Page 61

Two weeks later, I stood on the stone terrace, braced against the cool breeze and crisp sunlight.

Winter loomed, and we’d have snow soon enough, but for now, Senaria took advantage of the sunlight.

She sat in a padded chair, wrapped in a thick blanket.

Her hair was growing back, although she often wore a knitted hat to hide the downy spikes.

I told her she was a beautiful boy, and she’d sassed back that I was as prickly as a woodbeast with his spikes sheared off.

But pain haunted her eyes, and each night, when I told her the magic would return, I wasn’t sure if she believed me.

She’d lost Silk’s talent for sneaking into a man’s mind, along with her ability to talk to dragons.

Everything she’d earned as a High Mage except the long life was gone with the ashes.

She would live for unending decades with this loss, if the magic didn’t flow back into her veins.

I’d often find her sitting alone on the terrace, staring at the distant mountains where dragons circled on constant patrol.

She was watching Bogo today. Lassa was teaching him to hunt. Bogo would dive toward the wild goats, his wings flapping, and the goats would scatter, leaping through the rocks and outwitting every maneuver .

“All he’s learning is how to play with his food,” Senaria said, twisting the blanket before forcing her hands to relax. “What’s he saying?”

There were days when she wanted me to tell her, and other days, when it was a painful reminder that my magic had flooded back while hers was stalled beyond her reach.

When we talked about it, she said it was her risk to take, and she’d do it again. But when I held her, she wrapped her arms without the warmth or the press of her lips against my chest. Making me question the other risk she took. One that closed off her heart.

Because dragon fire burned away more than magic.

She was changed once again, beyond what a high mage ritual stripped away. While still Skyborne, even without her magic, she was now more like me than ever before.

I said, “Right now, Bogo’s complaining to Lassa. He says the goats run too fast, and she’s giving him pointers.”

“Call Sarnorinth. He can catch goats.”

“If you want him to demolish the hillside.”

Senaria made a strangled sound that came close to a laugh. “At least the food would be tenderized.”

I traced her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “It gets better. Life,” I added. “Life gets better. You’re still healing.”

“When will they get here?”

“Soon.” Essabeth was halfway up the mountain with a blindfolded Vasari; they were on horseback.

Men from Samira and the Vale rode with them, providing protection until they reached the castle.

Vasari wanted to talk about Nikias, and the wait for Senaria was difficult.

She was on edge, wanting to know about her brother, but afraid of what she would learn.

Afraid…also…that she would feel nothing. That the love had been burned from her.

She stood and folded the blanket, carried it inside. “I’m surprised Vasari agreed to the blindfold,” she said. “After being hooded by the red priests, I’d be claustrophobic.”

I hadn’t offered Vasari a choice. The boy’s future was still uncertain, and he would learn nothing here, no detail to use against Senaria.

If he wanted to talk to her—which he did—he would follow my rules, ride on horseback from Samira, take the long route.

I wanted him confused and unable to retrace the ride.

And if he hurt Sen, he’d not be riding down the mountain, blindfolded or not.

The dragons would deal with him and he’d be nothing but ash.

An hour later, I settled Senaria in her favorite chair in the small salon, beside the fireplace that offered warmth.

Essabeth had gone to a guest room to rest. Vasari shifted his weight while he waited for permission to sit.

He was eighteen, but with the blindfold removed, his bruised demeanor had the look of a man aged by battle.

When I told him to sit, he did so while trying to hide the shaking in his hands—a tremor I’d been told was a constant companion, more emotional than physical, according to the healers.

“Senaria,” he murmured, ducking his head, gripping the padded arms of the wooden chair.

“Vasari. I wish… ”

“That I was your brother and not me.” He pushed at the messy dark hair near his ear.

“I wish I hadn’t doubted you,” said Senaria, her voice soft and even. “I told Nikias that you’d put yourself first if trouble came. He scolded me and said I didn’t understand friendship. He was right and I…You deserve an apology from me.”

Vasari nodded, his lips moving, although no words carried at first. “I did fail him,” he said with more force.

“Tell us what you know,” I suggested. “You’re safe here.”

“Am I?” Vasari gazed through the window. In the distance, dragons circled above the mountains. “I can’t get past seeing them,” he said. “When they shouldn’t exist.”

“One of the many secrets Thales keeps,” Senaria murmured. “Debts Tarian owes.”

Vasari faced me and not her. “There’s tension between the king and the priests.

Tarian wants Senaria back. They were talking, the small council, about how the king thought it was the best way to protect her.

By having her in the castle. But I think he wants to use her against the mages now that she has this thing with dragons, and the high mage power. Not because he wants to protect her.”

Senaria flinched. I reached over and held her hand as I asked, “How serious is the power struggle?”

“They’ve always had a rivalry. The king and the mages. It got bad when the priests came to the garrison looking for Nikias. When my father tried to intervene, they took him away in mage shackles. Then Ildoran dragged Nikias into the courtyard and beat him.”

“Where is Nikki now?” Senaria’s voice was stoney .

Vasari rubbed both hands across his face before he met her gaze. “They took him to Deimos. Said it was the one place where you couldn’t get to him. Then they dragged me to the Pass of Sorrows with the priests pretending to be the King’s Guard, and the rest you know.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Vasari,” she said quietly. “I’ll pray to Orm for your father. Pray for mercy.”

“When they came for Nikias, I tried to help him.”

Senaria nodded. “And I thank you for what you did.”

I sat ramrod straight when she stood and left the salon. Vasari waited until she’d gone, then glanced at me. “You’re the Draakon?”

“Yes.”

“No matter what you do with me, promise you’ll take care of her.

” More maturity than I expected hardened his voice as he added, “Protect her. Don’t let her go to Deimos.

She’ll try. That’s the way she is, the way Silk was, and I don’t think she’s changed that much.

Other than she’s harder now. More determined.

But the red priests want her to come. They expect her to react, like when they used me. They’ll be waiting.”

Nothing I hadn’t known, and I stood to leave, waving at a waiting guard to come for Vasari. Much later, as I stood on the terrace beside Senaria, watching the dragons dance with the setting sun, she asked me what I’d done with her brother’s friend.

I told her the truth, that I sent him back to Renwick. The boy had heart and a willingness to work, and he’d be safe in Samira. Under control. But as the sky darkened, the Malice Moon rose above the horizon, and Senaria shuddered .

“I have to find Anneli,” she said finally. “I need my magic back if I’m going to Deimos.”

I ran my hand down her spine, pressed against her back. “ We have to find Anneli,” I said quietly. “You’re not doing this alone.”

She stared at the fading horizon, breathing deeply, and then said, “That to which we are most loyal extends to hate, Kion. The one emotion I can feel.”

“It is the same for me,” I answered, while a new curse tablet glimmered into being around my throat, heavy, warm, and filled with magic that burned as dark as the night.

While in the distance, the dragons roared.