Tristan turned twenty-two in three days, and the men who murdered his father wanted him dead before then. He knew this because the elf elder said it plainly, across the table, in the glowing heart of the high elf palace where Tristan and his sister had hidden for a year. Tristan had come here to grow strong enough to take back the dragon throne stolen from his bloodline. His coming-of-age ceremony would prove his claim. Now the throne knew where he slept. "Word reached the capital," the elder said. His hands lay flat on the wood. "They know the prince and princess live here. They know the dragons roost in our spires. This palace shelters a war it did not start." Elizabeth sat straight in her red gown, her braid over one shoulder. She was Tristan's older sister, and she had raised him since their parents fell. "You invited us," she said. "You cannot unsay it now." "I fear for my people," the elder answered. "If the throne marches, my spires burn. Perhaps you should leave before the ceremony." The table erupted. Two elves rose at once. Faelynn shoved her chair back and slapped her bow across the table. The quiver on her back rattled. "Leave? He turns of age in three days. Send him out now and you send him to the grave." Her red hair, tied high, swung as she leaned in. "I will stand on the wall myself. Let them come." Beside her, Ashton lifted one hand, and blue light gathered at his fingertips. "So will I." His voice stayed level, but the light said the rest. "We knew the risk when we took them in. I have not changed my mind. Have you?" The elder looked at the two elves, then at the glow above Ashton's palm. He said nothing. In the corner, Mara Nightshade watched. She had not spoken all night. Her long braids fell over a purple coat marked with faded symbols. She turned a dark stone over in her fingers, slow and steady, her eyes moving from face to face. Tristan felt her gaze settle on him. It weighed him like a scale. Tristan stood. The arguing stopped. "No one leaves," he said. "Running proves I am not fit to rule. I stay. I take the ceremony here, in three days, in front of everyone." He met the elder's eyes. "If the throne wants to find me, let them. I would rather they knew my face than my back." Elizabeth reached for his hand under the table and gripped it hard. The elder bowed his head at last. "Then I will ready the walls," he said. "But understand this. The moment you claim your name aloud, they will send an army to silence it." Mara Nightshade slipped the stone into her pocket and finally rose. "Good," she said. "Then we have three days to make sure it survives."

The meeting ended, but Tristan could not rest. He pulled Ashton aside in the glowing hall of the palace, beneath the luminous leaves of the great heartwood tree that grew through the stone. "There is a castle," Tristan said. "The old seat of my bloodline. My father spoke of it. If any proof of my claim survives, it waits there." Ashton nodded slowly, blue light flickering at his fingers. "Then we fly out and find it before the ceremony." Elizabeth heard them from across the hall. She crossed the floor fast, her red gown sweeping the stone. "You want to fly a dragon into open sky?" Her voice was low and sharp. "The throne knows you live. They watch the roads. They watch the air. One flight and they mark exactly where you are." Mara Nightshade stepped from the shadow of the tree. She had helped Tristan since the night she pledged to keep him alive. She turned her dark stone slowly in her fingers, the way she always did when weighing a risk. "She is right," Mara said. "You survive three more days by staying hidden, not by handing them a target. Go, and you may never come back for the ceremony at all." Tristan looked at his sister's tight jaw and Mara's steady eyes. He let out a breath. "Fine. I stay. We hold the walls and wait." Elizabeth's shoulders dropped in relief. The matter closed. That night, a knock came at Tristan's door. Faelynn slipped inside without waiting, her bow slung across her back, her red hair still pinned high. Ashton stood behind her. "My sister has an idea," Ashton whispered. Faelynn grinned. "Our father taught me a spell before he passed." She raised one hand, and the air around it shimmered. Her arm faded, then vanished from sight. "Invisibility. I can hide all three of us. We ride out now, reach your castle, and return before dawn. No one sees us leave. No one sees us come back. No trouble." Tristan's heart pounded. He thought of Elizabeth's warning. Then he thought of the proof that might sit inside those walls, the only thing that could shield his claim from doubt. "You are sure of the spell?" he asked. "I am sure," Faelynn said. Tristan pulled his cloak from the hook. "Then we go tonight. And we tell no one." They climbed to the spire where the dragon roosted, moving through empty halls. Faelynn raised both hands. The shimmer spread over Tristan, over Ashton, over herself, and their bodies faded to nothing. Tristan felt the cold night wind as the dragon spread its wings. They lifted into the dark sky, unseen, flying toward the castle of his blood. Behind them, the palace slept. Ahead lay the answer he needed, and the risk his sister had begged him to refuse.

The black dragon set them down at dawn, and Tristan saw the ruined castle for the first time. Broken towers leaned against the pale sky. Faded banners hung from cracked arches. Rubble buried the steps. Faelynn kept the invisibility spell wrapped around all three of them as they climbed inside. Ashton walked ahead, blue light glowing at his fingers. This was the seat of Tristan's bloodline. Somewhere in these walls waited the proof his claim needed. They searched the great hall. Dust covered every surface. Then Ashton stopped before a tall painting on the wall. "Tristan," he called. "Look." The painting showed a line of dragon riders, their names written beneath in gold. Tristan wiped the grime away. He found his own name. Beside it, he found Elizabeth's. His sister belonged here too. His hand shook. This portrait proved his blood ruled this castle. It was exactly what he had flown here to find. The three split up to search for more. Tristan climbed a broken tower alone. Through a shattered window, he saw them. Soldiers marched toward the castle across the rubble field, spears bright in the morning sun. The throne's forces. They had found him. He ran back down, heart slamming, and reached Faelynn in the hall. "Soldiers," he gasped. "Outside. Many of them." Faelynn's grin vanished. She lifted her hand and the shimmer over them flickered, then thinned. "The spell," she whispered. "I have held it too long. It is fading." Tristan looked at his own arm. He could see it clearly now. Faelynn was no fragile girl. She had flown him here through the dark and hidden them all night. But even she had a limit, and they had reached it. The great doors burst open. Wood splintered across the stone. Tristan grabbed Faelynn's sleeve and pulled her behind a fallen column. They pressed flat against the cold stone. Boots crossed the hall. A hard voice barked orders. "Search every room. He came here. Find the elf prince and kill him." More boots spread out. Faelynn's bow was in her hand, an arrow already nocked. Tristan met her eyes. Neither moved. The spell was gone. Ashton was somewhere in the castle, alone and cut off. The soldiers stood between Tristan and the doors. His plan to slip in and out unseen had failed completely. He had the proof he wanted, rolled tight against his chest where he had cut the canvas free. But now the throne's forces had him trapped inside the very castle of his blood. Faelynn drew the arrow back to her cheek and waited for the first soldier to round the column.

