Page 19

The old fortress rises from the mountainside like the bones of some ancient beast, its walls black against the endless white of snow. Wind howls through empty arrow slits and crumbling battlements, carrying echoes that sound almost like voices—soldiers long dead, still standing their eternal watch.

I barely notice its grim majesty. The world has narrowed to the next step, the next breath, the desperate need to keep moving despite the weakness that threatens to drag me under. Our child's magic pulses within me like a captive star, growing stronger even as it drains what little strength I have left.

"Almost there." Arvoren's voice rumbles against my side where he supports most of my weight. Steam rises where his dragon-heated skin meets the frozen air. "Just a little further."

The words swim in and out of focus as darkness crowds the edges of my vision. How long have we been walking? Hours blur together, marked only by the endless rhythm of stumbling steps and the child's strengthening presence. Sometimes I think I hear them in my dreams—not crying, but singing, their magic harmonizing with mine in ways I don't understand.

We cross what remains of the outer wall, ancient wards crackling faintly beneath the ice that coats every surface. The sensation sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with cold. This place remembers what it once was—a bastion against the horrors that lurked in the peaks beyond Kaldoria's borders. Now it stands empty, its only sentinels the wind and snow.

"Here." Arvoren guides me through a half-collapsed doorway into what must have been the garrison's main hall. The ceiling has partially caved in, letting pale light filter through gaps in tumbled stone, but the space is dry and defensible. Faded banners still hang on the walls, bearing sigils I don't recognize—Houses long forgotten by history.

My legs finally give out. Arvoren catches me before I can fall, lifting me as easily as a child. The world spins lazily as he carries me to a relatively intact corner, where old furs still line stone benches built into the wall. The military precision of the ancient garrison's construction protected this small shelter from the worst of the elements.

"Your fever's worse." His voice seems to come from very far away as he settles me on the furs. His hand feels shockingly hot against my forehead—or am I just that cold? "Whatever Ulric did to you…"

"Not him." The words scratch my throat. "Not anymore. It's…"

But I can't finish. Can't tell him that it's our child's magic taking its toll, growing stronger as they grow within me. That every day I feel them more clearly, their power mingling with mine until I can hardly tell where one ends and the other begins.

The last thing I see before exhaustion claims me is Arvoren's face, lined with worry in the dim light. Then darkness sweeps in, carrying me down into dreams.

I stand in Ulric's study, heart pounding as he circles me like a predator. Snow falls endlessly outside the arrow-slit windows, and the cloying sweetness of tea coats my tongue.

"That child you carry," he says, his voice honey-sweet but edged with poison. "Do you really think my brother will let either of you live once he knows? A child with that much power…he'll see it as a threat to his throne. To his control."

The scene shifts, dissolves, reforms. Now I'm in the Sanctum at Millrath, where Arvoren and I were married. But the glass walls show only darkness beyond, and when I touch them, they're warm as blood.

"Mine," Arvoren's voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere. "My wife, my queen, my heart's greatest weakness…"

The words overlap, tangle, become something else: "My possession, my prisoner, my chain…"

But then another voice cuts through the darkness—my grandmother's, though I haven't heard it since I was a child. She stands before me, though her form shifts and flows like smoke on water.

“The old magic stirs," she says, and her voice carries the weight of mountains. "Powers long sleeping begin to wake. The child you carry…they will reshape this world, for better or worse. But first, you must choose. Trust or fear. Love or control. The future hangs by a thread of ice, little one. What will you make of it?"

***

I wake with a gasp, the dream fragments clinging like frost to my skin. The hall is darker now, though a small fire burns nearby, casting dancing shadows on ancient stone. Arvoren sits beside me, his expression unreadable in the flickering light.

"You were calling out in your sleep," he says softly. "Begging someone not to take them. Who were you afraid of losing?"

The question hangs in the air between us, sharp as broken glass. Through our bond, I feel his fear, his desperate need to understand what's happening to me. To us.

And suddenly, I can't bear the weight of this secret anymore.

My hands shake as I push myself to sitting. The child's magic pulses stronger, as if they know what I'm about to do. As if they're trying to give me courage.

