Page 137 of Feralheart

Somewhere behind me, Terrant would be composing a message for the morning’s imp. I no longer bothered wondering what his message said.

I could still salvage this. Call Vella back. Explain that the stress of nearly dying had affected my judgment. If I requested a new harness, a servant would deliver it before I’d finished speaking. I could strap it on Aristus and pretend I’d never removed it.

Terrant would report that I was complying.

I would not do it.

Choice. That’s what Eradin had shown me when she’d made it clear she would ride an illegal dragon. I’d given a gift to Aristus, and I wouldn’t take it back.

I stood beside him, my shoulders locked, grinding my teeth together.

Vella was right. My mother was always watching, and she would not let this pass. I was surprised I hadn’t heard from her already.

Aristus’s head lowered, and I thought he might let me stroke his snout the way he used to after they’d collared him. But when I reached out, he pulled back.

I didn’t sense rejection. Just caution. I’d earned it. And I’d keep earning it until he decided I was worth the risk.

I didn’t care what the world thought, though I wanted to. I craved the familiar weight of approval or disapproval that would tell me how to act. Feel. But the script had burned up with the harness, and I was standing in the ashes without lines to recite.

But if their approval didn’t matter, then nothing I’d built did. Every careful negotiation and perfect performance. Whenever I’d swallowed what I wanted to say to maintain the façade. Twenty-three years of my life, and I’d set it on fire for a dragon who didn’t trust me.

And a woman I’d kill to touch.

The commons riders had settled on the bare ground with their packs. Eradin lay close to Selira, her spine curved with exhaustion, her rich brown hair loose down her back.

I knew how her hair smelled of wild places and herbs. I’d been close enough to learn it that night.

The wanting hadn’t faded. It had teeth now, and they were biting down hard.

A short distance of sand lay between us. It might as well be a vast sea.

She touched something at her throat, a gesture I’d seen her make before when she was trying to steady herself. I wanted to know what she was holding onto. I wanted to go to her and ask.

Aristus made a low sound. I felt his awareness shift, tracking something himself. His attention locked on Selira with the same intensity mine kept finding Eradin.

I sensed his question.

“I don’t know,” I said.

But I did know.

I’d torn apart everything I was supposed to be for a creature who didn’t trust me yet and a woman who’d made it very clear about where commons and the crown stood.

Too far apart.

The terrifying part was that I’d do it again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

FEN

The messenger imp arrived an hour later, and I knew before it materialized that my mother was about to rip off my head.

Let her try. I welcomed the challenge.

The tiny creature soared through the air, their translucent wings beating too swiftly to track, holding a scroll marked with the royal seal that meant I was about to be chastised for destroying everything my mother had built me to be.

I didn’t take it right away. My hand hovered in the space between me and this creature sent to deliver judgment. Taking it meant opening it, and opening it meant confronting what my taste of freedom had cost me.