Join the people who’d slaughtered Paragon Killian. Who’d destroyed Galasvar. Pain shot through my side, where Alistair had stabbed me.
I ran a hand along my side, remembering the vitriol in Alistair's words, the delight he'd taken in hurting Reese.
“Give me some time alone,” I said. “To think things through.”
“Of course.” Bláth stood, hands dipping back into her pockets. “You’re in good company, anyhow.” She nodded at thescáde. “Want a tour, Brighid? There's an alehouse down the way, and oh! The orchards.”
“I’d love one.” Dusting herself off, Brighid moved to stand.
I grabbed her arm. “I . . . ”
A flurry of emotions flashed in Brighid’s eyes. She laid her hand across mine. “I do not like to be pitied. Be instead thankful for what you have—and do not squander it.” Slipping from my grip, she stood and followed Bláth.
The hum vibrating in the scáde's throat shifted. Soothing, calm. It had no eyes—but I swore it looked up at me.
“Is this your home?” I murmured.
Lifting its head, the scáde pulled itself back to its feet and trotted a few feet away. It paused, glancing back, waiting for me to follow.
Standing, I wrapped myself in my cloak and followed the dragon through the quiet streets. A few people still roamed at this time of night, but they did not seem surprised or troubled by the presence of a scáde.
We reached a crossroads, where a bridge spanned a shallow stream. An orchard stretched into the distance. Black leaves nestled pale moon-shaped fruits, their branches swaying in a light breeze. Squinting, I gazed up into the bleak, black sky, wondering how anything could grow without the nurturing light of the twin moons.
My scáde spread its wings and shaded me beneath them. A faint lavender glow drifted from the butterfly patterns, crowning me in their light. I looked up at the creature, flummoxed.
Was she answering my thoughts? If so, I didn’t understand the metaphor.
Huffing as though offended, she folded her wings at her side. A smile crooked my lips. I felt strangely at ease around this large, dangerous creature. Perhaps we had bonded, after all.
Perhaps, then, she needed a name. It felt strange—wrong— to name something so intelligent. A task for later, when I'd had more time to understand the color of her being.
Footsteps startled me from my reverie. A couple and their young son walked past me, hurrying home from a social affair, most likely.
I stopped and watched them.
The mother must have hailed from this place—she had painted skin like others I’d seen, and large, nearly glowing eyes. Her husband was a man of Tirnanog. He wore the crest of our tree on his vest.
While he was a fair-skinned Stormborn, the wife had dark skin: an Earthborn. The son clinging to her skirt shared features from both: light brown skin, bright green eyes, and dark curly hair.
He reminded me so much of Liam as a child.
Back home, Liam had been shunned. Here? Here, this child walked hand in hand with his parents, bound in marriage, laughing.
I searched the sparse souls around me: a baker closing up his shop, a passing pair of guards on patrol, another couple strolling the night, hand in hand.
Not on any of their faces did I glimpse disgust or contempt.
Breaking from my frozen stance, I turned to see the scáde watching me. “We’ll take a tour later,” I breathed. “I need to go somewhere, first.”
Humming, the scáde followed behind me as I jogged through the streets, retracing the path Quinn had taken me. I flew past the violet-leafed tree and ascended the steps leading to the manor behind it.
A Tirnanog guard stood vigil by the doors. He pushed them open and bowed his head respectfully.
My heart thundered as I stepped into the manor and looked around. Fire still flickered in the candles mounted to the chandelier.
Voices drifted from the parlor to my left.
Following them, I passed under an arch into a beautiful sitting room. A harp rested on a stage, its chair empty. My mother stood by the window, wine glass in hand. She was shooing off a servant.
