23. Chapter 23 #4
“We were never dead.” He presses his fingertips to his eyelids in frustration, as though he’s already explained this fact thrice over. “We were simply displaced.”
“So you admit that you broke free of Purgatory,” I say. “How?”
He regards me seriously. I hold my stance. If the dragons were truly banished to Purgatory like Regent claims, then they would’ve had to navigate the colorless, backwater hovel called the afterlife, which is tucked somewhere on the opposite side of the veil, only to return unscathed.
Impossible.
“That is story for another day,” he says.
“Fine.” I loosen a sigh. “I’ll humor you.
Let’s say you were displaced, and now you are not.
I suppose that theory is certainly less preposterous than the old hag’s explanation of undead immortals stirring from their graves.
Have you heard of the Goddess of Whispers, by chance?
” I cross my arms over my chest, sword in hand.
The dragon prince shakes his head slowly, not daring to break eye contact.
“Not very helpful, are you?” I say. “Will you at least be a doll and go displace yourself somewhere else? I’m trying very hard to find my friends, and the last thing I need right now is some dragon prince coming to collect a bounty on my head.”
He takes another step forward, his body obscuring mine in an eclipse of silver and white. His gaze rakes over the dips and curves of my hips and breasts as I brace my stance harder, refusing to give him the satisfaction of me taking a step back in fear.
“I had expected more… fire from you,” he drawls. “But all I see is a little ember wielding a tiny stick.”
“You would know all about tiny little sticks, wouldn’t you?” I swing my newfound blade at his throat, missing by mere inches. He staggers back, arms raised in surrender.
“Get out of my way,” I say, “or I’ll impale you with this little stick of mine. Multiple times. In multiple places. Until you’re bleeding out from every orifice and your corpse raisins from dehydration.”
His eyes widen in amusement. “You’ve got quite the imagination for a god’s pet.”
“Do not call me that.”
With a smirk toying along his lips, he unsheathes his thick sword, which looks forged by dragon fire and reinforced by bloodiron.
He swings it at me, his blade meeting mine in a dance of death.
Metal resonates against metal as the ceiling reverberates above us, the windchimes clamoring to the sound of our footsteps.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I am no one’s pet,” I grit out as I force the newcomer back with the weight of my weapon, power surging through my veins.
I’d nearly forgotten what it feels like to wield such a mighty thing.
To balance someone’s fate in my grasp. I could kill him now, and the world would know no different.
“Prove it.” He drops his sword, sending it clattering to the floor.
“Leave Aurora at once. Leave your god. Come with me to Skaldrathia, where you will be protected by the dragons forevermore.” He holds out a white-gloved hand in a peace offering, his eyes softening into something that looks like… surrender?
“You want to protect me?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity of it all, my skin sheening with sweat in places where the light goes to die. “Is that what you call placing a bounty on someone’s head? Protection?”
“The bounty requires that you be brought to my father alive,” the intruder clarifies, the flicker in his eyes revealing that he’s telling the truth.
“Why?” I press my blade against his neck.
One more inch, and I’ll cut his artery wide open.
I know it, and he knows it too. Yet his lips curve into a sly smile regardless, like he’s some kind of masochistic maniac.
I work on drawing out a tiny drop of golden bloodmagic from his neck, gently, watching in fascination as it drips down his skin.
“Did you really expect that I’d believe your lies so easily?
” I whisper to him. “That if you simply dropped your weapon, I’d happily tag along with you across the sea?
I am no fool, Prince. I know exactly why you seek my head.
So that you may send the God of Dreams back to Purgatory where he belongs.
But guess what? I am not in love with him, so killing me would have no benefit. ”
“Perhaps there is a fire inside you after all.” The prince’s grin grows wilder, even though his voice is oscillating beneath my blade. “Unfortunately for you, if you kill me now, you’ll never learn the real reason for why I’m here. And that reason has nothing to do with your parasitic god.”
I hold my stance. I’m only one lethal graze away from slicing him wide open and spilling a gallon of bloodmagic all over the witch’s hut. Not that she’d complain. She’d be rich.
And on that note, perhaps I’ll spare him.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His voice is clipped and strangled, but the fire in his eyes refuses to fade. “The dragons seek to free the Mother of Chaos in order to destroy the gods. Are you with us?” he asks.
All the bones in my body turn to dust as I pull the sword away, leaving him staggering backward and rubbing his hand along the crook of his neck.
“Struck a nerve, eh?” he hacks out, his voice a tenacious gasp deprived of oxygen.
“Tell me what you know about the Mother of Chaos,” I demand. “Or I will turn your neck into a gaping ravine.”
He chuckles at my expense. “According to legend, the raven is destined to free the Mother of Chaos from her stone form. Are you familiar with the tale of the raven?”
“No.” I twirl my blade and stuff it away into its sheath. But that doesn’t stop me from imagining splaying his blood across the floor.
His infuriatingly bright eyes spark like they’re being fueled by my confusion.
Two heartbeats. That’s how long it takes for him to reach me and pull back my sleeve.
That’s how long it takes for his magnificent face to crumble, as though every moment of his life has come to this.
He stares at the raven spellmark on my forearm, and then into my eyes, looking at me with such innate longing, it’s as though he’s known me for his entire life.
Like we met on a cellular level when we were stardust twirling through the cosmos, anticipating the day we’d meet in our physical forms. Not that I believe in that sort of thing, of course.
"You sure, Little Ember?" he whispers.
“You’re grasping at smoke,” I grit out through clenched teeth, glancing down at his grip on my wrist.
“Am I?” He releases me, his voice a gravely indulgence that frays my tender heartstrings. “Because it certainly feels like I’m grasping at much… much more.”