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SENARIA

“The strength of the bonds dragons form can make them seem domesticated, but they are not. It’s actually the reverse. We are the domesticated ones.”

—Quoted from the book, The Lore of Dragons , found in Renwick Ren’s private library.

“I was proud of you today,” Kion said as he led me across the meadow. “How easy you were with the dragons.”

“It was Bogo.”

“It was also Lassa, and what you said before she left.”

I hadn’t thought he heard, but then—he was the Draakon. He’d be able to listen to my apology for the loss of Tova, and Lassa’s promise to care for Bogo.

We entered a house far more comfortable than I’d imagined from the outside.

While the furnishings were modest, they were clean and comfortable, with a table, chairs, the stone fireplace.

Folded blankets covered the raised pallet bed.

An armoire against the wall reminded me of my room at the castle.

Mage lights flickered on whenever Kion passed, but I’d learned from Anneli Zayas how mage power worked.

Sometimes, the energy flowed on its own without conscious thought.

“Thank you.” I’d said those words a thousand times over the last hours, when we’d been happy. A family, strange as it was. But…belonging together.

When Kion joined the play, I’d seen a different side of him—one filled with joy, as if he seldom allowed himself that respite. To chase and laugh, tumble with a dragon and rise up grinning.

“How often have you relaxed,” I challenged, “when you warned me about training too hard?”

“It didn’t hurt to give yourself a break.”

“It didn’t hurt you either. Already, you look a century younger.”

He turned to stare at me. Smears of mud covered his jaw, his throat, his clothes, but my heart would not stop its tripping dance.

What amazed me were the constant surprises from this man.

The moments when I’d least expect to like him, but warmth would run through me instead.

I’d see his face—even covered in grime—and think there was no man more beautiful or compelling. Alone and unreachable.

And then he would weaken. Let the small indulgences seep in with a longing in his expression that broke me into the strangest pieces.

Darkness cursed his life, and I hated it, the penances he carried.

Those that were my fault. The small sacrifices he never acknowledged.

Living the life he did as the Draakon, an almost king, although Kion didn’t crave power.

Not like Tarian Ardalez, preening with the adulation, relishing the fear in a man’s eyes when he dropped to his knees before his king.

Kion lived a life of honor. He did not shy away from duty, and while he was cursed with penances, he did not complain. For tonight, for how he’d played with Bogo, I would offer him…mercy. The mercy he said I didn’t understand. I would stop resisting and listen to his advice instead.

“Where does Bogo go?” I asked.

“A dragon eyrie, where they protect the young. The dragons won’t reveal the locations, not even to me.”

“It must be close. Bogo isn’t strong enough to fly for hours.”

Kion had crouched down, reaching for another split of wood for the fire.

I was closer and handed him the splintered piece.

Earlier, he’d rolled his shirtsleeves back to the elbows.

The muscles in his forearms were corded down to his wrists.

The warmth from the flames didn’t bother him, and I glanced around for a source of water to heat.

We both needed to wash, and neither of us would get clean bathing in the same puddle we’d used on Bogo.

“There’s a natural hot spring nearby,” he said, as if he’d guessed my intention. “We’ll bathe there.”

“Should I trust you?” He gaped at me, and I teased, “You lost our last game of chase. You might be out for revenge.”

“The dragon cheated.” He glowered, opting for fierceness, but the hint of pleasure in his voice gave him away. He’d enjoyed the play as much as I had and hated admitting it.

I followed him outside and into the fading afternoon; already, the sky was edging toward purple in the distance. Where Bogo had flown. I hoped he was safely home .

We traipsed across the beaten ground, stepping on the tenacious grass and avoiding the small stones. Past the barn where he’d stabled the horses, and toward a smallish wooden building.

The door scraped when Kion opened it, but I stepped through into a misty steam. Listened while he fastened the door, fighting the thoughts that flashed back to the ale-scented storeroom where we met. But this space was nothing like the dank oppression of a Davinicus ship.

Mage lights danced like a thousand fireflies, igniting the many candles that illuminated the room. Wooden benches lined the walls. In the center was a bathing pool, rimmed with polished tiles and wide steps leading down into water that glowed with a pale turquoise light.

Kion was already stripping away his muddy clothes.

