a while. “So, tell me, Dayn. How does an ancient dragon end up playing professor at Heathborne? Seems like quite the demotion from... whatever it is dragons typically do.”

Dayn’s eyes flick toward me, the gold in them catching the moonlight. The corners of his mouth twitch—not quite a smile, but close. “What do you think it is we do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply, carefully sidestepping a cluster of pulsing blue mushrooms. “Trading ancient hoards and terrorizing villages? Going from that to dealing with snotty clearbloods sounds like a step down, in my book. ”

“I see your knowledge of dragon history comes from bedtime stories.”

“Then enlighten me.”

He pauses at a junction in the path, considering which way to turn. “Dragons have always been... curators of knowledge. The hoarding instinct isn’t about gold. It’s about information.” He gestures left, and we continue deeper into the greenhouse.

“So… you’re spying on students?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I prefer to think of it as collecting information,” he replies.

I frown. “But how does that reconcile with your story that you were forcibly bound to this place decades ago?”

“I came here with innocent intentions, believe it or not.”

I almost snort at the word “innocent.”

“After centuries in shadows, even dragons desire a change of scenery,” he continues, and his voice turns bitter.

“I suppressed my magic to blend in, to walk among humans and clearbloods without attracting attention. But I underestimated Heathborne’s detection abilities.

” He gestures vaguely at his chest, where I know the binding runes lie hidden beneath his clothing.

“One moment of carelessness, and I found myself... recruited.”

“That’s a strong risk you took for some probably useless knowledge collection,” I say, studying his face carefully.

He tilts his head, and moonlight catches the sharp angles of his profile. “Knowledge is never useless, Salem. Even the most mundane details can become critical with time.”

I search his face for signs of deception.

After years of training to detect lies, I’ve become adept at spotting the subtle tells—a flicker of an eyelid, a slight tension around the mouth, a momentary shift in breathing.

But Dayn’s face remains frustratingly unreadable.

Either he’s a phenomenal liar, or he’s telling the truth.

“You expect me to believe you were outsmarted by clearbloods?” I ask, skepticism evident in my tone. If there’s anything I’ve learned about Dayn, it’s that he’s sharp. He misses nothing—or close to.

“No,” he says, resuming our path toward the center of the greenhouse. “I expect you to understand that even the most powerful beings have blind spots. Mine was underestimating how far clearblood magic had evolved.”

I consider this as we navigate around a cluster of plants whose leaves follow our movement like predatory eyes. Something still doesn’t ring true to me about his story, but I let it go for now. It looks like we’ve finally arrived.

“There,” Dayn whispers, pointing ahead.

The greenhouse opens to a circular chamber at its center, where the full moon shines directly through a domed ceiling.

There, in perfectly arranged concentric circles, grow the moonfire lilies—their petals translucent and glowing with internal blue-white light.

They pulse gently, like heartbeats, synchronized to some rhythm I can’t quite detect.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, despite myself.

“And deadly,” Dayn adds, approaching the nearest bloom. “Touch them with bare skin, and they’ll burn to the bone.”

I pull out a pair of thin gloves that I keep in my pocket and slip them on. “I’m prepared.”

Dayn produces a small crystal vial. “Three drops from the center of each bloom. No more, no less. The stability of the entire binding depends on precise measurements.”

I nod and carefully approach the nearest lily.

Its glow intensifies as I near it, as if responding to my presence.

I tilt the bloom and press gently at its base.

A droplet of luminescent liquid forms at the center, hanging for a moment before falling into the vial.

It’s mesmerizing—light made liquid, captured in glass.

“Two more,” I murmur, moving to the next bloom.

That’s when we hear it—a male voice carrying through the humid air.

“...third time this week something’s triggered the perimeter alarm. I want a full sweep of the greenhouse.”

Dayn moves faster than my eye can track. One moment he’s beside the lilies, the next his hand clamps over my mouth as he pulls me behind a massive leaf of some elephant-ear plant. The leaf is easily six feet across, providing momentary concealment.

His body curves around mine, sheltering me from view. I feel his chest against my back, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, his presence once again intensely close. His lips brush my ear as he whispers, “Not a sound.”

The beam of a flashlight sweeps across the greenhouse, cutting through the mystical glow of the nocturnal plants. From our hiding place, I see Mazrov moving methodically down the path we just traversed.

My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain he’ll hear it. Dayn’s hand remains firmly over my mouth, his other arm like an iron band around my middle. With each second, the heat from his body intensifies, as if his dragon nature surges closer to the surface in response to danger.

Mazrov pauses near the chamber entrance, his flashlight beam playing over the moonfire lilies. “Someone’s been here recently,” he says to an unseen companion. “The lilies are agitated. ”

I feel Dayn tense behind me. His grip tightens fractionally, and I realize he’s preparing to fight if necessary.

The thought should be comforting—he’s certainly lethal enough to handle a guard—but something in me recoils at the idea of him revealing his true nature here.

If he’s exposed, my cover might be compromised as well.

After what feels like an eternity, Mazrov turns away. “Secure the perimeter and check back in fifteen minutes. I want hourly patrols for the rest of the night.”

The flashlight beam retreats, and footsteps fade into the distance. Still, Dayn doesn’t release me immediately. He waits, listening with senses far keener than mine, before slowly removing his hand from my mouth.

“They’re gone,” he confirms and releases me.

I turn to face him, keeping my voice low. “We need to finish and get out.”

He nods, but there’s something different in his gaze now—a heightened intensity, an almost predatory focus. We return to the lilies, working quickly to collect the final drops.

As I secure the vial, I notice his attention fixed on my hands—specifically, on the cut I made amidst the chaos of the relic chamber, which has reopened after pushing through some thorny undergrowth. A thin line of blood has seeped through my glove.

“Your blood,” he says, his voice deeper than usual, something calculating behind his amber eyes. “It carries the signature of your magic. Strong. Ancient.”

I frown at him, confused. He already knows my ancestry. Why is he acting surprised now?

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but his eyes linger on the blood seeping through my glove. “We need to leave. Now.”

Something about his reaction unsettles me, but there’s no time to question it.

I tuck the vial carefully into an inner pocket of my jacket as we retrace our steps through the greenhouse, moving with greater urgency now.

Behind us, the moonfire lilies continue their pulsing glow, marking our intrusion in their silent language.

At the service door, Dayn pauses to listen once more before we slip out into the night.

As we walk into the darkness, I can’t shake the sensation of his eyes following me—not with casual interest, nor even with assessment.

As if it doesn’t matter that we’ve almost been caught.

As if the possibility of his exposure is nothing compared to whatever is playing out behind those eyes.

It makes me uneasy, the intensity of it.

There’s something else there, something that somehow makes me think of… ancient hungers… forgotten wars.

I clutch the vial of moonfire essence in my pocket and quicken my pace. Whatever game we’re playing, whatever ritual we’re preparing, I’m certain that Dayn hasn’t revealed all his cards. And in my experience, that’s when things get truly dangerous.