Noli joins me and Mirzayael for dinner. Despite the language barrier between the two, they seem to get along quite well.

  “I’m not sure if she or Dizzi is more excitable,” Mirzayael remarks to me privately. “Actually she’s a lot like Dizzi—if you replaced her love of science with a love of combat.” She grins. “I’d consider that an improvement, really.”

  I playfully shove at Mirzayael’s shoulder, though I may as well be shoving at a brick wall.

  A gust of wind sweeps into the hall as Ollie lands on his platform and trots over to his cauldron for dinner; it’s already half-full of discarded scraps from the kitchen, which Ollie insists are delicious no matter what combination of food gets thrown in there. He quickly laps up the scraps, then turns to us as a server hurries off to the kitchen to let the staff know that Ollie’s arrived.

  “HI, NOLI!” Ollie says to our guest, lifting his chin for better access as she excitedly reaches up to scratch him. “IS ZYNETH BACK, YET? HE PROMISED WE’D GO FLYING AGAIN.”

  Unfortunately, Kanin isn’t here to interpret, and my translation stone is only designed to interpret my words. I pass the message along for him.

  Noli has to stop scratching him to reply, and Ollie rumbles in faint disappointment. “Not yet, it seems, though I do hope he returns soon—it sounds like I just missed him. What’s this about flying?”

  Ollie wriggles in excitement, and I begin to suspect his original question was planted as bait. “HE WENT FLYING WITH ME BEFORE! I HAVE A SADDLE FOR PEOPLE WHO CAN’T FLY SO THEY CAN COME WITH. IT’S SUPER FUN! I CAN DO A BARREL ROLL.”

  Noli laughs. “I’m not sure what that is, but I bet it’s incredibly impressive! Would you like to take me for a flight?”

  “YEAH, YEAH!” Ollie cries.

  “You don’t have to,” I assure her. “He asks everyone to go flying with him.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she signs, grinning up at the dragon. “I’d be more than happy to! It sounds like quite a lot of fun, really.”

  “YAY!” Ollie cheers before I can ask to postpone the flight until tomorrow. Sun sets early within the shadows of the Drifting Isles, and it’s already getting dark out. “I’LL GO GET SORA TO HELP ME PUT THE SADDLE ON.” And with that, he spins around and bounds out of the hall.

  One of the servers reemerges into the dining hall, pushing a large pot of soup on wheels. They pause, glancing around in search of the dragon that should be impossible to miss.

  “Your dinner will get cold,” I mentally tell Ollie. By now he’s probably already down in his lair.

  “OH,” he thinks. “OOPS. I’LL EAT AFTER WE FLY!”

  I shake my head, smiling to myself. Far be it from me to stop him from making new friends and doing what he loves most: terrorizing said new friends with gut-lurching acrobatics. Though I suspect Noli will be harder to scare off than most.

  Noli takes a few small bites of dinner before wisely informing us she’d be back for more after Ollie’s flight, and soon Mirzayael and I are left alone together to eat. It’s a rare occurrence these days, between hosting visitors and hashing out plans with the other councilors.

  “I’m ready to expand our Psionic Link,” I inform her after a time. “You’re right that it would be the safest course of action for our people. Besides.” I think of Torim, Nek, and Dizzi. “There are worse people to share a mind with.”

  She chuckles, then leans down to plant a quick kiss on the top of my head. “There are certainly worse. Though I admit I am quite curious to see their reactions to the Dungeon Core.”

  Imagining their faces brings a smile to mine as well. “Dizzi will be ecstatic, I’m sure.”

  Dizzi is not my daughter. Nothing could ever replace her. But Dizzi feels like a daughter. I care about her quite a bit, and it makes me happy to hear that Mirzayael would like for her to be a bigger part of our life.

  Nek is like a brother to Mirzayael, I think. I know she’d be more than happy to have him become part of our mental network. And even Torim feels like family in a way—a grumpy but well meaning uncle, perhaps.

  As we finish dinner, and Ollie and Noli still haven’t returned, Mirzayael gestures for the balcony. “Shall we go watch Ollie torture our newest friend?”

  I laugh. “You know, just because you hate flying doesn’t mean everyone else does, too.”

