ULF
The succession debate consumed the council.
"Lord Otto has the experience—"
"Lord Otto has the ambition, you mean—"
"The queen is mother to the heirs—"
"The queen is prone to... episodes—"
I stood behind Helaena's chair, watching the vultures circle.
Otto Hightower pushed for a regency council he'd control. Criston Cole argued for Helaena as primary regent, with himself as military commander. Various lords supported whoever they thought would benefit them most.
None of them care about the realm. Just power.
Helaena sat through it with preternatural calm. Her condition—the pregnancy complications, the exhaustion—was hidden beneath careful dressing and strategic positioning.
She's burning herself out. For politics she hates. For a crown she never wanted.
"Perhaps we should table this until the king's condition is resolved," she said finally.
"Your Grace, the realm needs—"
"The realm needs stability. Not fractured leadership." Her voice carried steel I rarely heard. "When Aegon dies—or recovers—we'll reconvene. Until then, the existing council continues its duties."
She rose. The meeting was over.
No one quite knew how that had happened.
THE DRAGONPIT
The message reached me at midday.
Vermithor has returned. Aggressive. Refusing handling. Come immediately.
I found the Bronze Fury in the largest pit—circling, bellowing, snapping at any dragonkeeper who approached.
The sound he made wasn't rage.
It was grief.
"Hugh's dead," I told him.
Vermithor's massive head swung toward me. Those ancient eyes—filled with something I recognized. Loss. Confusion. Pain.
"I killed him. He attacked me and I killed him." I stepped closer. No fear. Just truth. "He wasn't a good man. But he was your rider. I'm sorry."
A rumble. Neither threat nor acceptance.
"You can stay here. Heal. Mourn. When you're ready, maybe you'll find another rider." I held out my hand. "But you won't survive if you keep acting like this. The council will order you killed."
Vermithor studied me.
For a moment, I thought he'd attack.
Then he turned away. Settled onto his haunches. Stopped bellowing.
Not tame. Not claimed.
But calmer.
The dragonkeepers stared at me like I'd performed a miracle.
I just told him the truth. Dragons deserve that much.
THE COUNCIL CHAMBERS - EVENING
Helaena's voice cut through the debate.
"The bronze cries for blood."
Everyone turned.
She sat rigid in her chair, eyes unfocused, that prophetic distance I'd learned to fear.
"The rat returns in different skin. The child will be born in fire."
Murmurs. Exchanged glances. The lords shifting uncomfortably.
They think she's mad. They dismiss everything she says.
But I've learned better.
"Your Grace?" Otto's voice carried patronizing concern. "Perhaps you should rest."
"I see what I see." Her eyes found mine. Clear now, but haunted. "The shadows gather. Something comes."
The council dismissed her words as they always did.
I didn't.
The bronze cries for blood—Vermithor, grieving, dangerous.
The rat returns in different skin—another assassination threat. New agents.
The child will be born in fire—our baby. Something terrible.
After the council dispersed, I pulled my most trusted contacts.
"Reactivate everything. Every informant. Every watch point. I want to know about anyone new in the city, anyone asking questions, anyone who doesn't belong."
"Looking for something specific?"
"Rats. Wearing different skin."
Daemon's dead. But his network survived. His hate survived.
Someone will try to finish what he started.
HELAENA
She leaned on me as we walked back to her chambers.
The pregnancy was draining her faster than before. Each day, she seemed slightly paler. Slightly more fragile.
"I dreamed the child comes early," she whispered. "Before we're ready."
"When?"
"I don't know. Soon. Weeks, maybe."
Too soon. The war isn't over. The succession isn't resolved. Nothing is ready.
"We'll be ready anyway."
"How?"
"Because we have to be." I guided her through the doorway. "Whatever comes, we face it together."
She touched my face.
"You keep promising things you can't guarantee."
"I keep delivering them anyway."
A ghost of a smile.
"So far."
"So far is all we get." I helped her to the bed. "Rest. I'll handle the rest."
"You always say that."
"I always mean it."
She closed her eyes.
I sat beside her, watching her breathe, listening for threats that hadn't come yet.
The child will be born in fire.
But not if I can help it.
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