Page 9

I wake from dreams of fire and wings, his voice still echoing in my head.

Hold on, he had said, or perhaps I only imagined it. I'm coming for you.

The words felt real—more real than anything in this cursed tower, where time moves like frozen honey and the stones themselves seem to watch my every move. But I know better than to trust dreams. Know better than to hope.

Still…something has changed. The constant drain of winter magic on my body has eased slightly, leaving me feeling almost strong for the first time in weeks. Strong enough, perhaps, to do something monumentally stupid.

I dress carefully, choosing the plainest of the gowns Ulric has provided. The fabric is still too fine for my taste, too similar to what I wore in Millrath, but at least it's practical—dark wool that won't show dirt, with enough give to hide the slight swell of my stomach. Not that it matters. Ulric already knows about the baby. Already watches me with that calculating gleam in his eyes, like a merchant appraising valuable goods.

The guards outside my door straighten as I emerge. They're an odd pair—one missing three fingers, the other bearing burn scars across his throat. Neither speaks, but their eyes follow my every movement.

"I'd like to walk the grounds," I tell them, keeping my voice light, uncertain. Playing the scared little bird they expect me to be. "Just to get some air. Surely I’m allowed outside? Even for just a few minutes?”

They exchange glances. The scarred one shakes his head slowly.

"Please?" I let a hint of desperation creep into my tone. "I've been cooped up for so long. I only want to know where I am. Whether we're still even in Kaldoria, or—"

"The prince will see you." The words emerge as a rasp from the scarred guard's damaged throat. It's the first time I've heard either of them speak.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to bother him." I take a step back, letting fear show on my face. "Another time, perhaps—"

Rough hands close around my arms. I could fight them—could call the storm that perpetually rages outside these walls. But that would reveal too much, and it would drain me further. Better to play the helpless captive, to let them think me weak. Better to build my strength and wait to strike.

They march me through twisting corridors that seem to defy geometry. Left turns become right turns, stairs spiral in impossible directions. Sometimes I swear the windows face north, then south in the space of a few steps. If I weren't already familiar with the strange magic that permeates this place, I'd think I was going mad.

Ulric's study lies at the heart of this maze—a circular chamber whose walls are lined with maps and scrolls. Ancient weapons hang between tapestries depicting battles I don't recognize. The air smells of ink and leather and something sweeter, more cloying. The same scent that's been in my food lately, I realize with a chill. Perhaps there’s something in the water of this place.

He stands at a massive desk, golden hair catching the wan light from the narrow windows. The resemblance to his brother is still shocking—they have the same proud profile, the same predatory grace. But where Arvoren's features are hewn from stone, Ulric's seem carved from ice.

"Leave us," he tells the guards without looking up from whatever he's writing. They withdraw silently, closing the heavy door with heavy, final sort of sound.

I wait, letting the silence stretch. Playing his game. After what feels like hours, he finally sets down his quill and turns to face me.

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Curious about the world beyond these walls?"

"I only wanted some air." I fold my hands demurely, the picture of innocence. "It's so stuffy inside, and in my condition…"

"Ah yes. Your condition." He moves around the desk with fluid grace, reminding me uncomfortably of a snake. "How are you feeling? The morning sickness has passed, I trust?"

The concern in his voice sounds almost genuine. Almost. "Yes, thank you. Though lately I've been so tired—"

"A natural result of bearing such powerful blood." He's closer now, too close. "Dragon-King and Windwaker both. An unprecedented combination."

I take a step back, but my heel hits the desk. He follows, pressing closer until I can smell wine on his breath. One hand comes to rest on the wood beside my hip, caging me in.

"You've grown very important to me, Calliope." His voice drops to something approaching tenderness. "More important than you know."

"I'm flattered," I manage, though my skin crawls. "But I belong to your brother—"

"Do you?" His other hand comes up to brush my cheek. I fight the urge to flinch. "The same brother who kept you in chains? Who tried to break your spirit? Who even now hunts you across the continent?"

I think of Arvoren's fierce protectiveness, of the way he would watch me when he thought I wasn't looking. Of the growing warmth in my dreams that feels more real with each passing night.

But I can't let Ulric see any of that. Can't let him glimpse the truth buried beneath my careful facade.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," I whisper, letting my voice catch.

His smile widens fractionally. "Then let me help you believe in something new. Something better." His thumb traces my lower lip. "We could be extraordinary together, you and I. Could reshape this kingdom into something worthy of your power."

Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to call the storm that howls against the tower walls. Instead, I force myself to stay still, to look up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

"I…I need time," I say softly. "To think. To understand what you're offering."

For a moment, I think he'll push further. But then he steps back, that knife-edge smile never wavering.

"Of course. Time is something we have plenty of, after all." He returns to his desk, dismissing me with a wave. "You'll dine with me tonight. We can discuss the future then."

The guards escort me back to my chambers, where a meal already waits. The same sweet smell rises from the soup, making my head spin. I eat it anyway, knowing I need to keep up my strength. Knowing my child needs the nourishment, whatever poison Ulric might be feeding us.

As evening approaches, exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My limbs feel leaden, my thoughts moving through molasses. I barely make it to the bed before darkness claims me.

And then I dream.

He's there again, more clearly than ever before. Arvoren stands in swirling snow, his face lined with exhaustion and worry. When he speaks my name, it resonates through my bones like dragon-song.

Wait for me , he says, and this time I'm certain it's real.

I try to reach for him, to tell him about the baby, about Ulric's plans. But the dream is already fading, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence.

