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The fever took Kael like a lover who refused to let go.
He drifted in and out of consciousness inside the cold cave, sweat soaking through the thin blanket they had thrown over him. His ribs burned. His mind fractured into pieces that didn't belong to him.
In the dreams, he saw a woman with silver-gold hair and violet eyes — his mother, Saera — laughing as a tall man with dragon blood kissed her neck. Then the man turned, and his face became Kael's own. The dream shifted. Dragons screamed across a burning sky. Not three. Hundreds. And they were all looking at him.
He woke with a gasp.
Sylva was beside him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. Her copper hair stuck to her face from the heat of the small fire. She looked exhausted.
"You were talking in your sleep," she said quietly. "You kept saying your mother's name."
Kael tried to sit up. Pain stabbed through his side and he collapsed again with a groan.
"Don't move, idiot." Sylva's voice was rough, but her hands were surprisingly gentle. "You've been like this for two days."
"Two days?" Kael rasped. His throat felt like sandpaper.
Ysira appeared from the shadows, holding a small bowl of broth. "We couldn't risk moving you. The fever's bad." She knelt and lifted his head carefully to help him drink. For a noblewoman who had threatened to kill him multiple times, the gesture felt almost tender. Almost.
Kael swallowed the bitter liquid. Their eyes met over the bowl. Ysira didn't look away. There was frustration in her gaze — frustration that she cared whether this broken bastard lived or died.
"You should have left me," he whispered.
"I considered it," she admitted. "Multiple times."
Mira stood near the egg, arms crossed. "He's becoming a liability. If the fever worsens, we'll have to make a choice."
"Shut up," Sylva snapped. "He saved my life. I'm not leaving him to rot."
The tension between the three women thickened. Ysira wanted the power the egg represented. Sylva clung to loyalty and the first person who had ever protected her. Mira played a longer game — probably still deciding whether to deliver Kael and the egg to Prince Qoren or to someone richer in King's Landing.
The dragon egg sat against the cave wall. Its veins glowed faintly, pulsing in time with Kael's heartbeat. As if it were feeding on his fever. As if it were learning from his pain.
That night, while Sylva took watch at the entrance, Ysira sat beside Kael again. The fire had burned low. Mira pretended to sleep, but Kael knew she was listening.
"You're important to it," Ysira said softly, nodding toward the egg. "I can feel it when I get close. It… reacts to you more than to us."
Kael turned his head. Sweat dripped down his temple. "I don't want to be important to anything."
"Too late." Ysira brushed damp hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered. The touch was light, but it sent a different kind of heat through him. Not fever. Something more dangerous. "I keep wondering what kind of man you would have been if your mother had told you the truth."
"A dead one, probably," Kael answered with a weak smile.
Ysira's lips curved — not quite a smile, but close. For a moment, the noble mask slipped and he saw the real woman underneath: ambitious, lonely, and tired of pretending.
"I won't let them take you," she whispered. "Not yet."
She leaned down and pressed her lips briefly to his burning forehead. Not a kiss of passion. A kiss of possession. Then she stood and walked away without another word.
Kael lay there, heart pounding harder than the fever could explain.
Mira's voice came from the darkness. "Careful, my lady. Some fires burn everything they touch."
Ysira didn't answer.
The next morning, Kael's fever broke slightly. He could sit up without the world spinning. The relief was short-lived.
Sylva returned from scouting, face pale. "Riders. At least fifty. Coming from the south. Dornish banners… but mixed with Baratheon colors. Someone is offering gold for information."
Mira cursed. "Prince Qoren is moving faster than I expected. And he's not coming alone."
Ysira stood, sword already at her hip. "We have to leave. Now."
Kael pushed himself to his feet, swaying. "I can ride."
"You can barely stand," Sylva muttered, but she moved to help him anyway.
They packed in frantic silence. The egg was heavier than before — or maybe they were just weaker. As they dragged it toward the horses, it pulsed strongly. Once. Twice. The red veins brightened, then faded.
Kael felt it again — that ancient curiosity brushing against his mind. This time it carried a single, wordless impression:
Hurry.
He didn't tell the others.
They mounted just as the first distant horns echoed through the Boneway. The sound bounced off the cliffs like hunting dogs.
Ysira looked at Kael, her expression hard once more. "If we're caught because of you…"
"I know," he said. "You'll kill me yourself."
She nodded. No denial. No apology.
Sylva rode close to him, ready to catch him if he fell. Mira took the rear, constantly looking back.
As they fled deeper into the twisting mountain pass, Kael realized the truth with cold clarity:
They weren't a group anymore.
They were four people tied together by fear, greed, and one ancient egg that seemed to enjoy watching them tear each other apart.
And somewhere behind them, Prince Qoren's men — and possibly Tyrion's agents — were closing in.
The dragon egg rocked on its litter.
Its veins glowed brighter than ever.
Almost smiling.