Chapter 10 Rurik
TEN
RURIK
The list took me three days to write.
Three days of crossing things out, adding things back, arguing with myself about whether “fighting a bear” was too aggressive for a first real outing. The bear got cut. Replaced with cliff diving, which is basically the same level of danger but with better scenery.
I find her in the infirmary—because, of course, she’s in the infirmary.
In the week since the attack, Aisling has transformed the fortress’s medical wing from a dusty collection of bandages and mystery salves into something that actually functions.
Alphabetized supplies. Color-coded schedules.
Inventory lists that make Auren weep with jealousy.
But something’s different today.
She’s humming.
Actually humming, some melody I don’t recognize, while she arranges surgical tools in neat rows on a clean cloth. Her hair is pulled back in a practical knot, there’s a smudge of ink on her cheek, and she’s swaying slightly to her own music.
The dragon rumbles with approval. Mate. Ours. Happy.
“Got something for you.” I slide onto the examination table, letting my legs dangle.
She glances up, and instead of the wariness I’ve grown used to, her mouth curves into something approaching a smirk. “If it’s another request to test fire-resistant bandages by setting yourself on fire, the answer is still no.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.” She holds up three fingers, wiggling them. “I have records. With drawings. Selene helped me label them.”
“Drawings?”
“Very detailed drawings.” Her eyes are bright with mischief. “Auren asked for copies.”
“Traitor.” But I’m grinning, because this—this playful, teasing version of her—is new. And I want more of it. “Fine. No fire-related requests today. I come bearing something better.”
I hold up the parchment with a flourish.
She sets down her tools and crosses to me, curiosity plain on her face. “What’s that?”
“Things Aisling Byrne Should Experience Before Deciding All Dragons Are Terrible.”
She takes the parchment. Reads the first line. Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline.
“Cliff diving.” She looks at me. Back at the paper. Back at me. Then she laughs—a full, genuine laugh that transforms her entire face. “You made me a list. You, the man who can’t sit still for thirty seconds, actually sat down and wrote an organized list.”
“I’m a man of hidden depths.”
“Hidden shallows, more like.” But she’s grinning as she scans the rest. “Night flying through a thunderstorm. Swimming in an allegedly haunted lake. Fighting a—“ She stops. “Did you cross out ‘fighting a bear’?”
“The bear was deemed too aggressive for a first outing.”
“A first outing.” She’s still laughing, shoulders shaking with it. “Rurik, this is insane. Half of these would kill a normal human.”
“Good thing you’re not normal.” I lean forward. “You’re a Fire-Bringer who burned a rogue to ash with her bare hands. I think you can handle a little cliff diving.”
“A little cliff diving.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling—really smiling, the kind that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “You’re completely mad.”
“Runs in the family. Drayke’s just better at hiding it.”
She considers the list again, tapping one finger against the paper. Then she looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Wait here.”
She disappears into the supply room. I hear drawers opening, paper rustling. When she returns, she’s holding a fresh piece of parchment and a quill, her face arranged into exaggerated seriousness.
“What are you doing?”
“Leveling the playing field.” She hops up onto the examination table beside me—close enough that our shoulders brush—and starts writing with aggressive purpose. “Things Rurik Malor Should Experience Before He Gets Himself Killed.”
I lean over to read. She angles the paper away, hip-checking me back.
“No peeking.”
“I showed you mine.”
“And I’m showing you mine. When it’s finished.” She shoots me a sideways look, eyes dancing. “Patience. I hear it’s a virtue.”
“Who told you that? They were lying.”
Her laugh echoes off the stone walls. She keeps writing, occasionally pausing to tap the quill against her lips or shake her head at her own ideas. Once, she snorts at something she’s written and has to stop to collect herself.
“That good?” I ask.
“You have no idea.”
She finishes with a dramatic flourish, blowing on the ink to dry it, then holds up the paper with the same formality I’d used.
“Reading a book. An entire book, cover to cover, without complaining.”
I clutch my chest. “Brutal.”
“Sitting in complete silence for five minutes.”
“Five minutes? I’ll die. There will be nothing left but ashes and regret.”
“Learning one—just one—fact about veterinary medicine.” Her lips twitch. “And retaining it for more than ten minutes.”
“This is cruel and unusual punishment. I’m reporting you to Drayke.”
“Drayke will take my side.” She folds the paper primly. “He’s been trying to make you read for three centuries.”
“How do you know that?”
