Chapter 29
Despite my bone-deep exhaustion, sleep wrestles me—letting me get almost close enough to slip under before shoving me away. Again and again.
I blame it on the silence, the smells, the new environment. Deep down, I know it’s the sticky residue of the memory I discarded after using it to strangle a rock I never want to see again.
Ever.
Even so, I can’t stop my mind from storming, much like the clouds outside …
I’m now certain Elluin was torn from Kaan against her will. That she made a decision based on lack of knowledge or coercion, binding with the male in her memory.
Bribery, perhaps? Though it’s hard to imagine something important enough to do what she did. To go as far as consummate when her heart so utterly belonged to Kaan.
His chest rises and falls beneath my head, his heart pounding a heavy beat that brings me a jarring amount of peace—smooth and comforting.
Alive.
I’ll never get over this sound. A notion that feels fresh, yet … ancient. Anchored to some of the stones buried deep in my icy lake.
If I could sift out the good ones, absorb those, I would.
But after seeing what I did—after feeling the choking silence that stuffed Elluin’s mouth and made her feel so hopelessly trapped—I’m not sure I’ll ever have the stomach to swallow the truth.
That I’ll ever be able to watch without feeling like I want to rip through the fabric of time and scream at her to fight back.
To fight for Kaan like he fights for everything he loves.
I spread my hand farther across his chest. So strong and solid beneath me. Sturdy.
He took my words so gently. Didn’t lash me with frustration or even suggest I dig deeper and explore the rest of the memory, despite absolutely deserving the truth I’m too cowardly to face.
Once again, he gave me everything and left nothing for himself.
I’ll never be good enough for this male, but I’ll try.
Creators, I’ll fucking try.
A distant screech pierces the atmosphere—faint.
Something inside me shifts so abruptly a wave of nausea almost tips my guts, a chill crawling up my spine. I strain to listen, failing to hear anything bar the sturdy thud-ump of Kaan’s heart and his deep, steady breaths.
Perhaps I imagined it?
I close my eyes, try to empty my mind—to sleep—but something keeps tugging me. Like sensing a shift in the weather, but needing to see the change myself; to watch the clouds swell, taste the air sweeten, and feel the first snow eddies buffer my face.
Except it’s already storming, so it can’t be that.
Curiosity gets the better of me.
I kiss Kaan’s eyelids, one at a time, praying to the Creators that he sleeps long and deep.
With slow, careful poise, I edge off the pallet and fasten my pants, removing what’s left of my ravaged shirt.
I slip into Kaan’s instead, doing my best to ignore the many bloodstains and puncture holes while I tuck it in, buckle one sheath, then don and fasten my cloak and boots.
Whisper-quiet, I move down the stairs, out the front door into the biting cold. Flick up my hood as I step into the courtyard, now covered in a fluffy layer of untouched snow, quickly dented by my booted steps.
I look to the sky. Squint against the snowflakes that immediately begin to gather on my lashes, scanning the dense gray clouds for anything abnormal. Though I struggle to see much beyond the cold, blustery churn of white and gray.
I make for the gate, wait for the stoic guards to crank it open before I slip out, moving down the path that twists between colorful buildings and snow-laden trees.
With the village slumbering, no folk are about. No adolescent Moltenmaws busting through the sky, screeching. Just the distant gush of water and soft patter of snow to attempt to ease the tight spool of tension in my chest.
A peaceful quiet that feels anything but.
Trying to rub away the strange, slightly concerning silver light still tangled around my wrist and fingers, I keep my ears strained.
Keep scanning the sky through gaps in the foliage, seeing the odd loose tendril of mist tumbling down the face of the eastern range.
Not yet thick enough to house waifs, but certainly bad enough to confuse any parchment larks the Moving Mists happen to swallow.
Terrible timing, given the coming moonfalls, though hopefully it means news of Rygun’s renegade actions will take a while to flutter south.
The path takes me all the way down to the wide azure river that ribbons through the gully, the sleepy waterside buildings appearing to be stores locked for the slumber, signs hanging from their ornate eaves garnished with the word closed.
I move out onto a mossy bridge that arches over the water, kisses a diamond-shaped eyot standing strong against the gushing force, then leaps to the eastern side.
Stopping to lean against the handrail, I take full advantage of the open view of the cloud-packed sky, snow pattering my upturned face as I watch.
Listen.
Something inside me listens harder.
The distant sound of beating wings stills my heart, the organ thrashing again at the sight of something moving amongst the clouds like a smudge of light.
There’s another screech before a small Moonplume punches through with a slash of its luminous wings, its elegant body a pale strike against the gray—snatching my breath.