Tossing them aside and stepping into the water like one of Orm’s acolytes.

The muscles in his back drew my attention.

Water caressed his thighs, rose higher. He splashed with his cupped hands, and the pure masculinity parted my lips.

Then he sank down with his back still toward me and sluiced his face, his hair, with streaming water that ran over his shoulders.

He offered no invitation to join him. The decision was mine, to stand there muddy and resisting or follow his lead.

I stripped off my clothes and tossed them aside. Stepped into the heated water. My muscles had become tense and achy with the compulsive training, followed by hours in the cold air. I hadn’t minded. I treasured those hours with Bogo. But the warm relief had me sighing with pleasure .

Centered in the pool was a convenient underwater bench, made of smooth stone.

We sat on opposite sides, back-to-back. I scooped handfuls of water, fascinated by the rivulets flowing through my fingers, then dipped down to wash the mud from my hair.

When I straightened, either he had moved or I had, because my back now pressed against his for support.

I expected him to shift away, but he didn’t, and the intimacy, when his body rubbed against mine, curled my toes. The strength and flex. The rough texture of a scar scraped against my skin, and I focused on wringing the water from my hair so that it didn’t flood over my face.

“How goes the mage training?” he asked.

“There’s a lot of focusing. Meditating to find the center. Sensing the mage energy and controlling the flow.”

“Anneli’s power is enviable, Senaria. No one else can teach you the way she can. No one else destroys the way she does. Do you want to be like her?”

“Isn’t that what you want? What Renwick Raz wants?”

“We want you to learn, but there’s a dark side to the magic. Anneli won’t reveal it. She’ll seduce, offer you what you want.”

A warning hovered beneath the words. I pushed it aside. “I want to be strong enough to fight the red priests,” I said. “They hate me. They won’t stop hunting me, and if I’m ever going to be safe, or protect Nikki, I have to learn to fight the way you do.”

His back moved against mine when he sighed. “A life of fighting becomes empty and pointless when there’s always an enemy. A reason. ”

“You’ve been fighting for a long time.” He’d fought when he hadn’t wanted the blood, with so much hate directed toward him for it. Men called him a mutant. Tarian sent his King’s Guard. The red priests had tortured him. The dragons with their curses and penances—weren’t they as bad as the humans?

Kion Abaddon had been alone since the Chaos, with dragon lords like Fennor and Renwick, men who lived long lives because they’d bonded to dragons.

The humans Kion knew would have normal human lifespans; they would live and die over the centuries, and I hated the futility in that, in losing friend after friend. The pain in heartbreak.

I understood why Kion couldn’t love, why he welcomed that curse from the dragons.

I also understood why pain hid beneath the joy every time he chased Bogo or tackled me. Why he handed me the ripest apples, the softest bread, then smiled when I handed the best parts to Bogo.

Overhead, the ceiling felt too confining, and I said, “I miss the stars.”

Kion shifted his arm; mage energy swirled until the roof turned transparent, revealing the darkened sky, the pinpoints of starlight.

“Amazing,” I murmured, tipping my head back, not even registering that I leaned against him with my hair dripping over his shoulder. “How can you do that?”

“Secrets,” he said.

“It’s like we’re outside without losing the warmth.”

“Maybe,” he agreed .

I turned to peer at him over my shoulder, prodding that protective shell he kept around himself. “You don’t want people to bond with you—why?”

He dug his hands into the heated water. “I’ll let them down.”

“Because the dragons come first?”

“I am sworn into service. Created for one purpose.”

“To walk a lonely path.” Steam eddied upward while the mage lights continued to dance. “Why did the dragons take away your ability to love? To punish you? Isn’t life harder alone?”

“They made life easier.”

“Then why did Lassa bring Bogo today? Did you call her?”

“No. She came because the schism between dragons is weakening, and some are remembering what it was like before. The importance of family. Bonding again with humans.”

I swirled my hands through the water. “And might they also want that for you?” I asked. “To love again? Remember the importance of family? Or would they condemn you, no matter how many penances you offered?”

His weight shifted. “My life is fighting.”

“Are you so used to fighting you can’t stop?”

He leaned forward, removing the support of his body, and I caught myself before I fell beneath the water.