Page 6

While Lark judges her height with her hand, Pyrah looks somewhat amused by being measured. As a dragon shifter, she must spend most of her time towering over everyone else.

Lark rubs her chin pensively. “You aren’t much smaller than me.”

“I wouldn’t fit in your cottage in my true form,” Pyrah replies.

True form. Is that how she thinks of herself? More dragon than woman?

“Come with me,” Lark says. “You can borrow some of my clothes instead of Rook’s ragged old things.”

“They aren’t ragged,” I protest, though both of them ignore me.

Admittedly, I haven’t had time to fully wash and maintain my clothes and armor over the past few weeks.

I linger outside the cottage while they get ready. The cold morning air chills my skin and fills me with a deep sense of calm. It’s a precious feeling, one that needs to be hidden and protected. I never want to leave this place. I never want to lose this feeling of family.

When Pyrah exits the cottage, she has swapped my borrowed clothes for a blue dress and leather boots. The color of the dress turns her red hair into fire in the sunlight. Beautiful.

Lark locks the door behind us. The ornate iron key in her hand shimmers with magic. She has a basket tucked in the crook of her arm, one I recognize from previous quests for mushrooms. She has dragged me on several such expeditions in the past, dubbing me her bodyguard.

We follow Lark deeper into the forest. When I glance back, the enchanted mist swirls behind me, the cottage already gone. It has vanished into the ether. No one would ever know that a demonic sorceress calls this place home, which is exactly the point.

After Pyrah stumbles over a rock in the path, I catch her by the elbow. “All right?”

“I’m unaccustomed to boots.” Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s been years since I’ve worn them.”

Lark’s eyes sharpen with curiosity. “But you did before?”

“While I lived in Quickmire,” Pyrah says. “I worked at a tavern and pretended to be nothing but a girl.”

“What’s it like, pretending to be human?”

Pyrah shrugs. “I wasn’t very good at it.”

“But you’re a shifter. You can hide your dragon and walk among humans undetected.” Lark studies her own black claws. “One glance at me, and they know that I’m monstrous.”

Pyrah is silent for a moment as we walk. “I didn’t even know how to act human.”

“What do you mean?”

“They wanted me to be a girl who showed her teeth only when she smiled.”

Lark twists her mouth with wry amusement. “Little did they know that your teeth could become fangs.”

Pyrah’s eyes gleam gold for a moment, on the edge of draconic. “Sometimes it’s easier being a dragon than a woman.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Even with the threat of dragonslayers?”

“Of course.”

“Damn,” I mutter. That’s bleak.

Lark keeps her gaze focused on the path ahead.

“Haven’t you seen what it’s like to be a woman in Chymeria?

We shouldn’t be ugly, or angry, or dangerous.

We should be pretty, sweet, and obedient.

We should be virgins or wives or mothers, because these are the roles most valuable to men. Otherwise, we have no worth.”

“By that definition,” Pyrah says, “I would be worthless.”

I glance between them both. This conversation has entered dangerous territory, and it would be wise for me to tread cautiously. “You live in a different Chymeria than I do,” I say, “but I will always stand by your side.”

“We know,” Lark says sweetly. “That’s why we haven’t murdered you in your sleep.”

“Yet,” Pyrah adds, her face the picture of innocence.

Lark laughs. “I think you like him too much for that.”

“True.” A smile tugs at Pyrah’s lips. “There’s a reason he’s my mate.”

We fall into a companionable silence for some time. We have strayed far from the Emperor’s Road, though I trust that Lark and I can navigate the secret paths through the forest. Pyrah stays close to me, never letting me out of her sight.

Even during the day, little of the sun reaches the ground here. In the shadows, the light takes on an emerald hue from passing through so many leaves. Tiny gnats dart through a shard of sun like motes of dust. I breathe in deep. The air has a rich, earthy aroma.

We enter a grove of ancient oak trees, though I haven’t seen any moonlight chanterelles yet. The cursed roses tangle thickly here, their red petals perfuming the air with a lush, dark scent that invites me to linger.

“What was the curse?” I ask, since I have often wondered. “What magic brought about the Thornwood?”

Lark glances back at me. “You lived every spare moment of your childhood in the library of the castle. Are you telling me you never found the story of Hexfall?”

“Correct.”

“You never gossiped with anyone and heard the story told?”

I shrug. “I don’t gossip.”

“True.” Lark circles the massive trunk of an oak tree. “To be fair, it’s a long story best told by the fire.”

“Wait.” Pyrah can’t stop staring at me. “Rook? Obsessed with libraries?”

I cock my head. “Is it so hard to imagine?”

“You don’t look like a bookworm.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I don’t even know how to read.”

That doesn’t surprise me, since dragons often live in the wilderness, and I have never heard of a draconic written language. “I could teach you, if you wish. You could start adding books to your dragon’s hoard.”

She smiles. “You know how to tempt me.”

She picks up her skirts, still somewhat unsure of clothing, and kneels under the oak. The roots of the tree rummage through the fallen leaves and moss like fingers. She brushes aside some of the leaves.

“What’s this?” she asks. “Is this a moonlight chanterelle?”

Trumpet-shaped and white, the mushroom rises from the earth and glows with a hint of blue luminosity around the gills. By night, they stand out like a beacon, though of course, it’s foolish to wander around in these woods after dark.

Not that it has ever stopped us before.

Lark drops down to the ground by the mushroom. “Yes!” She beams at Pyrah as if she has found her apprentice.

“Good work,” I say. “Let’s collect what we need and get out of here.”

Watchful, I stand guard while they harvest a cluster of the chanterelles. Lark cuts them from the earth with a knife before tucking them into her basket. She handles the mushrooms as reverently as Pyrah touches her treasure.

“Rook,” Lark says, “you don’t need to cling to your sword.”

My hand still rests on the pommel of my sword. “I’m keeping you safe. You’re welcome.”

I’m tall enough that Pyrah has to stand on her toes before kissing my cheek. “Thank you, Rook.”

I resist the urge to kiss her back, and not nearly so politely. That would hinder my awareness.

Together, we return to Lark’s cottage with a basket full of moonlight chanterelles. The sun has fallen lower in the sky, its light slicing through the afternoon forest and suffusing the mist with a golden glow.

“Come in.” Lark unlocks the cottage door. “These dumplings won’t cook themselves.”

I hesitate on the threshold. We came here to ask my sister for an enchantment, a fact I haven’t forgotten, but it’s so damn tempting to linger here just a little longer. This place grants me the room to breathe.

Pyrah’s fingertips touch my wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, since that’s not the truth. “Don’t know if I remember how to relax.”

“I know what you mean.”

We look into each other’s eyes for a heartbeat. Understanding strengthens the bond between us. We both want a space without the threat of danger, where we are allowed to simply be together.

I’m in love with her.

This inescapable truth lives in the marrow of my bones. She’s a bright flash of fire in the otherwise dark gloom of my life. I would be lost without her, wandering through a world that couldn’t care less if I lived or died.

She is precious.

She is mine.

I would do anything to keep her safe.