Chapter Forty
Hands grab me, yank me to my feet. “Bria, you did it. He’s dead.” Arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in Titus’s chest.
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Really and truly. You froze him solid.”
“Oh, thank the gods. Or maybe the sun and moons, or . . . I don’t even know. Wait. Are you angry? I just killed your da.”
He pushes me back, looks me up and down. “The only thing I care about is whether or not you’re all right.”
Something is wrong with my left hand. It doesn’t hurt—not quite—but it responds oddly when I try to wiggle my fingers.
“I’m fine.” One last lie to send him over the Edge.
He breathes deep with relief. If he hadn’t been healing people in the lunarium, he’d know that something is wrong. I dare
not drain him further.
“We need to get to the preserve,” Syla says, waving the horn in our faces. “It’s not far.”
“No time,” Titus says, looking up at the sky. Sure enough, Winfry and Alwin are close enough that their luminance overlaps.
“Use the horn now.”
Syla sets my pack down, lifts the horn to her lips, and blows.
It makes no sound.
Of course it doesn’t; it’s a hollow goat horn with a hole at the tip, not a musical instrument. I’m not sure what I was expecting.
She blows it again.
“No, don’t do that!” Titus says. “You might call more than one.”
“I don’t think it worked,” she replies.
“Give it a moment.”
Titus continues to hold me as we wait. I let him, breathing in his scent—wood oil and leather. It will be the last time.
Syla puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so glad I met you, Bria,” she says.
“Me too,” I say. “Jeridan chose well.”
Thunder rends the sky. No, it’s roaring. I hear the flap of mighty wings before I see it—a dark and massive silhouette against
the brightening sky. It flies across the moons, leaving us briefly in moon shadow before circling toward us.
Its wings rise, and its claws extend, allowing it to land with a dancer’s precision. But then its tail whips around, toppling
several trees and sending a sleeping flock of pigeons screeching into the sky.
Whirling golden eyes the size of carriage wheels regard us with unconcealed rage. Its yellow-green scales gleam like metal,
and I put a hand to my bodice, thinking of the creature who gave up its scales for my gown. Something a lot smaller than this
great beast.
“You will fly us across the sea of sky to the other side of the world,” Titus commands in a deep voice.
The dragon throws up his head and roars.
“And you will not harm us!” Titus adds quickly. “Or anyone.”
Smoke billows from giant nostrils, but the beast calms. It gets as low to the ground as possible and extends a scaly leg.
For climbing, I realize. Larger scales rise from its spine, like a line of armor down its back. A mass of tendrils swoops
back from its smooth head, and they flutter in the breeze, like a mane. With a start, I realize that this dragon bears a striking
resemblance to the griffon condors of the Grimsvolder Mountains.
Syla starts forward hesitantly, then with greater confidence. She touches the dragon’s outstretched leg. When it does not
respond by eating her, she steps onto it. Then she uses its jutting scales to climb up its side and onto its back, where she
settles between two large spines.
“It’s easy!” she calls. “Plenty of handholds, and good places to sit.”
“I’ll be right there,” Titus calls back.
I have no idea how I’ll be able to say goodbye.
He turns to me and says, “You know I love you, right?”
How can a heart soar and plummet at the same time?
I say, “I had suspected. You know I love you back, right?”
“I had hoped. Selfishly.”
The moongloam brightens to a soft pink. All around us birds begin to warble, lured by the false promise of sunrise. The moons
have finally kissed.
“Happy Sunderday, Titus,” I say.
“Happy Sunderday, Bria,” he responds.
We stare at each other a long moment. Behind him, the dragon lashes its tail, eager to be off.
“Just this once,” he says. “If it’s all right with you? I’d like to ki—”
I crash into him, imprison his neck with my arms, and press my mouth to his.
His arms close around me, pull me tight against him as though he’s trying to possess all of me at once. Our kiss deepens,
and the rest of the world—the body at our feet, my wounded hand, Syla on the restless dragon—none of it matters. There is
only Titus and me, and this unbearable perfection.
His hands begin to rove, down the small of my back, to my hips. He hitches me even closer—a sudden move that makes me gasp.
I hate that there is any clothing between us. I hate that we are not alone.
His hands still. He takes several deep breaths.
Simultaneously, we let each other go.
But our foreheads and noses remain connected. Our bodies are no longer touching, but we are mind to mind, as we have been
for a long while now.
He whispers, “This is even harder than I thought it would be.”
“Yes.”
“I wish we had more time. There are still things to learn about you.”
He steps back, looks me up and down as though memorizing everything. His face is stricken.
I can’t ignore my hand anymore; something is very, very wrong. Titus has healed me over and over, even brought me back from the brink of death. But not this time. He must be at his strongest for what’s to come. So I say, “Go be great.”
And he turns and sprints away from me.
I want to weep as Syla reaches down to help Titus climb up. She’s the one who gives a final sad wave, her face full of understanding.
Titus grips the dragon’s ridge scales and stares straight ahead, unable to bring himself to look at me as the great beast
launches into the air, scattering leaves and grass and gravel.
Though everything inside me aches, part of me wants to cheer as the dragon gains altitude with its mighty wings. We did it,
Titus and me. We saved the Sunderland from a terrible danger, and now he’s on his way to the godsmoot.
I followed him to the very Edge of the World. My oath is fulfilled.
Dizziness overwhelms me. I drop to my knees as the dragon becomes smaller and smaller on the horizon. The moons begin to overlap,
and though the world is still bright, it is no longer sweet, soft, sunrise pink.