Page 94 of Sorrow & Strangers

It sounds simple, and to me, it is. She needed me, so here I am.

“Stop,” she demands, brushing away my touch.

On impulse, I cover her eyes and take us into the forest, working quickly to weave the illusion around us.

“What are we doing?” she demands, but she doesn’t try to pull my hand from her eyes. I like the way she says we.

“Showing you another memory.” Another realm, another place, another time, an escape from her reality. A place to explore.

“I don’t want another memory.”

“This one you do,” I whisper, and lower my hand. Brilliant red structures with gold accents litter the landscape leading up to an impressive palace. Breathtaking murals of the realm’s history decorate the walls of the imposing structure, but they pale in comparison to the realm’s inhabitants.

Dragons.

Massive, winged beings of all colors glitter like gems scattered across the velvet blue sky. Sunlight dances off their scales, casting rainbows on the ground below, highlighting the path to the palace.

She gasps, her eyes wide as she takes in the dragons soaring above. She watches a few of them land, easily shifting into their mortal form as their feet meet the ground to walk the last steps to the entrance. I take her hand in mine and lead her deeper into the illusion.

“Would you like to see the palace?”

She looks down at her hand clasped in mine, and the awe in her eyes flickers then dims. “Stranger . . .”

I pull her along the path to the stairs, starting the long climb to the plateau. We are surrounded by color. The dignitaries traveling up and down the steps wear clothing embroidered in jewel tones that match their scales while in dragon form.

When we reach the final step, Gideon Draco passes through us. He stops and looks at the palace, his sharp golden eyes glaring at the structure before storming toward it. Summer turns to watch him, and I take the moment to study her.

“Does his presence surprise you?” I ask, rubbing my thumb along the back of her palm.

“You know him?” she asks, glancing back at me over her shoulder.

“There are few who don’t.” I watch her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, I see the craving for knowledge flicker in them. “The last Dracanae, king of a lost and ruined nation. The last dragon.”

Gideon Draco was the only survivor of the Culling that took all of his kind. Someone, somehow, managed to gain information that the dragons had kept secret for millennia, and it became known that dragons possessed a rare magic that infused every part of their bodies. Suddenly, their scales, their bones, and their hearts all became valuable commodities, and they were hunted into extinction by the inhabitants of many realms. The Grand Arcane granted Draco asylum and protection, saving him as the last of his race. Now he is cursed to live with the knowledge that when his long life comes to an end, his people and history will die with him.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, and I pull her into the palace, showing her the fantastical murals depicting the creation of the realm. I start to tell her about the gods who created the palace, those who have long since abandoned it, but she pulls her hand from mine. “Stop it. Get rid of it. Now.”

I turn to face her. “Get rid of what?”

“The illusion. Now.”

The genuine panic in her voice is enough to make me dispel the illusion, but I go cold when I focus on her eyes and see the glazed blue.

“I don’t want to see your magical memories. I don’t want to go to these wonderful places with you. I don’t want you to comfort me when I’m sad. I don’t want you to help me, or watch me, or be around me. I want to fucking hate you!”

“Yet you don’t,” I say, crossing my arms.

“I am trying,” she hisses desperately. “I am trying so fucking hard. So please just let me.” How would I even accomplish that? If she didn’t hate me by now, after everything, she never would. It is just another lie she cloaks herself in, a facade she hopes to force into a truth. “Because I should hate you. I am desperate to hate you,” she continues, the distressed edge to her voice increasing.

“Yet you so desperately can’t,” I say, dropping my arms. That is the heart of it. She wants me to be the monster in this moment, in her life. No, that isn’t quite right. I am her monster, and she is mine. She wants to hate me as her monster because it is so much easier than hating herself. “Yet you find yourself missing me and hating that you do.”

I step toward her, and she steps back. The move is so uncharacteristic of her that I almost pause. Almost. Instead, I continue to crowd her, walking her back until I have her cornered against a tree. She lifts her chin, but doesn’t move away, audibly swallowing. I put my hand on the tree above her head, emphasizing the difference in our sizes.

“I miss you,” I admit, stroking the knuckles of my free hand along her jaw. It’s true. I do miss her constantly. “It hurts how much I do. How much I have to hold back, keep calm, and look the other way.”

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers, closing her eyes.

I nuzzle my cheek against her ear, groaning at even that small contact. “You know why.”