Chapter 6
TAMSYN
I USED TO DREAM OF FIRE. I NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHY.
Now I did.
Now I dream of before … of Penterra, where humans dwelled.
The only home I’d ever known. It was something that no longer belonged to me, but Penterra filled my dreams nonetheless …
along with other things. Things that once were.
Things that lay beneath the surface, under the skin, spinning deep in the hollows of me.
They broke loose and came out in sleep to find me.
We flew in the cover of night, in air cold and wet with particles of ice that struck my dragon skin like the pricks of needles. I knew we were moving south of the Crags into the Borderlands, southeast toward the coastline, because I tasted the briny air on my fiery tongue.
The sky lightened from stygian dark to a softer bruised purple, and we landed in a thicket.
It was not a random location, though. They’d chosen this spot deliberately.
A small cottage, its wood boards faded and parched by time, sat among the trees in gold swaying grass, tucked away, blending with all the brown and gilded tones of the forest.
I was naked, the pads of my bare feet sinking into dirt and leaves, crunching softly as I rotated, eyeing my surroundings.
We were always naked before we manifested—otherwise we ruined a good set of clothes—and we were naked after, when we turned back into our human bodies. Once upon a time I had felt self-conscious in those moments, exposed and on display, vulnerable as a fragile butterfly cast into a storm.
Now, however, it felt like every single member of the pride had seen me naked.
Including my three companions. Gone was my self-consciousness.
Mostly. It was a shallow concern and easier for me to pretend nudity was completely ordinary.
As ordinary as changing shape or flying or breathing fire had become.
As ordinary as being something humans considered an abomination deserving only destruction.
Harald and Arran moved toward the cottage, opening the door and striding inside, knowing precisely what to do. Clearly they had made this rekon and visited this cottage countless times.
Vetr motioned for me to follow, and I did, stepping inside the cottage with its parched and faded wood and creaking floorboards.
Once inside, we dressed ourselves in clothes that had ostensibly been left for us, an assortment stashed away in a dresser. A dresser, of all things. There was also a table with chairs. Neatly made beds. A wood floor covered in woven straw rugs.
From outside, the cottage looked ready to topple over at the next heavy gust of wind, but inside, it almost felt like a home with all its fittings and personal effects, a place that was holding its breath and awaiting our arrival.
Dressed in leather trousers and a thickly padded over tunic, a sheathed dagger at my side, a fur mantle draped over my shoulders to ward off the cold (as though needed), I realized I appeared as any denizen of the Borderlands, as common as the mist that—
I stopped abruptly, then moved to the window, yanking open the shutters, peering outside.
Swaying gold grass and trees stared back at me.
There was no mist. This was the Borderlands and there was no mist. The two had always gone together, entwined like day and night.
A constant combination. And yet there was no sign of the mist that perpetually shrouded the Borderlands.
I looked down, up, all around. The air was bright and clear in the light of dawn, splashed with sunshine and motes of dust.
I stepped back and glanced to Vetr. “The mist … is gone.”
He nodded once. “Fell is gone.”
I nodded slowly at the succinctness of that explanation. The truth of it—the significance—rang like a bell, tolling through me, reverberating deep in the marrow of me.
“You could provide the mist, couldn’t you?” I asked haltingly. He was a shader, too. That was his talent.
“Why would I do that?”
I blinked, feeling foolish at the clipped retort. Indeed—why?
Why would he provide a protective shroud in the Borderlands that helped foil the actions of bandits and raiders from Veturland?
Why would he do anything to help humankind at all?
Feeling deflated, I turned from the window.
Harald and Arran moved briskly about the space, scarcely giving me a glance.
I watched as Arran lifted a rock away from the stonework framing the fireplace.
He pulled out a pouch from inside the dark cavity and tossed it in his hand, testing its weight. “Should be enough.”
Vetr nodded in approval, and that only increased my discomfort. They had tasks. They knew what they were about. I had nothing to do except stand by and watch them.
Without another word, Harald and Arran left and Vetr and I were alone.
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“There’s a town a few hours’ ride from here. They’ll purchase mounts for us. Food.” Of course. Food. There was nothing to eat in the cottage. Nor anything living, like a horse, to ride out of here.
