Chapter 55 Bitter Wars
In the lull before the march, Daisy’s fever spiked and crashed, leaving her raw and empty in the center of the old sacrificial chamber. The rest of the group bickered in the corner, debating the best route to the mountain fortress, but their voices were tinny, distant, drowned in the rhythm of her own blood.
She watched the patterns of scales on her arms, how they fanned from her wrist to her elbow, then spread across her chest in a map of crimson. Every scale felt alive, buzzing with electricity. For the first time, she thought she might see the appeal of being a monster: the clarity, the power, the way all other needs fell away beneath the weight of it.
A soft sound cut through the haze. Maribel was at her side, the old patchwork journal pressed to her chest like a holy book. She crouched, hands trembling, and waited until Daisy’s vision steadied.
“You’re back,” Maribel said, and this time it was a statement, not a plea.
Daisy nodded, wary. “For now.”
Maribel opened the journal, pages already warped with blood and age. She flipped to a section near the end, where the ink ran thick, and the runes bled into one another. She set the book on Daisy’s lap, careful not to catch the edges on any of the sharp scales.
“Read it,” Maribel said, voice hushed. “Even if it hurts.”
Daisy tried. The script was tight, furious, but the longer she stared, the more the runes seemed to rearrange themselves, forming words she recognized only on the inside of her eyelids. The patterns spiraled, then branched out, mimicking the lines of scales on her arms. As she traced them with a claw, the ink pulsed, first faint, then so bright it burned the paper.
She jerked her hand back, claws tearing a furrow in the page. The sigil flared, then faded, but it was replaced by a new line, one that hadn’t been there before.
Maribel smiled, sad and proud. “I hoped you’d see it. The journal’s bound to you. Your father made it that way.”
Daisy flinched. “I never knew him. Not really.”
Maribel rolled up her sleeve. Her own arm was webbed with blue-black marks, scars in the same spiral pattern as Daisy’s scales. “He tried to keep the power away from you. He said it was a curse, that nobody should have it. But it found you anyway. It always does.”
She slid her arm next to Daisy’s, the matching scars making the connection undeniable.
Daisy stared at her mother, then at the pages. “Who was he?”
Maribel hesitated, then began. “He was a blood mage, like the old stories. Not the city’s kind. Older. His family guarded the line, kept the knowledge, watched for the return of the Ancient One. They were supposed to kill him if he came back.”
Daisy’s breath caught. “But he didn’t.”
Maribel shook her head, her eyes distant. “He found me first. Fell in love, or something like it. Maybe he was just tired of being a weapon. When the time came, he didn’t kill Xeris. He helped him survive. Hid him in the tunnels under the city, fed him enough magic to keep him alive but not strong enough to burn the world.”
Daisy ran her claws across the scales of her forearm, unsure if she felt betrayed or vindicated.
Maribel watched her, unreadable. “Your father died trying to fix what he’d done. He tried to break the bond, to set the dragon free without letting him destroy everything. But he wasn’t strong enough.”
She looked at Daisy, her voice suddenly steel. “But you are. You have something he never did, Xeris respects you.”
The word respect made Daisy want to laugh, but the look on her mother’s face killed the urge.
Maribel turned to the final pages. “He left this for you. The counterspell. He said only someone who the spiral had changed could finish it.”
Daisy stared at the runes. This time, when she traced them, the ink didn’t flare. It melted, pooling into a single word, a name that wasn’t quite hers and wasn’t quite the dragon’s.
“It’s not a spell,” she said, realization cold in her veins. “It’s a pact.”
Maribel nodded. “You have to get Xeris to choose. The bond can’t be broken from the outside. It has to be made again, as equals.”
Daisy thought of the dragon’s memories, the pride, the rage, the way he lingered over moments of mercy even as he called them weakness. She saw him as he’d been, not a monster, but the last of a breed that believed in something other than survival.
“Why me?” Daisy asked, voice small.
Maribel’s hand hovered over Daisy’s hair, then settled on her shoulder. “Because you don’t want it. That’s why it chose you. The city made you fight for everything, but you never wanted to win by hurting someone else.”
Daisy snorted, bitter. “I’ve killed a lot of people, Mom.”
Maribel’s smile was pure pain. “But you never enjoyed it. That’s the difference.”
She shut the journal, and for a second, the only sound was the slow drip of water from the ceiling.
Daisy stared at her claws, at the scales, at the future that seemed to shrink with every heartbeat. “What happens if I can’t convince him?”
Maribel’s answer was immediate. “Then you end it. Don’t let him take the city. Don’t let him take you.”
Daisy wanted to scream, but her voice was gone.
She folded the journal to her chest, closed her eyes, and focused on the spiral at her wrist.
Inside her head, she could feel Xeris waiting.
And this time, she was ready to meet him.