Saintess Lyra Arden had healed plague victims, blessed dying soldiers, and once stitched a farmer's severed hand back together while he screamed prayers directly into her ear.

None of those experiences had prepared her for being ordered to murder a chained man beneath the royal palace.

"You are certain there is no other way?" she asked.

High Priest Cassian stood before the sealed bronze doors of the undercroft, white robes falling around him in immaculate folds. Seven golden suns were embroidered along his collar, one for each of Aurelia's Radiant Gods. Candlelight softened the lines around his eyes.

To Lyra, he had always looked most like a father when he was about to ask something difficult of her.

"If there were another way," Cassian said gently, "I would never place this burden upon you."

That answer should have comforted her.

It did not.

Lyra tightened her fingers around the ceremonial dagger at her waist. Its blade had been blessed for seven consecutive nights. The Temple archivists claimed it could pierce dragon scales, though none of them had actually seen a living dragon.

No one had, not for centuries.

Until tonight.

Behind the doors waited Kael Draven, the last Dragon King.

The monster from every nursery warning. The tyrant from every Temple mural. The immortal beast whose armies, according to scripture, had once burned cities until the Seven Gods granted humanity victory.

And apparently, for the past three hundred years, Aurelia had kept him locked underneath its throne.

Lyra had learned of his existence less than an hour ago.

"Why was I never told?" she asked.

Cassian's expression tightened with something that looked almost like shame. "Because knowledge can be dangerous before a person is ready to bear it."

"That sounds suspiciously like something people say before revealing they've lied for twenty-two years."

A lesser priest might have rebuked her.

Cassian merely sighed. "Your tongue remains one of the Seven's more baffling design choices."

Despite herself, Lyra nearly smiled.

Then the doors groaned open.

Cold air rushed outward.

The smile died.

A staircase descended into darkness far deeper than the palace foundations should have allowed. Golden symbols burned along the stone walls, thousands of tiny prayers carved into overlapping circles.

Lyra recognized several.

Protection.

Containment.

Obedience.

The last word bothered her most.

Cassian pressed two fingers to her forehead and whispered a blessing she had heard since childhood.

"May the Radiance guide your hand."

Lyra stared down into the blackness.

"And if my hand does not wish to be guided?"

"Then guide it yourself," Cassian said quietly. "You have always been better at that anyway."

She looked back at him.

For one unsettling moment, fear crossed his face.

Not fear for Aurelia.

Fear for her.

Then the bronze doors shut between them.

Lyra descended alone.

The air grew warmer with every step.

That was wrong. Underground chambers should have been cold, yet by the time she reached the bottom, sweat dampened the hair at her neck.

She entered a vast circular chamber.

Her first thought was that the legends had been accurate about one thing.

Kael Draven was terrifying.

Her second was that the legends had lied about almost everything else.

He was in human form.

A man sat chained against a pillar of black stone at the center of the chamber, wrists suspended above his shoulders by thick silver-gold restraints. His dark hair fell past his collarbones in tangled waves. He wore torn black trousers and what remained of a shirt, though most of the fabric had been cut away across his chest.

Not for torture, Lyra realized.

For access.

Thin crystal tubes had been driven beneath his skin.

Blood flowed through them.

Not ordinary blood.

It gleamed dark crimson threaded with molten silver, pulsing through channels carved into the floor before disappearing into the walls.

Lyra stopped breathing.

She knew those channels.

She had seen the same glowing lines beneath the Temple, beneath the palace gates, beneath the protective barriers surrounding the capital.

Holy conduits.

The kingdom's defenses.

"Oh," said a rough male voice. "They've sent me a pretty executioner this time."

Lyra's gaze snapped upward.

Kael's eyes were open.

They were not red, as the paintings claimed.

They were silver.

Not pale gray. Silver, metallic and bright, with narrow pupils that sharpened as they focused on her.

"You're awake," Lyra said.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "A magnificent observation. Are all Saintesses scholars of such terrifying intellect?"

She should not have been irritated by a man she had come to kill.

She was immediately irritated.

"You know what I am?"

"Golden embroidery. Sanctified dagger. Expression of moral distress." His gaze traveled over her. "Either you're the Saintess or Aurelia's assassins have developed an unfortunate enthusiasm for ceremonial fashion."

Lyra forced herself closer.

The smell of iron thickened.

Up close, she saw old scars crossing his torso, hundreds of them, layered over one another. Some looked centuries old. Others were fresh.

The crystal tubes entered beside several open wounds.

Her stomach turned.

"They told me you were imprisoned because you cannot be killed."

Kael gave a soft laugh.

"Did they?"

"Are you saying that isn't true?"

"I'm saying your priests are very talented at arranging words in convenient orders."

Lyra drew the dagger.

His eyes flicked toward it.

For the first time, the amusement disappeared.

"Ah," he murmured. "So Cassian finally became frightened enough to finish the job."

Hearing her mentor's name from his mouth made Lyra's grip tighten.

"You know High Priest Cassian?"

"I knew his predecessor. And hers. And the one before that." Kael tilted his head against the pillar. "Cassian is younger than most. More polite too."

"You speak as though you've been conscious the entire time."

"Not entire. They learned early that I become troublesome when fully awake."

Lyra's gaze returned to the tubes.

"Is that your blood?"

His smile came back, but there was nothing amused in it now.

"What did they tell you powers the radiant shields around your precious kingdom?"

"The blessing of the Seven."

"Of course they did."

Silence stretched between them.

Lyra hated how quickly doubt could enter a person.

One sentence.

That was apparently all it took.

