Page 138

“Add one more thing to the list,” she grumbled, shaking her head again. “No chance you’re wrong about the dragon?

Dom shifted in the saddle, squaring his shoulders to face her. “Nothing else could’ve done that to a forest.”

“Could’ve been a fire, a lightning strike. A particularly idiotic woodsman,” she offered, too hopeful. Even so, she felt a now-familiar dread curl in her chest. “The last dragon in Allward died centuries ago.”

“Three hundred and seven years ago, to be precise.” Dom’s focus dropped, his gaze turning inward.

Sorasa clapped her mouth shut. Needling the immortal was no fun when the needles drew blood.

He answered her unborn question anyway, teeth on edge.

“I was too young to be there. But I wish I had been.”

Strangely, Sorasa couldn’t imagine Dom at a different age. The life spans of immortals were impossible for her to fathom.What constitutes a child among his people? He seems only thirty to my eyes, and acts like it. How long did it take for him to reach such an age? Is he still growing older? Will gray hair ever streak his blond head?She tried to picture it but came up wanting. Dom existed to her only as he did now, somehow both five hundred and thirty years old at the same time. Ancient in the world, and still so new to it.

Dom didn’t notice her scrutiny, too deep in his own memory. She saw it rise up in his face, a bitter pain that pulled at his green eyes. It was the only time she saw the years on him. Pain aged him like nothing else. But this wasn’t a fresh wound, not like the temple or Corayne’s father. This was a deeper ache, familiar, easier to bear.

“The enclaves aligned and won, at great cost,” he said, low and steady.

Beneath her hood, Sorasa swallowed hard, her throat rigid against her collar. Dom was an immortal prince, a glowering old anchor, too bullheaded for his own good. An annoyance at best. And somehow she felt sympathy well up in her heart, working between the cracks in the wall she gave so much to build. Sorasa fought the feeling tooth and nail.

She hated pity. She would not give it to Dom either.

But then he raised his eyes to her own, green breaking against copper-gold. He set his brow, relentless. His fingers went to the hilt of his greatsword, gripping the leather. The steel was cleaned of mud and ash, but Sorasa remembered him at the temple. He fought like a tiger, like a bear, together in a single form. Nothing but the bells could bring him down.

“The last dragon made me an orphan,” he seethed. “I will not underestimate this one.”

At that Sorasa could only nod, her breath oddly caught in her throat.

“Then neither will I,” she managed, facing forward again.

A moment passed, allowing both assassin and immortal to collect themselves. Their horses walked on in step, hooves clicking against the broken stone. Sorasa felt herself tighten. Every second of daylight was a chance for Erida’s men to ride out of the trees and take Corayne. Every step beneath the iron-gray sky could be their last before a dragon struck.

She didn’t know what would be worse.

“If you’re right about the dragon, then another Spindle is open,” she said, finally looking back to Dom. His usual scowl hadreturned. “The dragon came through somewhere. Or maybe it was of the Ashlands too—”

“Dragons are not born of that realm,” he bit out, killing her hope at the root. A muscle flexed in his clenched jaw. “Another Spindleistorn.”

Sorasa blew out a long breath. Suddenly hot, she threw back her hood. A manic laugh rose in her throat, and she couldn’t help but let it go, all but cackling to the cold wind.

“Well, fuck,” she snorted, dropping her face into her hands.

On his horse, Dom nodded. “Fuck indeed.”

No stranger to exhaustion, Sorasa let the waves of weariness roll over her. She raised her head and rolled her shoulders, though she knew no amount of stretching could chase away the bone ache.Every time we climb a mountain, another one rises right behind it.

“I should’ve just let the Amhara kill me,” she muttered, throwing up her hands. “It certainly would have been easier than all this.”

The joke sailed over Dom’s head. He turned to her sharply, movements too fast, his Elder speed almost beyond her comprehension.

His green eyes flashed. “Never say that again.”

“Very well,” she mumbled, taken aback, feeling her cheeks turn warm.

Dom went back to searching the trees, all but sniffing the air. He reminded Sorasa of a wolfhound, growling at every noise.

Then he whistled and reined his horse off the road, pointing as he rode.