Page 79 of The Immortal’s Mark

I look at Ren. He’s looking at the cavern ceiling. Studying it with sudden intense interest.

Traitor.

“Fine,” I say. “Commentary. I can handle commentary.”

“Can you?”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“Have you, little dawn?”

There’s something in his voice—ancient and knowing and far too amused for comfort. Dragons don’t matchmake. They’re above such mortal concerns. They’re creatures of fire and wisdom and celestial purpose.

Tianlong is absolutely matchmaking.

I’m going to die of embarrassment on this trip. Repeatedly.

“You’re bringing the cat.”

Ren’s voice is flat. The particular kind of flat that means he’s trying very hard not to have an opinion about something he definitely has an opinion about. His jaw has that specific set—the one that precedes imperial decrees and impossible demands. The Emperor of the Jade Throne, about to be defeated by the subject of pets.

I look down. Dumpling has materialized—because he doesn’t arrive so much as manifest—and is currently perched on a pile of gold coins in the corner of the dragon’s lair. How he got here is a mystery. When he got here is a mystery. Why he’s sitting on a dragon’s hoard like he owns it is not a mystery at all.

He owns everything. We’re all just living in his empire.

“I’m bringing my cat,” I say. “Three weeks is too long to leave him.”

“He’ll have the run of the palace. The kitchen staff adore him.” Ren sounds reasonable. He’s not being reasonable. He’s being strategic. “He’ll be fed. Entertained. Thoroughly spoiled.”

“He’ll scream.” I’ve heard Dumpling’s abandonment wail. Once. The entire Eastern Wing thought someone was being murdered. Guards were dispatched. Ministers wrote formal complaints. “Every night. For hours. At exactly the hour of the Tiger, because he has a sense of dramatic timing that frankly concerns me. Your servants will mutiny.”

Ren opens his mouth. Closes it. He knows I’m right.

Behind me, Tianlong shifts—a sound like mountains settling. “The creature is a disruption.”

“The creature,” I say, “is coming.”

“This is inadvisable.”

“Lots of things are inadvisable. I do most of them anyway.”

“You’re bringing your dragon,” I add, turning back to Ren. “We all have attachments.”

The word slips out before I can catch it. Attachments. Like it’s simple. Like admitting I can’t leave a seventeen-pound orange disaster behind for three weeks is the same as admitting I—

I don’t finish the thought.

Tianlong’s massive head lowers toward the corner where Dumpling sits. The cat doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look up. He’s cleaning his paw with the studied indifference of a creature who has never known fear because he’s never had reason to.

“That creature,” Tianlong says slowly, “is looking at me.”

“He looks at everyone.”

“He is looking at me like I am prey.”

I glance at Dumpling. He’s stopped cleaning. Golden eyes fixed on the dragon with that particular intensity he usually reserves for moths and unattended fish.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I wave a hand. “You’re a dragon.”