Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE SERE IS blanket of dust as the storm building from earlier rolls through.
I’m standing on the precipice of the wall.
If I want to make it to Dyēus before the sun sets, I need to shift now.
All around me energy flows, a dance of ribbons on the surface of wind.
I capture them and take them into myself, as easy as pulling rocks from the sand.
Every bit I bring into me, draws my dragon closer to the surface. A force behind me approaches. Ozias.
I take the last bit of energy I need, and jump from the wall.
My transformation takes hold.
My wings catch the wind and then I’m barreling through the storm with no heed to the dust and debris pummeling my scales. I bank around where I last knew Dyēus’s troops were, though I know even they will not be out in this mess.
If Ozias followed me, I can’t feel his energy signature. I hope he stays away. I hope I can maintain this form.
The moment the thought crosses my mind, my body grows heavier and I plummet a few feet. I beat my wings harder; I draw more energy from the storm into me.
I fly, shrouded in dust, the world before me blurred out. I’m alone, stuck in this void. Inside me, the woman is weeping. It feels fitting for her to be lost in this storm, lost as she is without Ninon. It wouldn’t matter to her right now if we never made it out.
But it does matter. I matter. And even if she can’t see it right now, I won’t let the years Ninon lived be for nothing. We will free the others, as I have been freed. It’s all I have. The woman in me agrees. She wipes her face, and we fly.
I break out of the storm and the distance I still have to fly to Dyēus is staggering. The mass of lands that make up Dyēus still remain far outside my reach. My resolve flags. My efforts feel more like running through the grassy plains on my own feet instead of racing across them on Aspa’s back.
It’s too far. It’s too far and I’m not prepared. I should have stayed, and I curse my anger. I chance a look over my shoulder. My grip on flight falters, and I drop before catching myself on the wind again, heart racing as I hold onto my form.
I can do this. I can get to Dyēus, and if I can can get close the Sar Dyēus’s chambers, he’ll let me in. He has to.
A blast of wind catches my side, pushing my body off course. I manage to right myself, only to see a dragon speeding towards me, coming from Dyēus. One I don’t recognize.
I dodge to the side at the last moment, like in the game I played with Issa days ago, narrowly missing the dragon catching me in the wing with its teeth.
I fly harder and faster towards Dyēus, but the dragon chasing after me twists in the air and is back on my trail.
A screech rends the air. From high above, a white dragon dives into the one pursuing me.
They tussle in the sky below, teeth and scales flashing.
There’s a burst of green-blue energy and the dragon that had been after me stiffens.
Its form hovers in the sky, then sinks to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust.
With my attention unfocused, the power in me slips and I drop to the side before righting myself. I’m panting hard, trying to hold onto the power I’ve collected. It’s too much and not enough. I free fall again. I can’t hold it and I lose the shift.
A scream tears out of my human throat, my wide eyes lost in the endless sky above, then a blinding moment as I fall down into the depths of the storm.
This wasn’t how I expected to die. At least it will be swift.
There’s nothing but air and lightness. The burden of having the weight of my people’s truth on my shoulders flies up and away.
I tell the wind to let Ninon know I’m coming.
That we’ll be together. This was truly the end, after all.
Then, much too soon, I’m landing painfully, only to lurch upward again. I open my eyes and find myself not on the ground, but on the back of a pure white dragon.
Zhoric.
I close my eyes with relief, and yet a fresh wave of anger swallows me up.
I want to scream at him, rage, but none of it will bring Ninon back.
None of it would do any good save releasing this churning anguish inside.
There will be places to use that once this is through.
After all the torment I felt at having to do this to him, Ninon’s death is what I needed to see clearly.
I’ll let him lead me to his downfall, and now, I’ll do it gladly.
The buffeting wind alerts me to our impending landing.
Slowly, I open my eyes. Zhoric transforms and I’m cradled in the warmth of his arms. He stares down at me, his bare chest rising and falling much more rapidly than I would expect, the slightest tremor coursing through him into me, electric and wild.
Still, he says nothing. He simply looks at me like there’s nothing else in the world to see.
With the gentlest movement, he lowers his arms to let my legs slide down his body to the ground.
