The woman in my dreams always dies before I can reach her. Every single time. I’ve had the same nightmare for as long as I can remember, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now. But no. Apparently, my brain has decided that sleep is the perfect time to remind me of something I don’t even understand. It always begins with fire. Trees burn around me. Smoke fills my lungs, and somewhere in the darkness, branches crack beneath something heavy moving through the forest. Then I see her. A woman stands beyond the flames, reaching for me. I can never make out her face, no matter how hard I try. It’s as if the smoke deliberately hides it from me. “Elowen.” I know she’s calling me, but when I try to answer, nothing comes out. “Listen to me, darling.” There’s fear in her voice. Real fear. The kind that makes my stomach twist even though some part of me knows I’m dreaming. Something moves behind her. The ground trembles beneath my feet. The flames rise higher, swallowing

For a moment, I just stare at it. Then I take a cautious step backward. “No.” I lean forward again, because apparently, stepping away from a plant that has just come back to life isn’t enough to convince my brain that something is wrong. I touch one of the leaves. It’s soft. Fresh. Completely alive. The mark over my heart gives a sharp pulse. I snatch my hand away. All right. No. Absolutely not. Plants don’t come back to life because someone touches them. That’s not how plants work. I’ve spent enough time around herbs to know that much. Maybe the sprig wasn’t as dead as I thought. Maybe something in the soil— “Elowen?” I nearly jump out of my skin. Fenna stands in the doorway to the storeroom, watching me. “What are you doing?” “Nothing.” Her gaze drops to the counter. I grab a folded cloth and cover the heather before she can get a proper look at it. She raises an eyebrow. “What are you hiding?” “Nothing.” “Right. And I’m the Queen of the Northern Isles.” “Cong

I should be relieved. Instead, I sit on the floor, staring at him and wondering what I’ve done. I’ve heard stories about healing magic. I’ve read enough old books to know that powerful witches sometimes develop abilities they don’t understand. But I’ve never heard of anyone saving a stranger with a single drop of blood. And that voice seems _ I press a hand against my chest. The crescent mark has stopped burning, but I can still feel a faint warmth beneath it. Whatever happened, it wasn’t normal. And I have a horrible feeling it wasn’t an accident. The stranger groans. I scramble to my feet, grab a clean cloth, and press it carefully against the wound around the blade. His eyes open. Gold. Not hazel. Not amber. Gold. The same unnatural colour I’d seen when he stood at my door. For a moment, neither of us speaks. He looks at the cloth pressed against his side, then slowly raises his gaze to mine. “What did you do?” I blink. “Saved your life, appa

The soldiers freeze. One drops his spear. The commander takes a step backward. “Impossible.” I can’t speak. Dragons are extinct. I’ve known that my entire life. Every story, every history lesson, every dusty book I’ve ever read says the same thing. Yet one stands before me, wounded and furious, with the same golden eyes that looked at me outside my shop. The dragon turns his head toward me. For one terrifying moment, I expect him to attack. Instead, he lowers his body and places one enormous claw beside me without touching me. Behind us, the commander shouts for his men to regroup. I look at the broken walls, the weapons scattered across the floor, and the creature offering me a way out. I have no idea who Kael Draven really is. I don’t know why the Crown wants my blood. And I have absolutely no idea what the First Flame is. But I know what will happen if I stay. I climb onto his back, gripping the scales beneath my hands. “I don’t trust you,” I whisper. His golden

I reach for the cloth covering the bolt, intending to examine its markings more closely. A faint blue glow catches my eye. I freeze. Along the shaft, a symbol has appeared: a circle divided by three narrow lines. I look at the blade. Its runes remain dark. “Kael?” His eyes open. “This bolt is glowing.” His expression changes so quickly that I almost miss it. “Don’t touch it.” I withdraw my hand. “I’m not touching it. I’m looking at it. There’s a difference.” He doesn’t smile. “It’s a tracking seal.” My stomach drops. “Tracking us how?” “The Crown can follow the weapon’s magical imprint. If they activated the seal before firing, they may already be looking for us.” I stare at the bolt. We escaped the soldiers. We crossed the coastline. We found shelter. And somehow, they may still be able to find us. I move towards the doorway and peer through the rain. The cliffs are dark, and the wind carries the smell of wet stone and saltwater. I can’t see anyone, but that does