I wake with tears frozen on my cheeks and winter howling at my window. The connection is growing stronger, I can feel it. But will he find me in time? Before whatever Ulric has planned comes to fruition? Before the poison in my food does its work?

Touching my stomach, I feel the child's presence—steady and warm despite everything. They're strong, like their father. Like me.

"We'll survive this," I whisper, though I'm no longer sure who I'm trying to convince. "Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do. We'll survive."

But as night falls properly and the temperature plummets, I can't shake the feeling that time is running out. That Ulric's mask of charm conceals something darker than I've yet glimpsed.

The storm rages on, and somewhere out there, Arvoren is coming for me. I just have to stay alive long enough for him to find us.

I just have to survive.

***

The silent servants come for me at dusk. My limbs feel like lead as I follow them through the tower's twisting passages. That strange sweetness lingers in my mouth from the soup, making the edges of my vision blur. Each step requires more concentration than the last. Something is definitely wrong with me, beyond the usual drains of pregnancy and winter magic.

The dining chamber they lead me to is smaller than I expected—intimate, with shadows pooling in the corners despite the dozens of candles that float impossibly in mid-air. Their flames don't flicker, even when wind howls through the arrow slits. Like everything else in this cursed place, they feel wrong somehow. Suspended between one moment and the next.

Ulric rises as I enter, ever the gracious host. He's dressed for dinner in deep blue velvet that makes his golden hair shine like a crown. The resemblance to his brother is stronger in this light, but there's something off about it—like looking at a painting done by someone who'd only heard Arvoren described.

"You look pale, my dear." He pulls out my chair, his fingers lingering too long on my shoulder as I sit. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Just tired." I force my voice to remain steady as the room spins lazily around me. "The baby takes so much energy…"

"Ah yes. The child." He takes his own seat, watching as servants lay out the first course. That cloying sweetness rises from the soup, stronger than ever. "Such a precious gift. Though I wonder if you truly understand its significance, even now. I endeavour to teach you, Calliope. But even my brother seems to have identified that you’re…something of a slow learner.”

I stare into the golden liquid, fighting a wave of nausea. "What do you mean?"

Ulric’s voice takes on that fever-bright quality I'm learning to dread. "I’m willing to give you your time, of course. But the child will be born in due time, sooner or later, and…”

The way he says it makes my skin crawl. I push the soup away, no longer trusting myself to hide my revulsion. "I'm not very hungry—"

"You must eat." All pretense of charm vanishes from his voice. "For the child's sake, if nothing else."

The child. Not my child.

A threat lurks beneath the words, sharp as the knife beside my plate. I force myself to lift the spoon, to swallow past the fear closing my throat. The soup tastes of honey and something darker, metallic.

"There." Ulric’s smile returns as I continue eating. "Isn't that better? We must keep up your strength."

I wish I could kill you, I think but don't say. Instead, I ask the question that's been burning in my mind: "Why the fine foods? I know there has been famine in the north.”

"Because you deserve better than what my brother offered." He reaches across the table to catch my hand. His skin is fever-hot against mine. "Because I see your potential, your true worth. Arvoren would cage you, control you. I want to set you free."

The lie is beautifully crafted, wrapped in just enough truth to be dangerous. But I've learned to recognize the hunger in men's eyes. Arvoren's possession was fierce but honest—he never pretended to be anything but what he was. Ulric's desire is something colder, more calculated.

"And what would you want in return?" I make myself sound uncertain, yearning. Like I'm actually considering his offer.

His thumb traces patterns on my palm that make my skin crawl. "Only your trust. Your…cooperation." His eyes drop to my stomach meaningfully. "A chance to help guide that child toward its true destiny."

The room spins faster as whatever poison he's fed me takes stronger hold. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Through the haze, I see something move in the shadows behind him—shapes that might be faces, might be wings. The tower's strange magic feels heavier suddenly, pressing down like a physical weight.

"I…" The word comes out slurred. I try to pull my hand away, but my muscles won't obey. "Something's wrong…"

"Shhh." He's beside me now, supporting my head as it lolls back. "Don't fight it. The draught simply helps you rest. Helps keep that storm of yours under control while we…talk."

Arvoren , I think desperately as darkness creeps in. Please. Where are you?

Viscerally, I miss the scent of him, the feeling of him. The taste of his lips on mine. The eternal warmth of him, his hands, his body. The solid and unshakeable truth of what he was willing to do.

And somehow, impossibly, I feel him answer. A pulse of warmth beneath my ribs, a sensation of wind and wings and fierce determination. The connection between us flares stronger than ever, cutting through whatever drug Ulric has given me.

His voice whispers in my mind. In the haze, I cannot make out the words.

But he is there. His presence is within me somehow. I know it like I’ve never known anything before.

"Take her back to her chambers," Ulric orders someone I can't see. "Make sure she's comfortable. We have much to discuss when she wakes."

Rough hands lift me from the chair. As consciousness fades, I catch one last glimpse of Ulric's face. The mask of charm has slipped entirely, revealing something cold and hungry beneath. Something that sees me not as a person but as a tool, a vessel, a means to an end.

I’ll die before he takes my child, I know.

The last thing I'm aware of is that pulse of warmth inside me—Arvoren's presence, growing stronger with each passing hour. Whatever game Ulric is playing, whatever poison he feeds me, he can't sever that connection.

I fall into dreams of snow and winds and a voice calling my name across the endless dark.

Wait for me, it says. I'm coming.

And this time, I believe it.