“That settles things,” Lucretia says to me. “We’ll move you to a safer location before dawn, find a place we can bring everyone together to unbind your power and amplify the purple in your lightlines—” she looks to Or’myr “—then you can hide her in your Vonor until she gains full control of her magic.”

“Then we’ll press for an alliance with the Vu Trin and secure a portal west,” Fain adds, giving me a reassuring look.

“Where will you take me next?” I ask, hesitant to leave their protective circle.

“Somewhere you can blend in within the city,” Lucretia answers.

“We’ll come for you within a day,” Fain assures me. “We simply have to be smart in how we gather everyone to avoid attracting attention.”

Resolve coalesces inside me, overriding my almost debilitating exhaustion. “I want the Lupines to accompany me for protection when we approach the Vu Trin,” I say. “And there’s a possibility of approaching them with Yvan Guryev, as well.”

Surprise lights on every face in the room.

“Yvan Guryev is dead,” Fain gently informs me.

I calmly refute this, telling them of my repeated, clear sensations of Yvan’s fire searching for and joining with mine.

“But, how could you possibly have such a clear sense of him?” Or’myr asks, clearly flummoxed. “Power empathy doesn’t extend long-distance.”

I hesitate, stiffening with conflict over the impossible situation. “He’s bound to me as my mate.”

Wrenfir’s black brows fly up. He exchanges a look of astonishment with Or’myr.

“You’re the bound mate of the Icaral of Prophecy?” Or’myr sputters.

I nod, suddenly choked up as conflict swells over being bound to two men—two men I care for deeply and desperately want to find, even though I can’t imagine how painful those reunions will be in light of my Sealing to Lukas and undimmed Wyvernbond to Yvan.

“I thought Yvan was dead,” I force out to Or’myr, “and then...” I break off, my power shuddering into a hot, storming chaos.

Sympathy lights my cousin’s green eyes. “This seems complicated, to be sure. And having the people of both Realms so firmly wedded to the Prophecy surely complicates it further.”

I nod, gripping hold of the Wand of Myth’s spiraling hilt, drawing some comfort from Or’myr’s compassion and the Wand’s faint vision of its silvery tree unfurling starlight leaves.

The Eastern Realm is at stake, I remind myself. Set all this aside and think like a warrior.

“I’m going to need every ally I can get hold of,” I tell them. “Including the dragon Raz’zor. I believe he’s here in the East. I’m bound to him in a horde.”

“You’re in a dragon horde,” Or’myr states with renewed astonishment, “with the moonskin dragon Raz’zor?”

I blink at him. “You know of Raz’zor?”