"Something's changed in you." Arvoren's voice is barely more than a whisper. "I feel it through our bond—a warmth I don't understand. Power unlike anything…" He breaks off, smoke curling from between his teeth. "Please. Just tell me what's happening. Let me help you."

The raw need in his voice makes my chest ache. I look at him—really look at him—in the dance of firelight and shadow. The proud Dragon King who kept me in chains, who watched my every move with possessive intensity…but also the man who carries me through endless snow, who tends my wounds with shaking hands, who looks at me now with such desperate hope.

"I couldn't trust you before," I say finally. "I was so afraid you'd…and I still am. And I still can’t. But…"

"What?" He moves closer, though he's careful not to touch me. Through our bond, I feel his fear warring with restraint. "Afraid I'd what?"

"Lock me away again. Keep me prisoner until…" My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. "Until I gave you what you always wanted."

His breath catches. For a moment, there's only the crackle of flames and the endless howl of wind through ancient stone. I feel him piecing it together—the changes in my magic, my weakening body, that pulse of warmth deep inside me.

"Calliope." My name emerges as barely more than a breath. "Are you…"

The words stick in my throat. Instead, I take his hand—his skin burning hot against my frozen fingers—and press it to my stomach. Through our bond, I feel the exact moment he senses it: our child's magic, singing in harmony with mine. The incredible power growing within me, born of dragon's blood and Windwaker ancestry combined.

"How long?" His voice shakes. "How long have you known?"

"Since before Ulric found me." The truth spills out like water from a broken dam. "I had just left…left the city. I was so scared, Arvoren. Scared you'd see our baby as just another piece in your game of politics and power. That you'd chain me again, keep me locked away until…"

"Until our child could be a proper heir?" The bitterness in Arvoren’s voice makes me flinch. "Is that really what you think of me? That I would—"

He breaks off, pulling his hand away as if burned. Smoke pours from his mouth as he stands, pacing the length of our shelter like a caged beast.

"What was I supposed to think?" My own anger rises to meet his. "You kept me in chains! Watched my every move like you expected betrayal at any moment. How could I trust you with something so precious when you never truly trusted me?"

"Because I love you!" The words explode from him like dragon-fire. "Everything I did—every chain, every guard, every moment of watching and waiting—was because I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. And you proved me right, didn't you? You ran. You left."

"I left because I had to!" I struggle to my feet, though the room spins alarmingly. “I need my freedom, Arvoren—I need it more than anything. And once I knew… once I knew, I couldn’t come back. I couldn't let our child be born in a cage, no matter how gilded. Because I needed to know if you could ever see me as something more than a possession to be controlled."

He whirls to face me, and for a moment I glimpse the dragon beneath his skin—scales rippling, eyes burning with inner fire. But then he seems to crumple in on himself, the fury draining away to leave something raw and vulnerable in its wake.

"I failed you," he says quietly. "Failed both of you. Everything I did to keep you close only drove you away. And now…" He gestures helplessly at my weakened state. "Now our child drains your strength while I can do nothing but watch."

The defeat in his voice undoes me. Without thinking, I close the distance between us, taking his face in my hands. His skin burns against my palms, dragon-fire warming my frozen fingers.

"Then do better," I whisper. "Be better. Show me I can trust you with this. With us."

He shudders, pressing his forehead to mine. Through our bond, I feel his turmoil—the possessive instincts warring with his desperate desire to prove himself worthy of my trust. To be the man I need him to be. The father our child deserves.

"I want to," he breathes. "Gods, Calliope, I want to be everything you need. But I don't know how. I don't know how to love without trying to possess. How to protect without controlling. How to—"

I silence him with a kiss, but it isn’t bruising, isn’t forceful. I just know in my gut I have no choice but to do it. He seems to know too. Our lips meet softly at first, a tentative brush like the whisper of wind through autumn leaves. His breath catches, and I feel the tension in his body—the dragon's instinct to claim, to possess. But he holds back, letting me set the pace.

I deepen the kiss, my fingers sliding into his hair. It's like touching living flame, warm and alive beneath my hands. Arvoren makes a sound low in his throat, a sort of contented growl. His arms encircle me, but gently, as if I'm made of spun glass.

