Ysolde’s Pov
The messenger arrived like a shadow in the storm, his cloak plastered to his back, his eyes darting in panic.
She stood before the towering ice-glass window in her secluded turret, the wind shaking its panes as thunder rolled over the cliffs. Beyond the glass, ash fell like snowfall, silent and unrelenting. Her breath fogged the cool surface as her fingers clenched the velvet curtain, knuckles white.
The messenger knelt, voice shaking:
“All five Trackers… dead. The Flameborne lives.”
Ysolde stood perfectly still. The storm roared. The court beyond her reach floundered. She listened to the chaos that surrounded them.
Then, something cracked inside her: a laugh.
Low. Velvety. Terrifying.
“Dead?” she whispered, amused and contemptuous. “They were my best.”
Her laughter e
