He strokes the side of her face with gentle, confident movements, murmuring soft words I can't quite make out. Blight closes her eyes and leans into his touch, and he seems positively giddy at the weight of her pressing against his palm.
After a moment, though, he draws his hand back and clutches it to his chest, quietly studying the dragon for several beats before he says, “She seems sad.”
“…Does she?”
He tilts his face toward mine, frowning slightly, as if to ask,Can't you tell?
I clear my throat. “She's tired, I think. It's…” I trail off, not wanting to elaborate on the events of the past days. How much does this child know about the things his older brother has done? About the deadly, dangerous army that King Reave commands, and the brutal way they took me and this dragon captive?
I exhale a slow breath. “I think it's just been a long few days for her.”
He gives her snout another rub. “Do you know her name?”
Not this again.
I start to tell him the name I chose, but something stops me. That same strange urge to protect him, I think—to not mention any of the poisons or blights that are eating away at the world outside of this palace.
“No, I'm afraid I don't,” I tell him. “I'm still trying to figure that out.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment before turning away from the dragon and walking back to me. “What'syourname?”
“…Arowyn. Although, where I come from, most of the children call me Owyn. It's easier to say, I suppose.”
He sounds my full name out— “Are-oh-in.” Another thoughtful pause. Then a shrug. “I can say both.”
“Then I guess you get to call me whatever you like.”
He seems to be weighing the options, silently trying out both on his tongue. “I like Arowyn,” he decides, “because it begins with the same letters as my name. So it means we have something in common.”
I feel yet another grin lifting the corners of my mouth. “Fair enough.”
He studies me closer, in that shameless manner that would be rude if he were older, but that children can get away with. I brace myself for the question about what happened to my eye, because childrenalwayswant to know what happened to my eye. I start rehearsing a story in my head, trying to think of how I can spin it in a way that doesn't go back to my hatred of his kingdom, his brother, and everything he knows.
I clear my throat, ready to recite my careful lie?—
He cuts me off with a sudden gasp, clutching one of his gloved hands tight against his chest. His face goes pale, paler than it already was, and his breath comes in short, shallow bursts.
Blight is on her feet, suddenly, her chains groaning as she presses forward as far as they'll allow.
“Are you okay?” I start to reach for him, but he stumbles away, still holding his hand against his chest. Before I can look closer, or even try to guess at what’s wrong, we're interrupted by a familiar voice.
“ARLO!”
I twist around to see Princess Kestrel storming toward us. She's wearing fancier clothing today—a belted tunic dress that falls to mid-calf, made from heavy emerald fabric—but she's still wearing those same dragon-scale accessories as before, the molded pieces covering her left forearm and part of her neck and shoulder.
When I look back at Arlo, he seems perfectly fine, somehow…though less than thrilled to see his big sister.
Which makes two of us.
“What are you doing out here?” Kestrel demands as shereaches him. “Your studies for the day aren’t over; Master Hewin is looking all over the palace for you.”
“Brother said I didn’t have to go to my music lesson this afternoon.”
“Oh,didhe now?”
Arlo shrinks back, a sheepish smile spreading across his face, as if he's just realized he probably should have kept this a secret between him and the king. The two siblings stare at each other in a silent battle of wills. It's almost entertaining, sitting back and bearing witness—once again—to the dysfunctional dynamics of the royal family.
At least until the princess turns all of her furious energy in my direction. Her cold gaze slides over every scrape and bruise I've acquired, lingering on my wobbling knee with predatory precision.