  “I don’t hate flying,” she objects as she offers me a hand to help me out of the meal circle. The indentation is shallow, and her help is unnecessary, but I’m happy to let her pull me up. “It’s a respectful and practical fear for those of us without wings.”

  Ollie’s shadow whips through the air overhead, and I think I can hear a manic peel of laughter as he passes us by. “Tell that to Noli.”

  Mirzayael shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Some people have no sense of self preservation.”

  I stand there at Mirzayael’s side, leaning against her abdomen, as I look out over Fyreneth’s Fortress in serene satisfaction. Lights dot the streets far below us like clusters of fireflies. Not even a year ago these streets were dark and uninhabited. I continue to be amazed by what we’ve achieved in such little time.

  The words Gardi had said to me earlier this afternoon float back to me. Life is precious. We should seize the opportunities to express our appreciation for those we care about.

  They’re right. Mirzayael and I have been ignoring our wedding plans in favor of preparing our city for an attack. Yet, Gardi and Salvia didn’t feel the need to wait. Despite the looming threat of the gods hanging over our heads—or perhaps because of it—our city has found such joy and prosperity. We’re living proof that we don’t have to choose between preparation and hope.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “I’ve been working on a bracer design,” I tell Mirzayael.

  Mirzayael looks down at me with a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling with faint surprise. “I didn’t know you knew about that practice.”

  “I’ve been learning.” I rub my wrist. “I know it’s custom to exchange during the ceremony. But I’m tired of waiting, and would like to share it with you now. If that’s alright.”

  “I’d like that,” Mirzayael says, slipping her fingers between mine. “I’ve never been one for tradition, anyway.”

  And yet, I’m well aware of how much time she’s spent trying to learn Earth customs behind my back. I smile, lifting her hand as I reach into my Inventory with my other.

  I draw out the fiery bracer, and Mirzayael watches in silence as she allows me to slip it over her wrist. Even in the dark its various fascets catch the city’s faint light.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, gently turning her arm over to look at the piece from every angle.

  “And practical,” I say, half teasing. “Made of tungsten. It should hold up in combat.”

  “Of course it is,” she laughs quietly. She lowers herself to my level as she slips a hand around my back. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Now that’s a blatant lie.”

  “It’s not,” she insists as I rest my arms on her shoulders, clasping my hands loosely behind her neck. Her smaller, secondary eyes catch the city’s light like a constellation of stars playing across her face.

  “Really?” I quirk an eyebrow. “What about my, and I quote, ‘Obsessive enthrallment with magic’?”

  “That’s come in handy with fixing the Fortress,” she allows.

  I rest my forehead against hers. “Mhm. And my ‘frustrating tendency toward pacifism’?”

  “It balances my own instincts,” she says.

  “I see.” I smile. “You also said I snore in my sleep.”

  She pauses. “Well. You’re nearly perfect.”

  I laugh, and then we kiss.

  When she pulls back, her face is scrunched with affection. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so happy before—her face so free of worry lines. She lets me slip out of her grasp.

  “You know, I’ve also been working on something.” Mirzayael twists part way around to reach a pack strapped to her abdomen. “I wanted to design an Earth wedding dress for you, originally. But I wouldn’t be able to come up with something half as nice as anything Yequariel could, and Nek and Dizzi told me you might appreciate a traditional bracer more, yourself.”

  They did? Why, Mirzayael’s been keeping more thoughts from me than I knew! I’m rather impressed, actually. It’s reassuring as well; if we’re going to become part of an expanding mental network, it’s encouraging to witness others capable of maintaining their own mental privacy.

  Mirzayael turns back around with a bracer of her own, offering it out. With a flutter of excitement, I raise my hand, allowing her to fit it around my arm. There’s something comforting and final about its presence around me as she gently fixes it in place; like being wrapped in a warm blanket. When she takes her hands away, I hold the piece up to the light.

  “I had Sora help me craft it,” she admits. “I’m no leatherworker myself. And Dizzi did the detail work for me; it seems artificing skills are good for fine lines.”

  Unlike my bracer for Mirzayael, which was metal and sturdy, the one she made for me is soft and lightweight. That isn’t to say it’s simple, however—not in the least.

