Chapter 11 Eleven

The ice wall at our backs was a silent, glistening monument to a line I had crossed. My nose had stopped bleeding, but a dull, persistent throb had taken root behind my eyes, the price of wielding power I wasn't built to contain. Theron didn't speak, but the quality of his silence had changed. It was no longer the quiet of a hunter leading prey, but the watchful silence of a soldier marching beside a newly-commissioned weapon.

We pushed deeper into the Silverwood, the air growing colder, the light dimmer. The ancient trees here felt less like living things and more like silent witnesses to eons of conflict. Theron finally stopped at the base of a colossal, lightning-blasted oak, its trunk split down the middle, creating a sheltered hollow.

"We are close to the border of their territory," he murmured, his voice barely disturbing the heavy silence. "We rest here. Tomorrow, we scout the approaches to the mountain."

I didn't argue. The headache was a grinding stone behind my eyes. I slid down the inside of the hollow, the rough bark scraping against Kaelen's leathers. I needed sleep, but I was terrified of the visions, of being dragged back into the shared agony of Kaelen's torture.

Theron remained standing at the entrance, a sentinel against the gathering dark. "What you did at the river…" he began, his back to me.

"I did what was necessary," I interrupted, my voice flat. I didn't have the energy for a post-mortem.

"It was more than that," he said, turning to face me. His expression was unreadable in the twilight. "That was not a simple elemental manipulation. You didn't just freeze water. You commanded it. Instantly. Without a spell, without a ritual. That is draconic will. You are not just channeling his power, Lena. You are beginning to think like him. To impose your will on the world as he does."

His words should have frightened me. Instead, they felt like a confirmation. The cold fury inside me approved. Good.

"Then maybe I'll be ready," I said, closing my eyes.

Sleep took me, but it was not a refuge. It was a battlefield.

The vision was different this time. Not a passive sharing of Kaelen's suffering, but a collision.

I stood in the sterile, obsidian cell. Kaelen was on his knees, his body bruised, the silver collar pulsing. Silas Vane stood before him, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Still silent, lizard? Your defiance grows tedious."

Kaelen lifted his head. His golden eyes, though shadowed with pain, burned with an undimmed fire. They weren't looking at Silas. They were looking at me.

He could see me.

"Lena," his voice was a ragged whisper in my mind, but it was clear, focused. A deliberate projection. "Do not come."

Silas backhanded him across the face. "Who are you talking to?"

Kaelen's gaze never left mine. "You are not ready. The fortress… it is a trap for you. It is me they want broken. You must stay away."

The connection wavered, the image flickering. I could feel his desperation, not for himself, but for me. He was trying to protect me, even from this distance, even through the torment.

"No," I thought, pouring all my will, all my newfound coldness, into the vision. I pushed back. "I am coming. Hold on."

For a single, stunning moment, our wills met in that psychic space. I felt his shock, his frustration, and beneath it all, a surge of something else—a fierce, blazing pride. He saw the change in me. He saw the ice and the fury.

The connection shattered as a fresh wave of magical pain was inflicted upon him. But this time, I didn't feel his scream. I felt his defiance, a roar that was meant for me alone.

I woke with a gasp, not from terror, but from the aftershock of that connection. My head was clear. The headache was gone. The bond wasn't just a conduit for pain; it was a channel for strength. He knew I was coming. And he had not begged me to save him. He had warned me to stay away, and when I refused, he had given me his trust.

Theron was watching me, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Your dreams are loud tonight."

I stood up, brushing the bark from the leather. The last remnants of doubt and fear had been burned away. The vision had been a final, crucial piece of intelligence.

"They're torturing him to lure me in," I said, my voice steady. "They know about the bond. They're using him as bait."

Theron's face was grim. "It is their way. So, what is your plan, Dragon-kin? Do we walk into the obvious trap?"

A slow, cold smile touched my lips. It felt alien on my face. "We don't walk into it," I said, the pieces of a reckless, terrifying plan clicking into place in my mind. "We make them bring the bait to us."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that?"

I looked down at my hand, flexing my fingers. "You said it yourself. I'm beginning to think like him." I met his gaze. "If a dragon's hoard is a part of his soul, and I have a piece of it… what happens if I make it scream?"

Understanding, followed by a flicker of alarm, dawned in Theron's eyes. "You would use the bond. Not just to feel him, but to send a signal. A distress call from his own soul."

"They're using his pain against me," I said, the plan solidifying with a chilling clarity. "So I'll use his soul against them. If I can make his hoard cry out in agony, Silas will have no choice. He'll think Kaelen is breaking. He'll bring him out of that fortified cell to gloat, to break him publicly. He'll bring him into the open."

The risk was astronomical. I could shatter the bond. I could break Kaelen's mind. I could alert every supernatural entity for a hundred miles.

But it was the only move that turned their trap inside out. It was a dragon's move. Brutal. Direct. Unforgiving.

Theron was silent for a long moment, studying the new, ruthless certainty on my face. Finally, he gave a single, sharp nod. "It is a gamble worthy of a Fae court. Or a dragon's mate. When do we begin?"

I looked up through the split in the ancient oak, towards the unseen mountain where Kaelen was held. The first rays of dawn were painting the sky in hues of blood and gold.

"Now," I said.