Page 55 of Echoes of Fire

I leaned over the low table, sketching rough lines across my notebook while my tongue caught on the inside of my cheek. My notes were all around me, half-chaotic, held together by a tenuous thread of logic I might lose if I didn’t finish this diagram tonight.

Across from me, Rath sprawled lazily on the bed, one wing draped off the side and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. His brooding had melted away, replaced instead with the kind of loose relaxation that made him dangerous. His focus shifted between his claw—idly balancing one of my pens—and me, his golden eyes glinting with some private amusement.

You would never guess that two weeks ago we’d been limping out the Mating Challenge, skin burned and scales bleeding. My ankle would be scarred forever, but thanks to Selene’s mending and some Volcarian healing herbs, we were both almost as good as new.

“You’re scowling again,” he said, his voice like gravel warming under flame. “I almost pity whatever you’re planning to conquer.”

I didn’t look up from the page, instead using the edge of my graphite to shade another section of the proposed geothermal grid system. “I told you, this isn’t for war. It’s energy distribution.”

“Which is also conquest,” he drawled, flipping the pen in a slow arc. It clattered to the floor when his claws misjudged the catch, but he didn’t bother retrieving it, his gaze homing in on me now. “Sweeter when your enemy is tradition, no?”

I snorted, finally meeting his eyes. “Tradition as an enemy? I’m sure that would make any Blade Councilor faint just hearing it.”

“Not me.” His tail flicked once, the spaded end curling around the chaise’s base. “But I’m less faint-prone than most. Go on, tell me how this marvel of yours will upend generations.”

I leaned back, pushing away the hair that always fell into my face when I was working and leaving a faint, unintentional charcoal streak down my temple. “Right now, Scalvaris relies too heavily on heat crystals and lavaforges. They’re inefficient for consistent power. The underground geothermal vents could provide scalable energy storage—enough to keep the city’s entire infrastructure running without burning through resources.” I jabbed the pencil against the edge of the diagram in emphasis. “It’s basic science.”

“Basic for you,” he corrected, his smile deepening. “Try explaining ‘scalable energy storage’ to Nyktral from the River’s Teeth. I think I saw him lick a rock once just because it was shiny.”

Laughing, I tossed my pencil onto the table and stretched my arms, sore from hours of scribbling. “You’re not wrong. I doubt they’d listen to anything I said even if I dumbed it down. Humans are still aliens. Outsiders.”

His expression flickered, something darker passing over his features before he banished it. “Humans may be new arrivals,” he said, voice low, “but ideas are not species-bound.”

“It’s not the ideas they’ll fight—it’s me having them.” I exhaled, frustration churning my thoughts. “I’m still hearing whispers about whether I ‘earned’ my place.”

Rath shifted forward, leaning his elbows onto his knees until his massive frame made my cramped work area feel even smaller. The hearthlight carved shadows into the planes of his face, highlighting scars I was still learning to trace with my fingertips. “They won’t dare call me weak. Not to my face,” he said, and though his voice was calm, there was steel hidden beneath the embers. “And they won’t call you less than worthy once I’ve reminded them how valuable you are.”

I was getting used to the possessiveness in his tone—it still caught me slightly off guard. Another part of me, the part that had already learned how unwavering he was in his loyalty, found comfort in it. He didn’t consider me a weakness; he called me his equal, his strength. And yet …

“I don’t want this to be about you having to defend me. Again,” I said, curling my fingers against the edge of the notebook. “I want them to respect me on my own terms.”

Rath tilted his head. His amusement returned in a flash. “Foolish mate,” he murmured, something softer threading through the words. “You think tearing down centuries of rigid thought happens in a single strike? Lay the foundation for now. I’ll keep the others too occupied to sabotage it.”

The sudden, delighted laugh that bubbled out of me startled us both. “So your plan is to just distract Scalvaris while I sneakily modernize it?”

“Exactly.” He leaned back again. “Swords clash loudly,shyrarva, but it’s the quiet forge that alters their edges.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile as I returned to my diagram. “God, you’re impossible,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it.

“And you’re brilliant.” His rumble chased warmth up my spine, his voice wrapping around my resolve and bolstering it in a way no plan or blueprint could.

His tail coiled and uncoiled lazily as he watched me return to my work. His presence was a strange paradox—calming in its weight, but always charged with the potential for motion, for violence, for some deep and electric possibility. I’d seen him fight, seen the beast in him unleashed, but there, in the privacy of our chambers, he was something entirely different.

When the hiss of his shifting weight broke the quiet, I glanced up to see him rising from the bed with his usual predatory grace. His wings flexed once in a low sweep before folding close to his back, sharp edges catching the firelight. He crossed the room, his broad size shrinking even our spacious quarters, and began rummaging in one of the storage compartments carved into the volcanic rock walls.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, at least not vocally. His tail flicked in what I’d come to recognize as either amusement or mischief—possibly both—before he pulled something from the compartment and hid it behind his back.

“Rath,” I said, skeptical. His eyes caught mine, a slight glint of smugness visible in their depths. “What are you hiding?”

Instead of answering, he crossed back to me, his movements deliberate, and crouched just close enough for his heat to bleed into my space. The sharp planes of his features softened slightly as he tilted his head, studying me, something achingly gentle shimmering just beneath the habitual intensity of his gaze.

“Close your notebook,” he murmured.

I blinked, thrown off by the sudden and quietly commanding tone. Then I folded the paper closed, placing it to the side without comment. “Alright,” I said slowly. “What’s?—”

His hand came forward, producing a roll of parchment with a flourish. The edges were worn—coated with soot and age, its once-dark ink faded to a muted charcoal. He placed it carefully in front of me, sliding it closer before stepping back to observe my reaction.

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