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But the sharp relief of Fenrother, larger than life, scaly, tail lashing, lifting his wings so the warm breeze ripples the membranes, which flicker like flags hoisted high—he is far more real, far more tangible than anything I had back beyond the veil, before the Yeavering stone took me.

Or did I let it steal me away?

I’m not sure I didn’t let it, and not because I had a gun pointed at my head.

Fenrother shoves his face into my hair, the pink colour now faded and my natural auburn starting to show through. He inhales, like my scent is better than what surrounds us. The sky, the heather, the earth, all which combine to make me feel more than alive.

“I think you carry my young, my Alice,” he says, deep voice rumbling through me.

“You can’t know that.” I laugh.

“It has been more than a moon month, and your blood has not come.”

I twist to look into his face, which he pulls from my neck. He is solemn, as he often is.

“You’ve been keeping track?”

“Time is something which is not on my side,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask. Despite the warmth of the sun, I feel deathly cold.

“You are my beginning, Alice, and you are my end,” Fenrother says. His stunning eyes are soft, the glitter within them a mere bokeh. “But with the start of the life within you, the curse is complete.”

“Curse? What curse?” My heart races.

“There can only ever be one Lambton Wyrm,” Fenrother says. “When you birth, I cease to exist.”

“What?” I pull away from him, my body cold and hot at the same time. “When I give birth, you die? No!”

“It is the curse of the Lambton Wyrm.” Fenrother hangs his head. “As ancient as my lineage.”

“This is the reason you were brought up alone? What happened to your mother?” My world is closing in, shutting down as I attempt to process what he has said.

What it means.

What I’m going to lose.

“She died birthing me,” Fenrother says, “or so I was told. The Duegar provided the assistance I needed to make it to adulthood.”

“Fenrother.” I stare at him, unable to take in all he is saying. “Why?”

He shakes his head. Either he doesn’t know or he doesn’t want to tell me.

Reality slams into me. It’s a reality without Fenrother. It’s a reality where the child I might be carrying ends him. It’s a reality where I cannot do anything other than watch until the creature I love becomes dust.

I can’t look at him anymore. I turn and run, not caring if he tries to follow me. Not caring about anything other than to put some distance between us. I think I hear his voice carrying on the wind, carrying my name, but I don’t look back.

All I want is for this not to be true. For Fenrother to be wrong and for there not to be a curse.

But my heart knows he is not wrong. Not this time.

Wind whips at my hair, and a cold rain falls, soaking my skin as I make it into a shallow valley between the fells, where a small stream tumbles through a set of boulders and scrubby bushes which cling to life in an inhospitable place. Thunder rumbles over the hills.

A familiar thunder.

“Human,” a voice hisses in my ear.

I spin on the spot, but there is only mist which clings to me like a spider web, wrapping around my wrists and waist.