Through our new bond, I feel his struggle—the battle between primal need and this new, fragile tenderness. I pour my own longing into the kiss, showing him without words that I want this too. That I've missed his touch, even as I feared it.

The kiss turns heated, passionate. His hands roam tentatively, tracing the curve of my spine with reverent fingers. I arch into his touch, a soft gasp escaping my lips. Arvoren pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes molten gold in the firelight.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, his voice rough with need.

I nod, unable to find words. My skin tingles where he touches me, as if his dragon-fire has ignited something long dormant within me. I let my own hands explore, marveling at the play of muscle beneath his skin, the impossible heat radiating from his body.

Arvoren's breath hitches as I trace the line of his collarbone, my fingers dipping lower to rest over his thundering heart. Through our bond, I feel his desire warring with an almost painful tenderness. He touches me like I'm something precious, irreplaceable.

His lips find mine again, more urgent now. I melt into him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the lingering chill. My fingers trace the ridges of scars across his back, mapping a history of battles fought and won. Arvoren's hands ghost over my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"You're so cold," he murmurs against my skin. "Let me warm you."

With infinite care, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to furs warming near the fire. He lays me down carefully, his eyes never leaving mine. The firelight casts flickering shadows across his face, softening the harsh planes and angles.

Slowly, reverently, he begins to undress me. Each inch of skin revealed is met with gentle kisses, as if he's discovering me anew. I shiver, but not from cold. Arvoren's touch ignites something primal within me, a hunger I've denied for too long. I reach for him, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid warmth of his body against mine.

He comes willingly, covering me like a living blanket of heat and muscle. His skin shimmers in the firelight, scales rippling just beneath the surface. I trace the patterns with wondering fingers, marveling at the play of human and dragon. Arvoren shivers at my touch, a low rumble building in his chest.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. His hand splays across my stomach, cradling the slight swell there. "Both of you."

I guide his face to mine, kissing him deeply. For the first time in a long time, I regret nothing. I hold no shred of cold fear in this wounded heart.

We move together as one, our bodies joining in a dance as old as time. Arvoren enters me with exquisite gentleness, his eyes never leaving mine. He holds me as if I’m the most precious thing in this world. I gasp at the feeling of completeness, of two halves finally made whole. He stills, letting me adjust, his whole body trembling with the effort of restraint.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, voice rough with need.

I nod, unable to speak. The bond between us pulses with shared pleasure and awe. Slowly, Arvoren begins to move. Each thrust is careful, measured, as if he's afraid I might shatter beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

The fire casts flickering shadows across our entwined bodies. My husband’s skin shimmers, scales rippling just beneath the surface. I trace the patterns with wondering fingers.

Our movements grow more urgent, a rising tide of passion and need. He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to each fingertip before guiding it to where we're joined. The sensation makes us both gasp. Through our bond, pleasure echoes and amplifies, building like a gathering storm.

I arch into him, wanting—needing—to be closer still. Our bodies move in perfect synchronicity. Our movements quicken, driven by a primal need. Arvoren's skin blazes with inner fire, his touch searing yet impossibly gentle. I cling to him, nails raking down his back as pleasure builds within me like a gathering storm.

Through our bond, I feel his desperate restraint warring with dragon-fierce passion. His eyes lock with mine, molten gold swirling with human tenderness.

"Let go," he breathes. "I've got you."

Something breaks loose inside me at his words. I cry out, back arching as ecstasy crashes over me in dizzying waves. Arvoren follows a heartbeat later, his whole body shuddering as he buries his face in my neck. For a timeless moment, we're suspended in shared bliss, two souls merging into one.

Slowly, reality reasserts itself. Arvoren's weight settles beside me. He holds me close, a sort of desperate closeness, but it isn’t rough, isn’t full of peril. He just holds me as a man holds his wife. I relish in the sensation of his warm breath against the back of my neck. I relish in him. I have never needed anyone or anything more, I think.

Later—much later—we lie tangled together on the furs, his dragon-warmth keeping the bitter cold at bay. One of his hands rests protectively over my stomach, and I feel him marveling through our bond at the pulse of magic beneath his palm. Our child seems to reach for him, their power harmonizing with his in ways that bring tears to my eyes.

