Chapter Six – The Trial of Fire and Blood
The fire circle was drawn in ash and bone, ringed with broken swords and melted steel. The exiles of Varlund gathered under a blood-orange sky, silent as ghosts.
Serenya Dravari stood barefoot at the center, clothed in oiled linen, arms bare. Her copper hair was tied back in a warrior's braid, and her hands were bound in rough cloth to steady her grip—on herself.
Around her, torches were raised.
"You want fire to follow you?" Maerys said. "Then show it you're worth following."
The torches dropped.
The circle roared to life.
Smoke choked the air. Heat warped her vision. Her lungs begged. Her knees trembled. One heartbeat from collapse.
But Serenya stood.
One hour passed. Then another. Until the flames died, not with a scream—but with a hush.
Maerys knelt beside her as the crowd dispersed, dipping burned linen in crushed aloe and saltwater. Serenya's legs were blistered, her lips cracked, her breath shallow.
"You didn't scream," Maerys said.
"I couldn't," Serenya rasped. "They would've heard."
Maerys smiled thinly. "Good. But pain must be remembered. Or it becomes nothing."
She gently pressed her palm over Serenya's chest.
"Flame bless the wound," she whispered in the old tongue. "Let fire mark what blood forgets."
Behind them, in the dark, the black dragon egg pulsed once—a faint ember in the shadows.
"They're listening now," Maerys murmured. "You bled for them. Fire respects blood."
At Frosthall, the courtyard was quiet before dawn.
Kaelen found Alenra in the stables, trying to bridle a snow-coated horse with one arm while hiding her carved wooden sword under her cloak.
"You planning to follow the caravan on your own?"
Alenra froze. "I'm not staying here."
"You're ten."
"I'm better than half the guards."
Kaelen approached slowly. "That's not the same as being ready."
Alenra gripped the reins harder. "She gets to go. Father takes her. But I'm the one who watched the watchman's son die from frost. I know what cold is."
Kaelen crouched to meet her eye.
"Strength isn't in the blade, Alenra. It's in knowing when not to draw it."
Alenra looked away. "Will you make me a real one? A real sword. Not wood."
Kaelen smiled gently. "When you come back, I'll forge it myself."
The gates of Frosthall creaked open under a pale sun.
Ysra rode beside their father, golden hair braided in queenly fashion, while Alenra sat behind a guard, pouting beneath a fur-lined cloak.
"Keep them safe," Torren said to Kaelen.
"They don't need me to."
"Doesn't mean they shouldn't have you."
Kaelen nodded. "You'll lead now."
"I already was. Now I do it in daylight."
Lady Myra Vaylen stood alone in her solar, fingers brushing an unopened letter—sealed in violet wax, the sigil of House tessarien. Her sister's house. Her sister's last words.
She never broke the seal.
Instead, she lit a candle.
And watched the flame dance.
"Regret is a poison," she whispered. "I'd rather freeze."
That night, Kaelen found her in the observatory, wrapped in silence.
"You never come here."
"I do. When I forget to hate myself."
Kaelen stayed quiet.
"You look like her."
"My mother?"
"Yes. I hated her. Because he loved her."
The wind whispered around them. Neither moved.
"But I fear for you," Myra added. "And fear is close to love. Closer than hate."
He turned his head slightly. "Thank you."
Myra looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time in years.
"Don't thank me. Just survive."
That same night, Torren handed Kaelen a scroll, its wax broken.
"Ash at Eldenreach," he said.
"Dravari?"
"No one knows. Not yet."
They stood together in the cold.
"When we were boys," Torren said, "you took the lash for me. Three stripes on your back because I stole food for Alenra."
"You were the heir."
"You still are," Torren said. "You're the shield. I'm the one they point."
Kaelen looked toward the dark mountains.
"If you fall," Torren said, "will you protect what's mine?"
Kaelen nodded. "Always."
A lone rider reached Frosthall's gate at dawn, cloak black with soot. No words. Just a letter.
Torren opened it.
"The fire spreads. Eldenreach has fallen. Not to steel. To ash."
Kaelen stepped beside him. Neither spoke.
"It's begun," Kaelen said.
"No," Torren replied. "It's waking."