  The bracer is stitched with gold thread and decorated with white beads so small, I first mistake them for grains of sand. A winding design spirals up the length of the bracer and loops to curl around its edges, and when I realize what I’m looking at, tears immediately spring to my eyes: the bracer features an ornate white dragon. My throat knots, and I blink rapidly to disperse the tears so I can get a better look.

  [Check,] Echo says. [Enchanted union bracer designed by Queen Mirzayael for Queen Fyre. Contains the spells Flame Immunity and Barrier.]

  “It’s enchanted,” Mirzayael explains, her tone pitched faintly higher than usual. It takes me a moment to realize she’s nervous; her words come out rushed. “Or, it’s supposed to be. I asked Dizzi to include spells that would help keep you safe. She said she added something she derived from the Greater Barrier spell. And it should also protect you from your flames. I know you’re already fire resistant, but this should make you—and anything you’re wearing—fire proof while the spell is active. I wasn’t sure if there were other spells that I should add, but on such short notice…”

  Laughter bursts from me, and Mirzayael blinks, taken aback. I think that’s the most words she’s said at once in her entire life. I wipe the tears from my eyes and grin. “It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “It’s perfect. I love you so much, Mir.”

  Her gaze softens. “I love you more than the stars in the sky.”

  And for Fyrethians, that means more than I could imagine.

  I light two Jets beneath my feet so I can boost myself up to her level, angling them slightly back to avoid scorching her. This pushes me toward her, but that was also partly my intention. I cup her face in my hands and pull her into another kiss; the warmth that lights up my body this time has nothing to do with my flames.

  Noli and Ollie land back on the platform sometime later, both winded and laughing. After the elf is helped down—and staggers her way over to us, slapping at her numb legs, she’s the first to notice our new accessories. Noli immediately gushes over them, and Mirzayael’s mind swirls with pride as the elf admires my bracer. As soon as Ollie catches wind that he’s been honored in the design, he excitedly presses closer to get a look as well. The boy ruffles his wings in delight; by tomorrow morning, I’m sure he’ll have told the entire Fortress. My heart has never felt so full. I never imagined I could feel so happy—so at home. So much at peace.

  It gets late, and after another hour or so of socializing, Mirzayael and I decide to call it an early night—well, relatively speaking—and head to bed. She suggests her chambers, and I can’t think of a single objection to that idea.

  Then, the Surveillance Spell activates.

  I pause as the alarm goes off in my head. Is it Blair, perhaps? It’s been an unusually long time since she’s visited. I’ve already added Shirasil to our Exception list, so he shouldn’t set off the alarm anymore—unless he appears as Lisari, and she somehow doesn’t count. I’ll have to investigate if that’s an edge case.

  But as I glance around the hall Mirzayael and I are walking down, no gods appear to greet us. I frown.

  “We could check in the red room,” Mirzayael suggests, sharing my thoughts. Our office next to the throne room is where Blair and Shirasil typically find us, after all.

  “Sure,” I agree, turning to head back in that direction. I slip my hand into hers, using Mirzayael to keep me from running into any walls while I shift my attention to the Dungeon Core’s Map interface. I begin to scan through the layout of the Fortress, looking for any dots that are not where they’re supposed to be. And I quickly find one: a lone dhampyr in the throne room.

  That wouldn’t be suspicious by itself; a guest could have gotten lost, or one of our many visiting scholars could have invited themselves inside out of curiosity. But in conjunction with the triggered alarm, my instincts are telling me something’s wrong. My chest twists in mounting concern, and I start to walk faster. “I don’t like this.”

  “The throne room,” Mirzayael agrees, letting go of my hand. She draws her spear. “I’ll investigate.”

  Before I can stop her, she’s taken off, her many legs carrying her through the hallways faster than I could ever run. So I don’t; I activate Jets and fly after her.

  Something new pings in my interface.

  [Detection Spell name match found,] Echo informs me. My stomach turns to ice. She’s referring to my list of known champions and gods. [Teranu.]

  The cold spreads from my core through my entire body in a flash. Teranu is one of the few names on the list I have memorized: he’s the oldest and most powerful champion in the pantheon.

  Lorata’s champion.

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