Page 67 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

The maid in front of me tenses, her eyes locked on the undulating wall of fire. “Easy there, Lady Lark.”

I nod, biting down on my lower lip.

Right. This exercise isn’t about conjuring flames. It’s about restraint. With a controlled exhale, I imagine reeling the fire back in, the way one might spool a loose section of rope for storage. The heat dissipates from my skin and the air cools, but the shield also shudders and collapses.

I’m left squinting at my empty palms, frustration knotting my chest.

Agnar nods at me. “Again.”

I square my shoulders, refusing to be defeated by my own nature. This time, I ease my magic forth, letting it pool in my hands without taking shape or purpose. The sensation is a strange one, suppressing what usually bursts forth so eagerly.

A warm, familiar caress spreads across my skin. I smother that warmth, tucking it away deep inside me where it can do no harm.

The balance is awkward and clumsy and difficult to strike, trying to be both the flame and the dampener. Sweat beads on my forehead as my focus wavers. The magic flares for a second before dimming, snuffed out by my willpower.

Or perhaps by my sheer stubbornness.

My thoughts drift to the dragons in their paddock, their emotions a constant hum in the back of my mind. If I can master this, their world—and mine—will grow a little quieter, a little less fraught. And if dampening can prevent us all from being enthralled by the drachen?

I roll my neck and prepare for attempt number one thousand and five.

Come on. Get your shit together.

Deviating a little this time, I envision a filter rather than a barrier, something to soften but not silence the connection. In doing so, I sense a subtle shift. My breath hitches.

Holy hells. Am I onto something?

I strengthen the magic, weaving it tighter.

A new sensation—concern—streams through me, emanating from the paddock.

The dragons can feel my emotions waning and worry.

Are they all right?

My mind reaches out to them, but before panic roots, an airy trill cuts through the silence.

Ryu, the oldest dragon at the palace. His relief is a bright burst inside my chest.

“What’s going on? Why are the dragons talking?” a soldier wonders, his voice tinged with awe.

Even without looking, I know Ryu’s calling to the others, sharing the news that I’m doing something good by learning how to hide my thoughts and presence from them.

All eyes turn to me, and I lose my control. The shield shatters, and I’m immersed in Ryu’s immense pride before it’s replaced with rounds of amusement from the rest of the flock.

The queen’s gaze meets mine, a silent acknowledgment of the moment’s significance. “Excellent work.”

I release a shaky laugh, my heart lighter than it’s been in ages. The threads of magic still thrum within me, now a gentle purr instead of a roar. I take those threads and weave them, again and again. Not to heat, not to make fire, but simply to layer the magic without manifesting the element itself.

While I can hear the dragons outside the palace, I can no longer feel their presence in my mind. Ryu leads them in a chorus of cheers, their trills heard even from this distance.

I did it! I actually did it. Thank the gods, we might actually have a fighting chance.

A small victory, but a start.

For the moment, that will have to be enough.

Releasing the dampening reminds me of peeling away layers of heavy, tightly wrapped blankets. A rush of emotions floods in.

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