“That’s a question, Roiven. Not an answer.”
He laughs quietly, under his breath. Then his voice goes serious.
“I thought I knew who you were. It haunted me.”
All that, because he thought I was one of his people? I wonder if it’s because he’s king. If he takes some unnecessary responsibility on his shoulders. But then why try to kill me?
“But how did you even guess? My eyes don’t burn.”
“They almost seem to. Like gems catching the light.”
“Believe me, I spent enough time as a child staring at them in mirrors. They don't burn,” I mutter, as Sava slowly tilts the other way. Roiven’s hand is still around my hips.
“They would burn if you weren’t pushing away your familiar.”
There’s a long silence. The wind tousles my hair as Sava circles.
“Most knights wield enchantment like it’s a separate body; a heavy weight they’re slugging behind them and trying to shove into action. You wield it like it’s a part of you. Like you’re a natural at using magic.”
“And here I thought witchcraft was nothing like enchantment,” I drawl. I already know they're related. I’ve seen it, in the bond marks; in the spell Roiven drew for the fire.
“It’s a perversion,” he growls. I can both feel and hear his anger, but I don’t think it’s directed at me.
“Glad to know I’m a skilled perverter.”
Roiven barks a laugh.
“Who knew Cai’d be funny when she was sleep deprived,” he whispers in my ear. I’m not sure we should be laughing about enchantment, not when it’s claimed so many lives. But there’s a warmth building in my chest.
There’s a flick of alarm from him, and his arm tightens around my waist. That’s the only warning I have before Sava plummets down.
I scream, but it isn’t really fear this time. It’s just the way the wind feels as we dive through it. We dip all the way down towards the water and then pull abruptly up as gravity presses me meltingly tight against Roiven’s chest and hips. My stomach dances and my whole body feels wide awake. I don’t see how this will help me sleep later, but I’m certainly not thinking about the nightmare anymore.
Sava grunts.
“That seems like a happy noise.”
“She caught a big one,” Roiven says. I can hear the smile on his lips.
I leave aside the question of how she can go fishing in the pitch-black. The dragon evens out. We glide peaceably beneath the stars and the wisps of shredded cloud.
“I told you ships used to go missing,” Roiven says abruptly.
“Yes. I guess I was on one of those, wasn’t I?”
Roiven’s hand squeezes my hip.
“Sounds like it’s getting easier for you to talk about.”
“I just don’t think too closely about what it means,” I say quietly.
Roiven’s whole mind tenses at that. I feel a layer of boiling anger, a cloud of disjointed worry. The hand on my waist curls into a fist. Then the emotion vanishes, shut behind an invisible door, before I can dig even deeper into it and see what’s at the center.
“We used to say people were missing, not dead. Growing up, I refused to believe anyone was gone if I didn’t see them die myself. I just watched the ocean, and waited to see if they’d return.”
“I know how that feels,” I tell him quietly.
“I stopped feeling it. For a while. After my brother’s ship ‘went missing.’ It just felt so childish, hoping like that, when nobody ever came back. It was better to believe they were dead.”