“Selene told me.” She grins. “We share intelligence now. Brotherhood secrets aren’t safe.”
The dragon stirs with delight. Clever. Mate is clever, funny, and ours.
“Counter-proposal.” I shift to face her fully. She doesn’t lean away—if anything, she angles toward me, close enough that I can smell the herbs she’s been working with. “We alternate. One item from my list, one from yours. First person to refuse loses.”
“Loses what?”
“Pride. Dignity. The right to make fun of the other person for the next century.”
“Century.” She considers this. “That’s a long time to hold bragging rights.”
“Dragons have excellent memories for gloating.”
She laughs again—easy, natural, nothing like the careful control she wore those first weeks. “Fine. Deal.” She offers her hand. “But I’m going to win.”
“You haven’t even seen the haunted lake yet.”
“And you haven’t experienced five minutes of silence.” She clasps my hand, her grip firm and warm. “May the best list win.”
I hold on longer than necessary. She notices. Squeezes once before letting go, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“So.” She slides off the table, tucking her list into her pocket. “Cliff diving first? Or do you need time to practice your silence?”
“Cliff diving. Definitely cliff diving.”
“Lead the way, then.” She gestures toward the door. “Let’s see these hidden depths of yours.”
The hidden waterfall is an hour’s flight north.
I’ve been coming here for decades—a secret place where the river plunges over a cliff into a pool so deep, it might as well be bottomless. The water is cold and clean and perfect for drowning your thoughts in.
Aisling is nervous during takeoff, fingers digging into the ridges of my neck. But somewhere over the first mountain range, her grip loosens. Her body relaxes against my scales. And when I dip low to skim a glittering lake, she actually whoops.
“Do that again!”
I do it again. And again. By the time we reach the waterfall, she’s laughing and leaning forward to peer at the world below, all traces of tension gone.
We land on a ledge overlooking the falls. The roar of water fills the air, mist rising from the churning pool in rainbows. Aisling approaches the edge, looks down at the hundreds of feet of nothing, and lets out a low whistle.
“That’s a long way down.”
“Scared?”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “Terrified.” But she’s grinning. “Let’s do it anyway.”
Something warm expands in my chest. “I’ll shift the second we’re airborne. Catch you before we hit the water.”
“I know.” She turns back to the edge, takes a deep breath. “I trust you.”
Three words. Simple. Devastating.
I move to stand beside her. Our shoulders brush. The wind whips her hair around her face, red strands catching the sunlight.
“On three?”
She reaches down and takes my hand. Her fingers are warm, her grip steady.
“On three.”
We count together. Our voices blend with the roar of the falls.
One.
Two.
Three.
We jump.
She screams the whole way down—a wild, exhilarated sound that has nothing to do with fear.
The wind tears at us, gravity pulling us toward the churning pool. I shift mid-fall, wings snapping open, claws catching her waist. But I don’t pull up. Not yet. I let the freefall continue for another heartbeat, letting her feel the rush, the weightlessness, the pure adrenaline of surrender.
We hit the water together. Cold crashes over us—shocking, bracing, alive.
I surface first, shifting back to human form. Scan for her—
She bursts up three feet away, gasping and laughing at the same time. Hair plastered to her face, clothes soaked through, eyes blazing with joy.
“AGAIN!” She’s grinning so wide it looks almost painful. “Rurik, oh my god, again! That was—I can’t believe—why didn’t anyone tell me—AGAIN!”
The dragon roars its approval. MATE HAPPY. MAKE HER HAPPY MORE.
“As many times as you want.”
We do it six more times.
Each jump, she gets bolder. By the third, she’s spreading her arms wide during the fall. By the fourth, she’s doing a running start. By the fifth, she grabs my hand and pulls me off the ledge before I’ve finished counting.
“That’s cheating!” I yell as we plummet.
“That’s winning!” she yells back, laughing so hard, she can barely breathe.
By the sixth, she doesn’t scream at all. Just closes her eyes, tilts her face toward the sky, and smiles the whole way down.
When we finally drag ourselves onto the rocky shore, both of us are shivering and exhausted and thoroughly soaked. Aisling collapses onto a sun-warmed boulder, still laughing in breathless bursts.
“I haven’t—“ She shakes her head, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t remember the last time I felt like that.”
“Like what?”
“Free.” She turns her head to look at me, and there’s something open in her expression. Unguarded. “Like nothing mattered except the wind and the water and—“ She waves her hand vaguely. “Everything.”