"I'll do better," he murmurs into my hair. "I swear it. Whatever it takes, however long it takes to earn your trust…I'll prove myself worthy of you both. You don’t have to believe it yet.”

I want to believe him. Want to trust the fierce tenderness in his voice, the way he holds me like something precious rather than something owned. Want to believe we can build something new from the ashes of what we were.

But I don’t answer. Instead, I hope we can sleep.

Eventually, we do.

***

The dream takes us both at once.

One moment we're lying tangled together in the ruined fortress; the next, we stand atop the highest peak of the Dragonspine Mountains, where the air is too thin to breathe and stars wheel impossibly close overhead. The snow beneath our feet glows with an inner light, and the wind that howls around us carries voices older than kingdoms or crowns.

Arvoren's hand finds mine in the darkness. Through our bond, I feel his awe and terror mirror my own. This is no ordinary dream.

The old blood stirs. The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, ancient as ice and twice as merciless. Dragon and Windwaker combined…such power has not walked these lands since first we blessed them.

Shapes coalesce from the swirling snow—figures too vast and terrible for mortal eyes to comprehend fully. I catch glimpses of wings made of starlight, of eyes like frozen suns, of forms that shift between dragon and storm and something else entirely. The gods of Kaldoria, watching us with ancient interest.

This child, another voice whispers, and the very air seems to crystallize. This impossible child…they could heal the rift between magic and mankind. Could restore what was broken when the first dragons turned from our ways.

Or destroy everything. This voice burns like frost. They almost sound gleeful. Such power cannot be contained. Cannot be controlled. They will remake this world or end it.

The assembly wars, squabbling. Images flash through my mind like lightning: a child with my dark hair and Arvoren's straight nose and hard-drawn mouth, standing amid a storm of their own making. Cities rising from ruins, dragons and humans living in harmony once more. But also: armies clashing beneath a blood-red sky, the very mountains themselves burning with dragon-fire as ancient powers wage war once again.

"Kaldoria." Arvoren's voice rings with certainty, though his hand trembles in mine. "There was once nothing I loved more.”

Laughter like breaking ice fills the air. You? Love? Look at you. Look at what you have become.

You think you can stop what has been set in motion? This child's destiny was written in the stars long before either of you drew breath.

But which destiny? Another voice, gentler somehow. That remains to be seen. A thousand possible paths, each leading to a different fate. The future is unwritten.

More visions overwhelm us: our child growing up in Millrath, loved and protected but also watched by forces beyond our understanding. Learning to harness their incredible power, to bridge the gap between dragon and human magic. Standing against some nameless darkness that threatens to consume everything. Or perhaps becoming that darkness themselves.

"No." The word tears from my throat. "I’ll go to war for them. I’ll bring you low, should I need to.”

Brave words, little Windwaker. But you cannot fight what is already written. The only question is: will you guide them toward salvation or destruction? Will your love free them to choose their path, or will your fear chain them to fate?

The world shifts, dissolves, reforms. We stand in the Sanctum at Millrath, but the glass walls show only stars wheeling in endless dance. Our reflections ripple like water, showing a thousand possible futures: queen and king, prisoners and rulers, lovers and enemies, parents to a child who could reshape the world.

Choose wisely, the voices whisper as darkness creeps in.

I wake with a gasp to find Arvoren already alert, his arms tight around me. Dawn paints the ruined fortress in shades of pearl and silver, but the dream's chill lingers in our bones. Through our bond, I feel him processing what we saw—the terrible weight of destiny pressing down on our unborn child.

"It was real," he says quietly. "Wasn't it? The gods truly have plans for our child."

"Plans we don't have to accept." I press closer to his warmth, one hand curving protectively over my stomach. Our baby moves within me, their magic pulsing strong and sure. "They're ours, Arvoren. Not the gods', not fate's. Ours to protect. Ours to love."

He's quiet for a long moment, his hand covering mine where it rests over our child. Through our bond, I feel his fierce protectiveness warring with lingering fear. "Together then," he says finally. "Whatever comes, whatever the gods or fate have planned…we face it together. As equals."

I turn in his arms to look at him—really look at him.

"Together," I agree softly, because I know he needs to hear it. Because I love him enough to give him that.