Page 42 of Feralheart

He blinked.

Another step. His tail twitched but didn’t lash. I kept my hands visible, the same way I had with the wild dragon, and hummed the tune my mother had taught me.

Lykor’s breathing evened again.

I walked around him, never getting too close. Letting him familiarize himself with how I moved. Stopping by his head, I let him sniff my hand, him chuffing softly, thankfully withholding his fire. I stroked his neck and the hinge of his jaw. He rumbled in his throat before turning his head away and dropping it to the sand. His eyes closed, shutting me out.

“Had enough, huh?” I whispered.

He didn’t even crack an eyelid my way.

I picked up the bundle and left.

After dropping my tack with the rest, I left, my limbs quaking as I made my way up the path, passing the fortress, and winding down to Shaleside. I kept my spine straight until I’d cleared the upper gate and met up with a guard on the trail who kept going, not looking my way.

Continuing through the market square, I passed a woman haggling over vegetables. Down three streets, the lanes narrowed and the laundry lines blocked the moon.

Alone for one moment, I collapsed. My back hit a wall, and I slid down until I sat in the blackened dust, my knees pulled up to my chest, the token’s edges cutting into my palm.

What had I done?

My hands were shaking. No, my whole body was shaking, a tremor that started in my spine and radiated out until my teeth chattered. In a few short days, I’d ride a dragon that probably hated every human who’d ever touched it. My odds of living long enough to race in the Scorching were pretty much nil.

But Tolross would die without the wish.

I lowered my forehead to my knees and made myself breathe.

A child ran past. His mother called after him, laughing.

Finally, I stood up. My legs still trembled, but they held.

The decision had been made. All that was left was seeing it through.

I pulled the dragon scale from my pocket and held it up to the fading light. Still warm. Still impossible.

The wild dragon had chosen me for a reason I couldn’t define. Lykor had let me touch him without taking my hand off at the wrist.

Maybe all this meant something.

Or it meant nothing.

I tucked the scale away and started walking.

Silvie’s dye stall sat in the same spot as always, the vats steaming despite the late hour. She looked up when I approached, her arms stained purple-black to the elbows.

“I entered the trial,” I said.

“I guessed you would.”

“Would you look after Father and Tolross while I’m gone?”

Her hands stilled in the purple-black water. “Sit.”

I didn’t move. “I can’t stay long.”

“Sit.”

I sat on the crate beside the vat. Hos jumped onto my lap, purring and kneading my thighs.