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“He is a furry, mischievous little scoundrel. What’s more, he sneaks treats from the kitchen.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed. “He’s been getting heavier.”
Nyxaris brushed his lips against mine. “You’re adorable when you’re enraged.”
“I’m not enraged,” I said, my voice rising. Then I stopped. A terrible thought had just come over me. “We need to go back and soon, Nyxaris, but …”
“Yes?”
I lifted my hands to cover my face. “My clothes.”
“Ah, yes. I was wondering when you would think of that. Quite a dilemma.” Nyxaris sounded annoyingly cheerful.
I groaned. “It’s not funny.”
“In fact, it is hysterical,” he countered. “And if a dragon says something is funny, you may rest assured it is truly comical, for we have a superior sense of humor.”
“Yes, well, you’re in highblood form now, and you don’t need to rub it in,” I said grumpily.
His face fell just for an instant at the sound of the word I’d used to describe him, and I felt remorseful for pointing out what he was. What he’d secretly always been. Then, “There is a simple solution, of course.”
“We weave clothes from the tall grasses.” I was already eyeing them. “Yes, but it will take hours. And they’ll be scratchy. And I’ve never been good at sewing. But I suppose I’ll have to try.”
That or limp naked to some farmer’s hut and beg for a blanket. I could just imagine the exchange, especially with a dragon lurking behind me.
Nyxaris chuckled, the planes of his golden-skinned chest rising and falling. I watched admiringly, distracted for a brief moment. “That’s one idea, but mine is simpler. I transform back, and then I fly you to your tower room. Do you think you could manage sliding from my wing to the window?”
I grimaced. “I’ll have to, won’t I? Or die in the attempt, which would be extremely humiliating.” Nyxaris looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “Very well.” I groaned. “Let’s get this over with.”
As we flew, I saw Nyxaris had been wrong: We hadn’t saved the city. Veilmar was a wasteland. The sight of it hit me in a wave of guilt and shame. Were my friends out there somewhere? Were they even alive?
Chapter 4
REGAN
Wet fur and blood. Red dragon scales.
My little brother’s face as he gave a sidesplitting laugh. I reached for him. “Persis!”
He ran, laughing, across the snowy lawn. “You can’t catch me! You’re too slow!”
I was slow. The snow had formed high drifts. I plodded through, trying to chase him. I reached a gloved hand down into the snow, scooping up enough to form a ball.
I surfaced. There was sound before there was sensation.
“I need her alive. Do you understand me?”
My heart sank. A man’s voice. I recognized it at once. Viktor.
“I understand you perfectly.” A different male voice. Taut with strain. “But do you understand that, by rights, she should not be alive right now? Not based on what you told me. Nor after what you did to her.”
My eyelids fluttered. I tried to force them open.
Light stabbed through—far too bright. I groaned, the sound too soft for anyone to notice. My head throbbed. My mouth tasted like iron and ash.
“I’ve done what I can for the wound on her throat. But she broke a Blood Vow.” This was the other man’s voice again. I assumed he must be a healer. “You told me she broke a vow.”
“She did,” Viktor snapped.