She had prayed beneath those shields. Healed wounded guards with their golden light reflecting across her hands. She had thanked the gods for them.

Now dragon blood ran beneath her boots.

"You're lying," she said.

"Probably about many things. Not that one."

"You expect me to believe Aurelia's holy defenses are powered by you?"

Kael glanced pointedly at the glowing channels.

"I would suggest believing your eyes before believing me."

Lyra looked down.

Silver-red light flowed through the floor.

Her magic stirred.

A strange heat prickled beneath her skin.

She frowned.

Kael went completely still.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

"You have the expression of someone who has just discovered something inconvenient."

"And you have the expression of someone who asks too many questions while holding a knife."

The warmth spread through her palm.

Golden light flickered across her fingers.

Kael's restraints answered.

Silver fire raced over the chains.

Lyra recoiled.

Kael stared at her hand.

Whatever mockery remained in his face vanished.

"Do that again."

"I didn't do anything."

"Saintess."

"Dragon."

"Touch the chain."

"Why would I possibly—"

"Because if I'm correct, your entire life is considerably more interesting than you've been told."

That was exactly the sort of sentence sensible people ignored.

Lyra had never been especially sensible when curiosity was involved.

Keeping the dagger ready, she reached toward the nearest restraint.

Her fingertips touched metal.

Pain exploded through her.

Lyra screamed.

Golden light erupted from her arm.

Kael jerked against the pillar with a roar, his back arching as if the same agony had struck him.

Then something answered inside his chest.

A second heartbeat.

No.

Not second.

His.

She could feel it.

Thundering.

Furious.

Terrified.

The realization lasted less than a second before the chamber erupted.

Silver flame burst from Kael's body and raced across the floor. Lyra's golden magic surged to meet it.

The two powers collided.

Instead of destroying each other, they twisted together.

Gold became white.

White became silver.

The restraints shattered.

Every glowing conduit in the chamber went dark.

Kael fell forward.

Lyra moved without thinking and caught him.

The Dragon King weighed considerably more than a wounded man had any right to.

They crashed to their knees together.

His hand closed around her wrist.

Her dagger clattered away.

For several breathless seconds they simply stared at one another.

He was close enough that she could see the silver flecks around his pupils.

Close enough to feel his breath.

Close enough to feel something else.

Pain.

Not hers.

His.

Centuries of it seemed compressed into one impossible sensation: burning veins, torn flesh, suffocating exhaustion.

Lyra gasped.

Kael's eyes widened.

"You felt that."

It was not a question.

"What did you do to me?"

His expression became grim.

"I did nothing."

"Excellent. Somehow that is worse."

A tremor shook the chamber.

Above them, distant bells began ringing.

Alarm bells.

Kael looked toward the ceiling.

"They know the conduits failed."

Lyra tried to pull away.

The moment their bodies separated, nausea slammed into her so violently she nearly collapsed.

Kael staggered too.

They froze.

Slowly, his gaze returned to hers.

"No," he said.

For the first time since she had entered the chamber, the Dragon King sounded genuinely afraid.

Lyra swallowed. "No what?"

Kael released her wrist and moved two steps backward.

Agony knifed through Lyra's chest.

She doubled over.

Kael hissed and grabbed the pillar.

He moved toward her again.

The pain eased instantly.

Neither spoke.

Lyra could feel his emotions now, faint but unmistakable beneath her own.

Shock.

Anger.

And something approaching disbelief.

"Tell me what happened," she said.

Kael looked at her as though deciding whether truth would be crueler than ignorance.

"Your magic touched my heart-flame while the binding chains were active."

"In words spoken by normal people, please."

"We are bound."

The alarm bells grew louder.

Boots thundered somewhere far above.

Lyra's mouth went dry.

"Bound how?"

"Pain. Distance. Emotion, if sufficiently strong." His jaw tightened. "Possibly dreams."

"Thoughts?"

"Thankfully, no. I already dislike your conversation."

"This is not the time for sarcasm."

"Sarcasm is what remains when immortality disappoints you."

He pushed himself upright.

Something in his posture changed once he stood.

He was still injured. Still pale. Still bleeding.

Yet suddenly Lyra understood why ancient kings had feared him.

The chamber seemed built around his presence rather than the other way around.

Kael looked toward the staircase.

"Your soldiers will be here in minutes."

"Then stay here."

He stared at her.

"You have just accidentally freed the last Dragon King from three centuries of imprisonment and your first plan is to ask politely that I remain in the dungeon?"

"I was going to add 'please.'"

"Tempting."

He stepped toward the discarded dagger.

Lyra snatched it first and pointed it at him.

Kael stopped.

"You still intend to kill me?"

Her arm trembled.

She hated that he noticed.

"I don't know what I intend."

"Good. Certainty is how temples create excellent weapons."

That struck harder than she wanted it to.

Lyra lifted the blade higher.

"Do not speak about the Temple as though you know me."

His silver eyes lowered to the dagger, then returned to her face.

"I don't know you, Lyra Arden."

Her blood chilled.

"I never told you my name."

"No."

"Then how do you know it?"

Kael's expression changed again.

Not mockery.

Not anger.

Recognition.

"Because," he said softly, "I've been hearing it in my dreams since before you were born."

The chamber doors above slammed open.

Soldiers shouted.

Kael extended his hand toward her.

"Choose quickly, Saintess."

Golden light flickered over Lyra's fingers.

Then, impossibly, a thread of silver flame appeared among it.

Kael stared at the flame.

His face went utterly still.

"That's impossible," Lyra whispered.

"No," he said as armored footsteps descended toward them. "That's what they needed you to believe."