Dragon of Ice and Snow by H.M. Clarke

Author:H.M. Clarke [Clarke, H.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HMC Press
Published: 2026-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-three

Morning sunlight spilled through the lattice windows of the deHarni villa, turning the air golden and soft. A sweet scent of crushed herbs and dew-wet flowers drifted in from the garden beyond. The air was warm already, not the dry heat of southern lands, but a living warmth filled with the hum of bees and the distant song of fountains.

Colla and Somhairle walked side by side down the marble corridor toward the east wing, where their mother’s rooms lay. It had been years since Colla had last walked this path. Every stone was familiar, yet it seemed to belong to another life, a life before the Guild’s wars, before the endless flight and bloodshed. The tapestries along the walls showed scenes of elven myth: forest queens crowned in moonlight, dragons gliding above green glades, and rivers whose waters gleamed like starlight. All symbols of peace and grace, and all fragile now in the face of the world’s rising storm.

When they reached the carved oak door of his mother’s chambers, Somhairle paused and glanced at him.

“She’s better today,” he said softly. “The healers say the fever has nearly gone.”

Colla nodded, a knot of relief already loosening in his chest. “I wasn’t sure I’d see her again.”

Somhairle’s eyes softened. “She’ll be glad to see you, little brother.”

He opened the door.

The chamber beyond was filled with the scent of lavender and sunlight. The windows had been thrown open to the garden, where vines heavy with blossoms climbed the outer walls. A pair of crystal birds, gifts from the palace, enchanted to sing, perched on the window ledge, their delicate notes mingling with the rustle of leaves.

On the bed, propped against a mound of soft pillows, lay their mother, the Lady deHarni. Her silver hair, once like moonlight, was streaked now with threads of pale gold from the healing salves. Her skin had lost some of its former luster, yet her eyes, a deep, luminous green, still held the light of wisdom and unyielding strength. When she saw them, her face brightened with the faintest of smiles.

“My sons,” she said, her voice fragile but clear. “At last.”

Colla knelt beside her, taking her slender hand in his. “Mother.”

“Ah, Colla,” she whispered, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers. “You’ve grown older since I last saw you. The road has been cruel.”

He smiled faintly. “It has, but it hasn’t broken me.”

“I should hope not. You are a DeHarni, and stubbornness runs thicker than blood in our line.” Her gaze flicked toward Somhairle, who stood quietly by the window, watching her with unspoken concern. “Your brother tells me you’ve come home to stir up trouble.”

“Not trouble,” Colla said softly. “Change.”

Her brows lifted. “Change and trouble are often the same thing.”

He laughed under his breath. “Perhaps. But change is needed all the same.”

For a time, they spoke of gentler things, the harvests in the valley, the music festivals soon to begin in the city, the stories of distant kin. Lady deHarni seemed stronger than he expected; her laughter

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