His other arm doesn’t release me. The deep green of his eyes doesn’t leave mine.
The heat and texture of his skin is nothing like the feel of him while mind walking, but there’s a familiarity that feels like home.
Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
My gaze falls to his mouth and I catch the surge of alarm in his eyes. He doesn’t push me away though. He doesn’t draw me in, either. He stays still, as if at any moment I might vanish.
Outside, the sky is turning a deep blood red.
In the corner of my vision, the gods eyes flash bright and forbidding in the rays of the setting sun.
Zhoric won’t be swayed though. His eyes are only for me.
I tip my head back a fraction. Zhoric holds his breath.
I rise up on my toes, moving closer and closer to his face.
My teeth tingle and I know I have the strength to draw my sharp teeth to my mouth, that my dragon wants to let me do it.
I mean to strike, to sink my teeth into his neck, but when I get to it, I push myself the rest of the way up until my mouth collides with his.
Zhoric remains still for the barest second before his breath rushes out of him and his hands scoop behind my head and into my hair to hold me to him. He kiss is fierce and tormented. I can feel how much he wishes he could stop, but he doesn’t. And I know in this moment, he would do anything for me.
So I kiss him back like I mean it, and I do.
I kiss him for all he could have been, for all he could be, if he hadn’t killed Ninon with his decision.
I sweep my tongue into his mouth and he groans and pulls me hard to him, like he doesn’t want me to escape.
And that’s when I pull too, taking a thread of his power into me.
Zhoric sways, like he’s light headed. His kiss hesitates. I pull again and I know he cannot stop me, because I have exactly what he would need to stop me. His power. My power. I take more into me and Zhoric physically rears back, but doesn’t make it far.
“Stop.” His word ghosts across my mouth and I wish that I could. I desperately wish that I could. But I can’t. I take more power into me and his forearms land on my shoulders. He struggles again, but it’s in vain. This has to happen. “Kaisa.” It’s a plea. Fear swarms his features.
His eyes lock with mine. I cannot care.
I drag his power into me again. I take another step until he’s flush against me, chest to chest, hip to hip.
I raise my chin, mouth opening towards his neck.
Realization dawns bright on his face as the last vestiges of daylight illuminate us, setting us aflame.
His hands, still in my hair, grip harder at the base of my neck, pulling enough to hold me back but not hurt me.
He puts an inch between his skin and my mouth.
I take in more of his power, feel my muscles contract as I snake a hand up the back of his neck, drawing him towards me so that my lips skim across the fluttering pulse at his neck.
“Stop,” he says again.
It’s too late for that now.
My teeth sink into his flesh. His blood wells and coats my teeth, my lips, my tongue.
I pull and swallow, and as fast as a strike of lighting, as quickly as I’ve taken a small part of his essence in me—he’s mine.
The bond slams into place, fizzing and zipping down my spine.
Feeling a bond connect us is like falling into bed after a long, tiresome day.
It’s pure comfort, the promise of warmth and respite.
Zhoric draws me close as the bond settles, but then he tears his neck from my mouth, blood pouring from the wound, pooling in the crevice of his collarbone, running in rivulets down his chest and splitting over the deep black of the god scale.
The deed is done. He still holds me against him, his ribs billowing in and out, every bit of contact between us pure, undiluted energy.
“What have you done?” His voice is an echo in my ears, the bond a vibration in my soul, his power a thrum through my veins.
Finally his arms slacken, or I’ve taken so much of his power that they fall to his sides of their own accord.
I slowly step back, and trail my hand around to his chest, pressing my palm into the god scale.
It’s cold, like the sea. Cold, like the feel of lifeless flesh.
I dig my fingers into his skin and he grimaces.
His hand comes up, leaden, to grasp my wrist. But the attempt is feeble.
I’m too full of his power. I peel the god scale from his chest as easy as pulling skin off ripe fruit.
Where there was once the shiny black parcel of a god, now there’s nothing but faint, pale streaks webbing out like lightning that struck the ground and left a starburst behind in the force of its wake.
I lean close and whisper, “Taking back what’s mine.”
Zhoric wobbles, his breaths short and fast. His eyes roll back and he collapses into my arms as the sky rumbles and cracks.