Líri.
I smile, dashing my hood back as a trio of saddled Moltenmaws chase her free of the clouds, herding her into the gully to the tune of their riders’ orders.
Líri tilts sideways, allowing me a perfect view of her empty saddle, the holes from Rekk’s spurs still gouged through the leather, yet to be patched up.
She appears to scan the village with keen intent, nostrils flaring. Scenting. Her stare strikes me with such force I feel it in my gut, a cool shudder raking me through.
She cranks her maw and screeches, like numerous metal blades being dragged across the face of a glazed plate.
The Moltenmaw riders scream words too muddied for me to make out before Líri tucks and dives so fast it looks like she’s going to plunge into the water. She flicks her wings wide just in time to slice parallel to the river … coming straight for me.
I frown, our gazes colliding through the swirling snow.
Time stills.
All I see are her glitter-kissed eyes, fathomless orbs shaded by fans of pale lashes. All I feel is the strangled thump of my heart and this heaviness in my gut that tells me something’s not right.
Líri’s maw begins to part, revealing her fierce sabers and the glow of a blue flame brewing in her chest … surging up her throat …
Creators, she’s going to fry me.
Time whirs back into motion—too fucking fast.
I barely dive onto the island in time to tumble behind a rock and shield myself from the eviscerating carnage that explodes from her maw, clapping my hands against my ears when she screeches with such shrill ferocity that even the air seems to shudder.
A deep rumble shakes the ground, morphing into a warning roar that could only belong to one dragon.
I pull my arm back, looking up past billows of stone dust and snow in time to see Rygun launch free of his mountain ledge far above. He extends, catching the air, his wingspan so broad my heart skips a beat—his stretched silhouette dominating the sky like a barbed stain.
He roars again, short blasts that seem to call the Moltenmaws off, scattering them toward the burrows. Like a robust I’ve got this. All very well, except Líri pivots, realigns herself with my proximity, tucks her wings, and—
Charges.
“Fuck,” I mutter, realizing there’s nowhere else to hide and nowhere near enough time to run.
I’m about to call on Clode despite being ninety percent certain she won’t hold against a Moonplume flame, when Rygun tucks and plummets into the gully with the force of a falling moon.
He slams his wings wide in time to pluck Líri from the air, her responding screech more disgruntled than anything.
Her wings fold like a captured sowmoth as Rygun pounds his, lifting from the chasm in pulsing heaves that gust the village and blast the trees bare of snow.
Only once he nears the peaks does he loosen his grip.
Líri drops for a beat, then flicks out her wings and catches the air, holding. She appears to look back at Rygun, then tucks her body and dives—perfectly streamlined. Like a silky spear tossed at me.
Again.
I groan, throwing out my hands. “Really?”
Rygun huffs a smoky breath, then plummets much faster than her smaller body, scooping out to cut her off. Cutting my vision of her, too—though I hear her honk.
Snarl.
Growl.
She finally moves into view, ascending toward the clouds in thrashing motions that make me picture someone stomping.
Rygun herds her in deep, arching maneuvers, coaxing her toward the burrows, each beat of his wings a violent thrum.
Akin to seven or eight of her own frantic flutters as she continues to dip and swoop, like she’s hunting for weak spots in his defense.
Or just arguing with him.
He snaps at her heels. She snarls back, throwing a plume of blue flame at his face, though it evaporates before it has a chance to strike.
Just.
He growls with the ferocity of two worlds grinding against each other, a sound that vibrates through the air and shakes the ground beneath me.
Even Clode seems to squirm.
Líri doesn’t so much as flinch, but she does throw him a berating honk that goes on and on before pitching into a burrow—gone.
My heart continues to pound like a drum as Rygun patrols the sky in deep, sweeping arcs, casting his mighty shadow across the village that’s no longer slumbering …
the paths now packed with folk ankle-deep in snow.
Cloaks pulled taut around their shoulders, they stare up at the commotion through sleep-addled eyes, many looking at me, pointing, talking between themselves.
Or perhaps they’re pointing at the busted bridge.
I shove up, dusting the snow and debris from my cloak while I scan said bridge I’d been standing on prior to Líri’s advance, now in jagged chunks strewn through the river, mostly sunken beneath its heaving might. Like she brewed her most destructive flame and threw it with intent.
At me.
An uncomfortable tightness bands around my chest, making me feel jittery.
Restless.
I may have won Líri’s trust in Dhomm—enough for her to welcome my presence when she was at her most vulnerable—but it would appear she’d now quite like to obliterate me. Suggesting I’ve absolutely, one hundred percent, fucked up.