The rain was still a steady drumming against the manor's stone walls when Emery finally slipped through the back entrance.
The dragon-glass shard felt like a small, hot coal resting against her skin, hidden safely beneath the high collar of her silk dress. Every time it brushed against her, she felt a strange, grounding heat that made the cold drafts of the hallway seem insignificant.
Emery moved toward the Great Library on the second floor. It was a vast, silent room that smelled of old parchment, candle wax, and the damp breath of the sea. It was the one place her siblings rarely ventured, finding the study of the past far less interesting than the gossip of the present.
Emery lit a single candle and began to pull thick, leather-bound volumes from the lower shelves—books so old the ink had faded to a ghostly brown. She was looking for something specific, something beyond the dismissive jokes her father told at dinner.
She traced her fingers over a faded illustration in a book.
"The Roots of Varnathian." She read out the title.
The drawing depicted a great dragon with scales like polished obsidian and a songbird with wings of shimmering light. They weren't fighting. They were entwined, their forms merging into a single, circular emblem.
"Dragon and Bird," she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the cavernous room.
According to the text, the tribes of Varnathian hadn't always been divided by walls and prejudice. Centuries ago, the Druvkaur and the Velanthri were spoken of as a singular union—a balance of fire and water, of strength and melody. They were two halves of one soul. Somewhere along the line, the history had been rewritten, the union forgotten in favor of the isolation they lived in now.
It made sense. It explained why her blood hummed when she sang, and why Zekar's skin felt like a hearth she had been searching for her entire life. They weren't strangers; they were a homecoming.
The heavy oak doors of the library creaked open, and Emery's heart jolted. She didn't have time to hide the book before Riven stepped inside, his blonde hair tousled and a cruel, bored expression on his face.
"Still playing at being a scholar, sister?" Riven asked, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. He walked toward her with a slow, predatory confidence that always made Emery's skin crawl. "Or are you looking for a way to wash the scent of woodsmoke off your skin?"
Emery straightened her posture, closing the book with a firm thud. "I am busy, Riven. Go find Lyren and bother her."
Riven didn't leave. He stopped in front of the desk, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they landed on her throat. The cord of the necklace was hidden, but the slight bulge of the shard under the silk gave it away.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "That isn't Velanthri material. And it certainly isn't a jewel from Father."
"It is nothing," Emery said, her hand instinctively flying to her collar.
"It doesn't look like nothing." Before she could react, Riven lunged across the desk, his fingers clawing at her neck. "Give it here! You've been thieving from the stores, haven't you? Or did one of your Druvkaur dogs give you a trinket?"
Emery felt a surge of panic, but beneath the panic, something else stirred. It was a cold, rushing sensation that started in the small of her back and surged toward her fingertips. She didn't think; she didn't even speak. She simply shoved her hands outward to protect herself.
A sharp, violent burst of water—cold as the Gem Stream in winter—erupted from the air between them. It hit Riven square in the chest with the force of a physical blow, knocking him backward. He crashed into a stack of chairs, gasping as the water soaked through his expensive tunic.
Silence reclaimed the library. Riven stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and a newfound touch of fear. Emery stood with her hands still outstretched, her fingers trembling violently. She had never been able to manifest magic like that—not without singing, and certainly not with such force.
"You..." Riven sputtered, wiping water from his face. "You are unhinged! You're becoming just like them! Just like the dogs you play with!"
"Get out," Emery said, her voice shaking but steady. "Get out before I flood the whole library."
Riven scrambled to his feet, muttering a string of curses in the Zathrîkul tongue, and fled the library. Emery slumped into her chair, her heart thudding against the dragon-glass. She felt different. There was a wildness in her chest, an unpolished edge that hadn't been there before. She was changing. She was becoming unruly, drifting away from the perfect lady her father wanted and toward the girl who belonged in the woods with a boy who carried fire in his palms.
She waited until the manor was deep in sleep before slipping out for the second time that night. The rain had slowed to a light mist, and the Gem Stream was a rushing, dark shadow.
Zekar was waiting by the mossy stone. He looked restless, his golden-red eyes scanning the dark woods as if expecting the Caelorth to drop from the sky at any second. When he saw her, his entire body seemed to exhale.
He moved toward her, his face tight with worry. "Emery. You... okay?"
Emery didn't answer right away. She walked right up to him, looking up at the dark, handsome lines of his face. She thought of the hours she had spent with the charcoal pencil, the way she had repeated the sounds until her throat ached.
"Niir vaalen shara'dra," she said.
The words were spoken in Drk, and though her accent was melodic and soft, the sentence was perfect.
I see your beauty.
The effect on Zekar was visceral. He stopped mid-breath, his golden eyes widening until they seemed to glow in the dark. A low, ragged sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a growl.
He didn't speak. He simply reached out and pulled her into his arms, his large hands splaying across her back as he tucked her head beneath his chin.
It was their first true embrace.
Emery gasped at the sheer heat of him. He felt like a living furnace, his muscular frame solid and overwhelming against her slight tiny body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth.
Zekar buried his face in the silver-white silk of her hair, his breathing heavy and desperate. He held her with a fierce, almost painful intensity, as if he were trying to pull her into his very skin. Emery could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heart against her chest, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.
"Niir vaalen... Emery," he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking.
They stood there for a long time, the only sound being the rush of the stream and the wind in the cedars. There was no more teasing, no more broken English lessons. The air felt heavy, charged with a premonition that made Emery want to weep. They both felt it—the sense that this peace was a borrowed thing, a brief candle flickering in a rising gale.
"The sky is dark," Zekar murmured against her temple, his voice rough with an emotion he couldn't name. "But you... you are my light."
Emery pulled back just enough to look at him. She saw the shadows under his eyes and the way his fangs were slightly bared in a grimace of protective fury. She reached up, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the small mole she had come to adore.
"We will be safe," she said, though the library books and Riven's sneer told her otherwise. "Vael'thir, Zekar."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. His heat was so intense she could feel the moisture on her skin evaporating.
"I protect," he said in English, his voice a promise. "No matter... what come. I protect."
He stayed with her until the moon began to set, teaching her more of the harsh, beautiful words of his people, while she taught him the songs of the sea. They spoke in a language that was neither Drk nor English, but something entirely their own—a secret tongue born of silk and fire.
When it was finally time to part, Zekar held her hand until the very last second, his fingers lingering against her palm.
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Tomorrow," she promised, before turning back and walking towards the manor.