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There’s nothing. Still, I can’t shake the fear that pulls my muscles tight. Ensyvir murdered Doshir’s mother, then flew over the Knife’s Edge Mountains. Toward Valgros, and toward the tower where his assistant Varitan is waiting, with his bizarre scarves and cold fingers and a voice that sounds like rats’ feet scurrying in the walls.
Varitan is waiting for me. He’s probably planning on doing something horrible to me that will make me think he’s the only one who can force me to transform into a dragon. He’s waiting with his lies about how my dragon form is a gift from the dragon who calls himself Ensyvir. But Ensyvir didn’t give me this.
The bucket’s handle makes a brittle little snapping sound; I breathe in slowly, forcing my grip to loosen. Ensyvir thinks I’m a weapon, and by the kings, he’s not wrong. I’ve been a weapon for my entire life.
I pull in another breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. Sooner or later, the monster who just murdered Doshir’s mother will return to Valgros, and he’s going to expect to find me there, waiting for him to use me like he uses all the other tools at his disposal. And he’s going to be furious when he finds I’m not there.
Something else whispers through my mind, carrying with it a memory of a darkened hallway and Ensyvir’s leering smile.Your dear King Donovan, Ensyvir had said.He is not long for the throne.
My heart slows inside my chest, and for a moment I feel like someone’s gutted me and then packed my insides with ice. Ensyvir smiled at me like I’d just handed him a gift that night in the hallway outside the royal bedchamber. I’d barged in through the secret entrance, so convinced that I had something King Donovan needed, only to be met with a drunken sort of sneer and His Majesty’s Royal Advisor Ensyvir.
Donovan already knew Ensyvir had his signet ring. And after that night, Ensyvir knew what a fool I was. How willing I was to throw anything away, even my own life, for His Highness King Donovan. So Ensyvir used that knowledge against me, of course.If you are very, very good,he’d said, in a raspy, self-satisfied whisper.If you do exactly what you are told, I’ll let your king survive.
I swallow hard, then glance across the ashes at Doshir. He’s talking with a tall, regal-looking elf. His face is furrowed in concentration and his shoulders hunch over, almost as though he’s bracing himself for a blow. My heart thuds hollowly inside my chest, like a drum beating out marching orders.
I didn’t do what Ensyvir told me to do. Kings above, I defied him directly the moment I let my wings turn toward Valgros. I ran from Ensyvir, from my entire life in King Donovan’s service, but I hadn’t fully grasped the implications until this moment.
My neck twists toward the sky once more, searching the clear blue for signs of dark wings. And once again, there’s nothing. My throat feels raw; my mouth tastes like ash. It might not be too late, some part of my mind whispers. I could take wing right now, fly like all the fires of the nine hells were on my talons, and I might reach Valgros before Ensyvir. I might reach Valgros in time to save King Donovan’s life.
My gaze drops once again, falling through the feathery pine boughs to settle on Doshir. He nods at something the elf says, then runs his hand through his hair. His fingers leave streaks of ash across his forehead, and something deep inside my chest pulls tight.
I chose King Donovan over Doshir once, and what did I get for it? The knowledge that Donovan had willingly handed over his to Ensyvir.
But no, that wasn’t all. I’d realized something else that horrible night, as I stood dripping rainwater on the king’s ornate carpets in the light of hundreds of slim, elegant candles set out to illuminate King Donovan’s first night as a married man.
I’d realized I don’t love the king. I love Doshir.
My breath catches in my throat, and my rib cage suddenly feels too tight. I watch Doshir nod, then turn to gaze out over Cairncliff, his very fine backside highlighted by his smooth black pants.
And I slowly realize I’m not leaving him again. Not to save King Donovan; hells, not even to save all of Valgros. It doesn’t even matter if he feels the same way. I’ve done my duty to the nation that raised and trained me. And now, I realize with a strange ache in my chest, I’m free.
My feet start moving before my mind catches up, turning toward Doshir as the elf walks away from him. I’m halfway across the ashes when a loud cry booms through the smoky air, turning the heads of everyone still standing or sitting on what used to be Doshir’s lawn.
There’s a man standing at the gates. Or, rather, he’s walking through the gates with a swagger that’s so exaggerated I wonder if he’s trying to play a role. He’s massive, this man, with a huge black beard, two gleaming cutlasses sticking out of his belt, and a scarf tied around his head. As he plows into the ruins of Doshir’s lawn, he spreads his hands and shakes his head.
“What in the nine holy hells,” the man demands, “happened to my shop?”
Doshir hurries toward the man with a pained smile on his face. I stand frozen in the ashes, blinking as my mind tries to pull it together.
Geredan’s Antiquities, the sign read as it hung outside Doshir’s shop. Or as it smoldered on the blackened cobblestones outside Doshir’s shop. Slowly, as though I’m remembering events from another life, the memories surface. Doshir standing in the doorway of his shop, the light of the fading sun washing over his features, making him look so beautiful I half believed he was a fever dream. Doshir’s lips twisting into a smile.This is Geredan’s Antiquities,he’d said.Geredan’s my father.
I stare at the man with the black scarf. Perhaps there’s something of Doshir in him, but I’ve never seen Doshir swagger or scowl like that. The man who must be Geredan crosses his arms over his chest and frowns as Doshir approaches. Then his eyes seem to catch on something in the wreckage behind me, and everything about him changes.
The man’s scowl shatters, and he bursts into motion, pushing past me as though I were invisible. He falls to his knees beside the body of the black dragon, then presses his forehead to her scales. He’s whispering something in a voice that’s almost a growl; I step back, not wanting to intrude.
There’s a crunching sound behind me, and I know without turning who it must be. No one else could walk across the embers. Still, my heart catches in my throat when I turn and meet Doshir’s dark eyes.
I came back, I want to say. And even if it means I can never return to Valgros, even if I’m abandoning my post and if that costs King Donovan his life, I want to stay here. With you. Because I love you.
But the words catch in my throat, and when I open my mouth, I find there’s nothing between us but smoke and ashes. I stare at Doshir, at the tracks tears have left on his cheeks and the smears of ash across his forehead, and I try to force my lips to form words until there’s a rumbling growl from behind us.
I turn, my heart fluttering somewhere in the back of my throat. Geredan, the massive man who must be a dragon and who must also be Doshir’s father, is staring at us with his arms crossed over his chest. Tears glitter from his cheeks and the thick black curls of his beard.
“Tell me everything,” Geredan says.
Chapter19
Doshir
