“We're a good ways up in the Grimfells now,” he says, casting a look toward the dark entrance of the cave. “The weather can get brutal in a hurry at this altitude.” He cocks his head. “You never did care for the cold, did you?”
For a long time, I simply keep staring.
I stare and I stare and I stare until I run out of ways to lie to myself, to trick myself into thinking there's some way this isn't real.
“How?” I finally whisper. “How are you…”
He gives a humorless little chuckle, settling in front of meand pulling the collar of his shirt down so I can see part of a massive scar that splits through the center of his chest. “A fair question, considering this, huh? It's the same question Meira's soldiers asked when they found me lying somewhere in the Ashlands, practically cleaved in half.”
My heart plummets into my stomach at the memory of him being carried off, his lifeless body disappearing into the smoke-filled sky.
For all these years, I've tried very hard to not think about the part that came after. How I looked for his body but never found it. I just assumed it had been devoured, bones and all; such was the fate of so many others.
“I think this kept the dragons from ripping me entirely apart that night.” He holds out his arm, displaying the mark we share. “Though barely. Your bond with your divine one wasn't fully awakened, or strong enough to really allow you to get a hold on those other dragons. Not back then. So I had no chance of truly controlling them, either.”
“Meira's soldiers found you…”
“And they were kind enough to nurse me back to health, just so I could suffer more fully once they locked me away in her prison. Five years of suffering, to be precise.” His head tilts back, his eyes fixing on the ceiling. “I thought of you often. It helped me get by.”
Something about the way he sayshelpedsends a fresh chill skittering down my spine.
My voice comes out wobbly despite my best efforts to steady it. “If I'd known you were still alive, Mal, I would have…”
He slowly lowers his gaze back to mine. “Your dragon knew. I can feel both of you now, and I'm sure she can feel me, too—and she no doubt recognized the pull I exert onyour bond long before tonight. She knows how the ancient magic of a Flamebound mark works.”
“She…she didn't tell me anything.”
“Maybe because she knew you'd already moved on.”
“Moved on?” The words cut like glass on their way out of my dry throat. “You think I justmoved on? Are you insane?”
“If I were, it would be understandable, right? After everything that's happened? But no, Arowyn. I'm very much in my right mind.” He gets to his feet, making his way back to the fire at the mouth of the cave.
I try to jump up and follow him, only to be brutally reminded of the chains binding me; I end up slamming down hard on my knee, sending sharp pain slicing through it. “This isn't necessary. Please. Unchain me and let's…let's just talk like we used to.”
“You've become a little too unpredictable for that, I'm afraid.”
“Unpredictable?”
“Yes. For example: Never in a thousand years could I have predicted I would find you playing queen in the halls of the Mouren Palace. And yet, that's exactly what you've been up to as of late, isn't it?”
I don't know a safe answer to this, so I keep silent.
“Rumors are that you intended to marry him, even.” He kicks the carving he was working on into the fire, stoking it with the toe of his boot until the wood catches and goes up in a brief, brilliant blaze. The knife is still in his hand, I realize; its metal glints wickedly in the sudden flare of light. “Inseparable, people are saying.The Mouren King has finally met his match. Such a beautiful love story, apparently. One for the ages.”
I keep my eye on the knife. It's difficult to keep track of itas the fire dies down again, my lack of depth perception making it even harder to pick it out among the similarly colored cave walls.
“I considered waiting until your happy wedding day for our reunion,” Malachi says, staring into the dying embers, “but you know I'm not one for dramatics.”
“I wasn't planning to marry him, Mal,” I say softly.
But it's a half-truth at best, and he can tell.
“If you say so.” He gives a rough, humorless laugh. A heavy pause, then he cants his head toward me, dark eyes catching the last bit of firelight. “Just out of curiosity: Did you fuck him?”
“That's…that's none of your business.”
Another humorless laugh. “That's a yes, then.”
