Page 40 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

COLD REFUSAL

I damn near drag myself through the door back at Cyrus’s old residence in Kilamber. Darian’s at the farthest wall, sitting against the bricks and shackled.

“I see you’ve been up waiting for me?” I ask, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. As I close the door behind me, I freeze when I notice how violently he’s trembling. His jaw is clenched, fists balled into the pants at his knees.

For once, he doesn’t respond. He squeezes his eyes shut.

I scan the room, only to find no windows are open. And it’s not like it’s any colder than outside. I walk across the room and stop just outside the perimeter his wall chain will allow him to reach. “Are you…cold?”

His breath comes out through gritted teeth and pursed lips, his body rocking back and forth slightly. “No.”

I begin to shrug out of my cloak. He’s that damn stubborn to deny something as simple as being cold? Taking a few steps into his space, I hold out my cloak for him. “Here.”

“I. Don’t. Want. It,” he grits out, opening his eyes to glare at me.

Sighing, I toss it over his boots anyway. As I turn and take a few steps away, he grabs it and chucks it off to the side.

Stubborn, prideful, and an asshole. What a combo.

I make my way to the wall where the hearth is, remove my gloves, and slide my fingertips across the cool marble mantle.

Finding the flint and steel, I crouch down and begin to strike, again and again.

As soon as a spark bounces off and flares into a soft ember, I reach my hand out with a steady breath. And pull.

To my surprise, the ember grows brighter.

Then flames begin to rise out of the small kernel of heat.

Until seconds later, fire snakes up through the logs and a tide of warmth washes over me.

The fire fills the room with a sultry light, casting long shadows across the grand room and illuminating the gilded bed frame.

Darian has his head leaned back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut. I place the flint and steel back on the mantel and grab my cloak off the ground. At least this way he can’t deny the heat of the fireplace.

Good luck refusing that one.

The next morning, I find Daeja near a massive oak tree, attempting to mimic the chirping birds. Cole relays the information that Sethan and the other dragon riders are about to take to the skies. He helps me into the saddle then checks all the buckles and straps before heading back to the wagons.

We take another half day flying to the city of Vathstone. As we approach the far western part of the continent, a blinding glimmer of the endless ocean expands out beyond what the eye can see. It’s stunning, an almost seamless blend of sky and water in the distance.

I’ve never been to the ocean. Never even seen it outside of a map.

I’d heard countless stories from Aiden when we were little, but it was mostly big brother intimidation of why I should never venture away from home.

Massive water dragons could shatter the King’s ships in a matter of seconds.

Guaranteed disappearance if you dared any further than knee-deep waters.

The smell of saltwater whips over my face, and my mouth parts the lower we glide toward the shores.

Smaller bays of water line the stretch of almost-white sand.

And a bit further inland, likely no more than a fifteen-minute walk, is the towering cityscape of what I imagine is Vathstone.

All around the city are lush, tropical plants and trees.

Sethan and the other dragon riders land on the sandy shore between the ocean and Vathstone.

I brace myself as Daeja glides into a running landing.

Tightening my knees around her, I fight to keep myself upright until she slows, her body sliding forward slightly in the thick sand.

“Ooh…” she purrs and flexes her claws in it. “I think I like this.”

I unhook myself and jump down, pleasantly surprised to find my landing softened by the sand beneath me. Reaching down, I brush my fingers through it and revel in the gritty, foreign texture.

“It’s much better during the summertime,” Sethan calls from ten yards away.

I walk toward his direction, my steps slower than I’m used to. When I glance nervously toward the water’s edge, a breeze picks up, carrying my cloak out behind me like a waving banner.

“It’s winter. Past water dragons’ mating seasons. Just stay out of the water and you’ll be—hey!” Sethan’s eyes widen at something behind me.

As I turn, I find Daeja running in quick, jerky, enthusiastic circles in the sand. Each time she turns, she sprays a shower of sand, one of which shoots into the side of A’nala. The red she-dragon snaps at the air a few feet away from Daeja and growls.

Daeja pivots back and slams into A’nala, bowling her over into the sand.

The two become a tangle of scales and claws.

A’nala slips over top of Daeja, pinning her underneath until Daeja’s form disappears, gaining herself a flinch from A’nala.

An unseen force shifts A’nala sideways, and Daeja blinks back into existence as she throws A’nala back down.

Sethan gawks. “They’re…”

“Playing.” I smile.

Though, A’nala looks more annoyed than anything. Daeja keeps teasing her with nips to the side of her neck and half-hearted paw swipes. The other dragons look on with craned necks and twitching tails.

The people of Vathstone have been nothing short of cheerful and kind.

Every person I met in the community hall last night smiled and welcomed us with a warmth that mirrors what I can only imagine is what the summers feel like here.

I ended up removing my cloak halfway through the evening after I found myself too heavily dressed.

After dinner, we all split off to our own private quarters for the night. Archie helps me hook Darian’s chain into the wall. Darian, surprisingly, is still quiet. And still trembling. Despite his attempts to ignore my offers of help, I light the fireplace for him again, anyway.

Throughout the night, I dream again of my brother in great detail, and the river that pulls him under every time. When I wake in a cold sweat, I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with my nearness to the ocean. And how similar the currents of a river mirror the tides of an ocean.

By the next morning, the fire is still going in the hearth while I braid my hair back and dress, preparing for another day of travel. Just as I sit on the bed and bend over to lace my boots, an alarm rings out. An alarm that sounds an awful lot like…

A carnyx.