Chapter 47
KORYN
Are you done?
I hoped not. I hoped this would never end. Yes, I’d drifted off to sleep, but only for a few minutes so that I had enough energy for what came next. My head was cradled in the curve of Syleris’ shoulder, my fingers tangled in Garrick’s hair while he placed lazy kisses on my stomach.
You are done.
Something was knocking against the window. A wayward branch, blown about by the storm that had slowly risen throughout the afternoon and evening. Garrick told me they blew in from the Northern Death frequently.
Get up, put on some clothes, and let me in. Now.
My hand stilled. That was not my own voice in my head, and that was not a tree knocking at the window. There were no trees on the flat plain where Balar Shan sat perched along the water’s edge.
That was Isanara. And she was pissed.
“Cover up,” I said, kicking my way free of the sheets as I rolled out of bed. I scrambled for my dressing gown, hastily belting it as I reached for the window.
Garrick swore behind me. Syleris chuckled. A shiver slunk down my spine at the sound of their voices.
Focus, I ordered myself. Then, to Isanara—I’m coming.
She forced her way through the window as I opened the latch. If I’d been a second slower, the crowned glass would have shattered.
It’s too bad your patience hasn’t grown in time with the rest of you. I had to jump sideways to avoid being knocked over by her hulking lavender mass. Gods, she was huge.
I have been waiting for hours, she hissed.
She stalked to the fireplace, shaking her spines and sending little shards of ice to the hearthrug.
Her tail lashed from side to side, whipping against the upholstered wingback chair and ripping open a foot-long tear in the side.
She was getting big, but she was also very aware of each and every one of her spikes. That destruction was intentional.
Are you hungry? I asked. I didn’t know much about children, but I knew that I was irritable when I hadn’t eaten.
She swiveled her long neck to glare back over her shoulder and snap her jaws at me. I have been outside for hours.
Give me strength, I appealed to whatever deity remained who might be inclined to give aid. Seraxa, maybe. Give me mercy so I do not strangle my familiar.
That is not an answer, I said in my most neutral voice.
I found a vein of coal to the north. I am sated.
So was I. But I did not think that was what my familiar wanted to hear at that particular moment. She seemed to be settling down on the hearthrug. Dragons did not yawn—at least, not to my knowledge, but the wobbliness of her movements spoke of exhaustion.
“We should return to the presence chamber,” I said, looking around the room. Most of our fine clothing was piled in heaps around the bed.
Good. The smell you all left in here is bad enough.
I gritted my teeth to keep from retorting.
“Midnight is still an hour away,” Garrick said.
He’d made it to the edge of the bed, where he watched Isanara and me. He’d learned to keep his distance. Syleris was still fully reclined, arms propped behind his head, in his full, spectacular glory. Miles of hard, olive skin gleaming in the firelight.
“Come back to bed, sweetling,” he purred.
If you take one more step toward that bed, I will set it on fire.
I pursed my lips in Isanara’s direction. You don’t breathe fire.
Try me.
I cleared my throat but kept my feet firmly on the floor. In truth, I did not trust myself to go to where my gown lay beside the bed without succumbing to Syleris’ invitation and falling into it.
“My familiar desires her privacy.”
That is not what I said.
You are being argumentative just for the sake of it.
Fine. You stay. I will leave.
She unfurled to her feet, snapping her tail side to side with the force of a whip. The window was still wide open, but she pointed her snout toward the left side of the fireplace instead, into the corner between the hearth and the wardrobe.
Isanara, that isn’t necessary.
“She is arguing with her familiar,” Garrick said to Syleris. It sounded like he was pulling on his trousers.
“I am familiar with what she looks like when holding a conversation in her head,” Syleris scoffed. “Come back to bed, halfling. This is between them.”
I shut the pair of them out. Never entirely. I doubted it was possible. But they could take care of each other just now.
Isanara, please talk to me.
She hissed, spinning suddenly. But the space between the hearth, wardrobe, and wingback chair was too tight, and she was too big. For once, we were not in sync. My foot caught in the rip her talon had slashed into the hearthrug.
She tried to catch me. Even angry, she would not let me hurt myself if she could help it. But she couldn’t. The force of my forward momentum was too great, and the angle was wrong.
She flung herself sideways into the wall so that I wouldn’t fall on top of her. I hit the ground hard, my knees and elbow screaming where they collided with the uncovered brick floor.
“Koryn!”
Man and god rushed across the room. I was too busy cursing under my breath to know who made it first. Both of their hands were on me—one bracing my hip, the other my forearm. I shook them both off. That obviously did not work.
“Bricks are better than dragon spikes,” I said, swatting their hands away. My knees hurt, and I thought I scented blood—my elbow, maybe. But I could stand unassisted. For now.
Isanara had thrown herself sideways into the wall to avoid impaling me on the spikes that lined her back. She should have left thick gauges in the brick wall.
But she hadn’t. She’d torn down the thing entirely. The wall had crumbled because it was not made of brick at all. It was wood—a wooden door, well-painted and maybe even enchanted to blend into the wall.
With the door destroyed, wood splintered and hanging off its hinges, the mess behind was visible. It was a mess. Heaps and piles and scattered debris. And every single bit of it gleamed or glittered.
“Isanara… what is this?” I said aloud. My mind was too overwhelmed to contain the words.
Assured that I had no lasting injuries, she scampered over the threshold into the room, the size of a large closet. Maybe it had been a closet at one point. But now…
My hoard, Isanara said as she wove between the piles of treasure.
“Your hoard?” I nearly choked on the words.
If Garrick or Syleris had thoughts, I could not hear them over the roaring in my own ears. My entire body felt as if it were on fire. Maybe I had hit my head when I fell, too.
Isanara climbed to a spot atop the biggest pile of gold, circled around like a cat, and then lay down, resting her long snout on her two front feet, talons out.
I am a dragon. It is my duty to protect magical objects. Objects of great power, she preened.
“Great power.” The words came out of me hoarse because my throat was closing. The fire in my veins was not fire at all, but ice so cold that it burned every inch of me, inside and out.
There was no amount of counting or breathing that could get me through this. My knees went out from under me, but Syleris and Garrick were already there, bracing me on each side.
“What is it?” Garrick. That was Garrick’s voice.
“Talismans.” Syleris. Rough. Why was his voice rough?
A big, warm hand splayed across my back, my Lifebind supporting me. Gods, I loved him.
“The talisman is here?” Garrick again.
My back arched as pain more powerful than any I’d felt before surged through me.
“Not one,” I cried. Each breath was torture. I gasped for air that did not want to come. My lungs were too busy being ripped apart to function properly. I was being pulled in many directions at once. Too many.
Not one talisman.
“Four.”
I gasped again, and everything went black.