I glanced around us. Everything was covered in a film of dust. No one had been here in a while. Vetr quickly set to work piling wood into the fireplace. Crouched down, he glanced back at me and motioned me forward.
It took me a minute to understand his meaning. With a blink, I jumped into action, blowing a curling ribbon of flame onto the resting logs until they caught and held a fire.
I faced him with a wry smile. “Is that why you brought me along? To help light fires?”
He didn’t smile back. He never smiled. “I brought you so that you could learn a thing or two.”
“I thought only those who are deemed ready go on rekons.” Not those still in need of training and learning a thing or two.
In the dimness of the cottage, his eyes gleamed like marbles lit from within, and I wondered if this was simply him or more of the magic that defined him … that defined all of us dragons. “You’re more ready than you know.”
I shifted my weight. That gaze on me, that rumbling voice vibrating through me, the air throbbing all around us, only served to emphasize how very alone we were.
“Am I?”
“There is a first rekon for everyone.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured. Except there were a good number of those in the pride who had never left the Crags before. Nayden, Kerstin. Many others. He thought I was more ready than all of them? Flattering … but not likely.
“You’re going to do fine. There’s strength in you. I’ve seen evidence of it from the moment you arrived.”
I angled my head sharply to the side, a little startled by his praise. I’d assumed he’d only seen weakness in me. Grief and struggle. The things I’d seen reflected in the eyes of the others when they looked at me.
I knew I was more than that, of course.
I’d been raised to endure, to absorb pain and discomfort. And yet it bolstered me to have another, the pride’s alpha, Fell’s brother, acknowledge that I was not weak or insignificant.
He waved to one of the beds. “They won’t be back for a while. Get some rest.”
Nodding, I moved to the bed and pulled back the dusty coverlet.
The linens beneath appeared clean. I slipped into the bed, tucking my cheek against my palm.
I never used to sleep this way—with my hand cupping my face.
Now I did. Now it gave me comfort to feel the slightly puckered X against my cheek.
My gaze flicked around the cottage. Four walls.
A ceiling. A single shuttered window. And a door.
A solid door with a latch and an iron bolt.
All the trappings of the human world. So familiar and …
not. It was something from a dream. An illusion.
A memory fogged over by time. An old book read until the pages wore thin, until the spine cracked.
I slid my bare feet restlessly against the cool linen.
His voice carried across the room, a deep strum on my nerves. “Sleep.”
I wouldn’t sleep. I knew this.
I was back. In Penterra. In the place that destroyed things like me.
His voice found me again. “It’s going to be all right, Tamsyn. You’ll see. You grew up here … among them. You’ll be good at it.”
“It?”
“Fitting in. Walking among them, interacting … gathering information.”
Ah. Was that why he brought me with them? He thought I would be good at spying on humans?
It’s going to be all right.
No one could promise that. There was only trying.
Trying to survive. Trying not to die. Trying to find a safe place. A home in this life.
“I hope you are right.”
THIS WORLD WAS like an old coat discarded for a season and then reclaimed, donned again, the fit somehow new, changed even if it still draped the same way.
Harald returned with horses. Arran had gone on to the bigger town of Porthavn farther south along the coast, where we were to meet him.
He would secure lodgings at an inn for the night and do whatever else was needed.
Vetr did not deign to explain things to me.
His plan for this rekon remained elusive.
A point of frustration, to be sure. How was I to learn anything if not taught?
If not deemed worthy of instruction? It was almost as though he blamed me for my lack of knowledge, my ignorance of dragon ways.
And yet he had brought me along. Why? It was confounding. He confounded me.
I made every effort to watch and listen, absorbing as much as possible from what was not said as much as from what was. The imperceptible nods between Vetr and Harald; the exchanges of looks, the grunts of acknowledgment, the tensing of shoulders, the furrow of a brow. I gleaned what I could.
The three of us journeyed along a well-traveled road, the path deeply rutted and scarred like the bark of a gnarled old tree. There had been a recent rain and maneuvering was a tricky, bumpy affair on horseback.