The soldiers spread through the great hall. Tristan waited behind the fallen column until the boots faded toward the far rooms. He gripped the rolled portrait against his chest. "The stairwell," he whispered. Faelynn nodded, arrow still nocked. She rose from her crouch and moved along the wall, silent as smoke. Tristan followed her past a broken doorway. A soldier's shadow crossed the floor ahead. They froze, then slipped through a side arch while the man turned away. The stairwell climbed into shadow. They took it two steps at a time. At the top, a heavy door hung open. Faelynn pushed it wide. Beyond it lay a library, its shelves cracked and leaning, books rotting on the stone. And there, between two toppled cases, stood Ashton. Blue light glowed at his fingers. Ashton had flown here with them, a friend loyal to Tristan's blood, separated when the doors first broke. His face broke into a smile when he saw Tristan. He crossed the room and gripped Tristan's arm. "You're alive," he breathed. His eyes moved to Faelynn and softened. "Both of you." Then he stopped. Voices carried up the stairwell, hard and close. The soldiers were climbing. Ashton's smile died. "Down," he hissed. He pulled Tristan and Faelynn behind a tall bookcase. They pressed flat. Boots reached the landing below and paused. "Where is your dragon?" Ashton whispered. "The back courtyard," Tristan said. "I left him there." Ashton's jaw tightened. "We could really use him right now." A soldier shouted outside. The word cut through the walls. "Dragon!" Tristan spun and ran to the shattered window. He looked down at the courtyard below. His own dragon was not there. Instead he saw a second dragon, one he knew. It belonged to his sister. Elizabeth had come. She had followed him, against her own warning, and brought her dragon across the dark to find him. Then the beast opened its jaws. Fire burst across the courtyard. The blast hit the soldiers massed at the castle wall. Men scattered and screamed. Flame climbed the old stone and lit the whole yard orange. The heat rolled up and struck Tristan's face through the broken glass. "She's here," Tristan said. He turned to Ashton and Faelynn. "Elizabeth is here." Below them the hall filled with panic. The soldiers who had climbed the stairs turned and ran back down toward the fire. Their boots thundered away. For one breath, the path down stood clear. "Now," Ashton said. "While they burn." He seized Tristan's wrist. Faelynn drew her bow toward the empty stairwell. Together they broke from behind the bookcase and ran for the door. The proof of Tristan's claim was still pressed to his chest. His sister's dragon burned a road out of the castle below. But the fire she had brought would draw every soldier for miles to this ruin, and now they all knew a dragon rider had come.

Tristan hit the ground floor with the portrait still against his chest. Faelynn and Ashton ran at his heels. Outside, the courtyard roared. Elizabeth's dragon swept low over the wall. Its purple scales flashed gold in the firelight. It opened its jaws and fire poured down. Soldiers who had run from the castle burned where they stood. Their screams cut short. The heat rolled through the shattered doors and struck Tristan's face. "She won't stop," Ashton said. "She's clearing a path." Tristan watched his sister above the flames. Her long braid whipped in the wind. She had told him not to come here. She had come anyway. Now the whole yard burned for it. They turned toward the main room. A figure stepped from the shadow of a fallen arch. Tristan raised his blade, then stopped. It was Mara, their ally, the witch who had sworn to keep him alive. Her purple coat was streaked with soot. Her dark eyes found the three of them and narrowed. "You fools," Mara said. She crossed to them fast. "You slipped out in the night without a word. I've been hunting you through a burning ruin." She jabbed a finger at Tristan's chest. "Your ceremony is in two days, and you nearly died for a painting." "I got the proof," Tristan said. "Proof is worthless if you're dead." But she gripped his arm and pulled him forward. "Move. Behind me." They ran into the main room. Four soldiers blocked the far doors. They spun, swords up. Mara did not slow. She raised one hand and twisted her fingers. The soldiers stiffened. Their heads snapped sideways with a wet crack. All four dropped at once. Faelynn stared. Mara was already stepping over the bodies. "The door," Mara said. "Now." They burst out the front of the castle. Ash fell like snow. Tristan filled his lungs and gave a long, rising whistle. For a moment nothing came. Then wings beat overhead. His own dragon dropped into the yard and folded low. Tristan climbed its neck and hauled Faelynn up behind him. Ashton and Mara scrambled on last. "Fly," Tristan said. The dragon leapt. The burning castle fell away below. Cold air tore at their faces. Tristan looked back. Elizabeth's dragon rose from the smoke and turned after them. She followed close, her wings matching theirs, guarding their retreat as they cut across the dark toward the palace. Mara leaned close behind him. "You have your proof," she said. "But every soldier for a hundred miles saw two dragons tonight. They know exactly where you'll be for the ceremony." Tristan gripped the portrait tighter. He had escaped the castle. He had won nothing but a shorter clock. In two days they would come for him, and now they knew his face.