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“It was Greimbyss, I think,” I whisper.
Greimbyss. The bronze dragon who’d been in the bedchamber with Wendolyn on that sunny spring day when my entire world shattered. The same dragon who’d denied my request to join the Council of the Iron Mountains, who’d claimed I was too weak to carry the banner of the Iron Mountains.
“He, uh,” I begin, wondering how exactly to phrase this. “He might be living with Wendolyn.”
Rayne shakes her head, then pulls her hand out of mine.
“Great,” she mutters.
And with that, she turns back to the mountainside and resumes climbing.
Chapter24
Rayne
The rock outcropping jutting out of the side of this mountain does look like a claw, and the damned thing does hide a crack in the earth. I don’t know why it annoys me that Doshir’s father was able to draw such an irritatingly accurate map on a scrap of parchment in the span of two heartbeats, but it does. Or perhaps it’s just that I’ve ridden hard for two days, that every part of my body hurts in some new and interesting way, and that Doshir is acting like nothing happened next to our campfire in the Barrier Mountains.
Which is fine, of course. It probably shouldn’t have happened, and thank the kings I managed not to say anything embarrassing as I was falling asleep. We’re trying to infiltrate the damned Iron Mountains, after all. This isn’t the time to start pulling petals off a flower and playinghe loves me, he loves me not.
I yank my water skin from my hip and suck on it, more out of annoyance than thirst, as Doshir leans his head into the dark cleft in the earth. The thick cloak he’d just thrown over the both of us as a dragon flew past covers my view of his backside, which is just fine. Doshir turns back to me, then wrinkles his nose.
“Smells like dragons,” he says.
I shrug. The air does carry a strange tang, like smoke and iron and sulfur. Is that what dragons smell like?
“It’s funny,” he says. “You never know a place has a smell until you leave.”
I nod. The Royal Barracks had a smell. It wasn’t a good smell, of course, but it hit me every time I came back from a mission, that mixture of stale beer and old sweat and animal droppings that meant I was back in my place, back where I belonged. It was a piss-poor excuse for a home, but it was the only one I’d ever had.
“We’ll probably want a candle,” Doshir says, turning back to the crack in the mountainside. “But we should get inside first.”
I run my fingers over the straps of my pack. The horses had been carrying candles, two thick golden columns that smelled faintly of honey, as well as meals and cloaks and bedrolls. Whoever packed for us had clearly wanted to give us every advantage. That thought should make me feel more confident, but the sight of dragon wings covering the sky above us had drained all my optimism. I had been so damned certain that the dragon was Rensivar, here to claim me. Here to drag me back to Valgros, back to the stinking barracks and King Donovan’s indifferent bedchamber.
With the sound of leather scraping against stone, Doshir vanishes inside the mountain. I know it’s coming, but still, my heart freezes when he disappears. Silently, I creep closer to the dark cleft in the mountainside. I had the best night vision in the entire Royal Barracks, but still, I need at least a little light to see, and the faint sliver of moon that’s risen above the trees only splashes a thin gauze of silver over the outline of the cave’s mouth.
And then, suddenly, there’s light. A match hisses into existence, casting sudden, golden light over Doshir’s face and the candle cupped in his fingers. He brings the match to the wick, and the light grows stronger. He shakes out the match, lets it fall from his fingers, and then lifts his hand toward me.
I swallow, trying to ignore the mess of emotions clawing at the back of my throat. I have to turn sideways to slip into the cave, and then I’m standing beside Doshir and staring at a surprisingly round tunnel leading slightly downward, toward the heart of the Iron Mountains. The scent of smoke and iron is stronger here, thick and heavy above the thin honeyed sweetness of the candle. It’s not a scent that makes me think of home. Not at all.
“Shall we?” Doshir says, tilting his head down the tunnel with an expression that’s almost a smile.
I hesitate. It can’t possibly be important, and I’m almost positive I don’t even want to know, but still, the words force their way out of my mouth.
“What were you going to say?” I ask.
Doshir blinks at me. The candle sways gently, moving its soft golden light across his lips and cheeks.
“On the mountain,” I whisper. “Before the dragon showed up. When I asked if there was anything else I should know. You said there was something.”
Doshir frowns, and my gut twists like a dishrag. The silence between us feels as heavy as snow. I’m so ready for the news to be bad, for Doshir to tell me, hey, surprise, dragons mate for life no matter what, so we’re about to surprise my wife. Or oh yes, you should know that Wendolyn is the only woman I’ll ever love.
But instead of speaking, Doshir shifts the candle from one hand to another and then runs his fingers through his thick curls. When he turns back to me, there’s a look on his face that makes me think he’s in pain.
“It’s about you,” he says, in a small, soft voice.
Oh, kings help me. This is going to be bad.
My boots scuff the dirt beneath me until I feel stone against my back, and my hand reaches for my dagger, my fingers opening and closing around the hilt. As if I could fight my way out of what’s coming.
