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Here it comes. I turn toward the sky again, hoping Doshir will think the wind is responsible for the sudden heat of tears in my eyes.
“The Council thought you should hear it from me,” Doshir continues.
I pull in a sharp breath. Something catches in my mind, confusion over why the Council of the Iron Mountains would give a damn about the end of whatever happened between the two of us, but I let it go. What does it matter?
“Is this about Wendolyn?” I force myself to ask.
My voice doesn’t tremble, but it’s hardly louder than a whisper. Doshir makes a sound, something like a snort.
“Well, I suppose she’s part of it,” he replies.
Part of it. I wrap my arms around my chest, crushing blue velvet against my body like it could hold my insides together. The sharp, hard little stones embroidered on the bodice bite into my skin. I turn away from Doshir and let my gaze drift down the mountainside.
Is this the same mountain that swallowed the Army of Valgros? I follow what I can see of the ridge line below us, but it doesn’t spark any memories. The only home and family I’d ever known just vanished beneath stones, and now I’m losing Doshir as well. Rensivar’s voice slithers through my mind.You’ve shown consistently poor judgment,he’d said in his tower, after he’d tried to punch me.And you’re easily led astray.
I clench my hands into fists and try to will the voice of my sire to fall silent. When it does, there’s nothing left between me and Doshir but the hiss of the wind.
Poor judgment? I clench my fists against my rib cage, remembering the night I knocked on the front door of Doshir’s shop. Yes, it had been poor judgment to accept his invitation to join him for frost wine, and to follow him into the garden, and to hide my knives beneath a tree and hope he wouldn’t notice. It had also been poor judgment to let him accompany me to Valgros and then claim I was his sponsor. And it had been phenomenally poor judgment to run away from Rensivar, to assume a foolish woman like me could stand against a monster straight out of legends.
I suck in a breath and tilt my head toward the sky. It was poor judgment, every last bit of it, and yet I would do it all again. Every choice, every twist in the path that led me here, to this ledge with Doshir. Even if this is the end, I would take every step again.
Something panicky flutters inside my chest, and it takes me a moment to recognize my old companion. Fear. You make a choice when you’re threatened, my trainer Alva used to say. You choose to flee, or you choose to stand. I don’t think this is exactly the kind of situation he had in mind, but the rest of my body feels like I’m walking into a fight; fear surges over me in cold waves, and my fists clench against the pinpricks of stone buried in the velvet of my bodice.
So I can flee, or I can choose to stand. And if this is our goodbye, the end that feels like a battlefield, then I want to stand.
I want Doshir to know the truth.
Chapter37
Doshir
Rayne stands like she’s frozen on the ledge, her dark blue dress blending in with the heavens, her hair like a jet of flame streaking across the sky. I shift my weight, trying to keep quiet and give her the time she needs. The healing draughts are disorienting; I was told she might need several days to recover.
Which I’d damn well better give to her, because the news the Council unanimously elected me to deliver is going to crack her entire world right down the middle. I sigh, mentally cursing the Council once again, and then slam my mouth closed when Rayne turns back to me.
Tears sparkle where they’ve tangled in her lashes. I try to clamp down on the urge to brush them away. I’d spent every night beside her, my claws over hers, watching the curtains billow with her breath, and still, as soon as she walked into the sunlight, I wanted to run my hands and mouth all over her.
Not a helpful thought. I press my teeth together and try to smile at her. She asked about Wendolyn, of all dragons.Is this about Wendolyn?Well, what is that supposed to mean?
“Doshir,” Rayne says. Her voice trembles like it’s caught in the wind.
I step closer to her; I can’t stop myself. She’s shivering, and it’s all I can do not to wrap my cloak around her shoulders.
“I’m here,” I answer.
She looks up at me and, Mothers above, I’m going to drown in those blue eyes.
“I’m— I’m sorry,” she says.
The words sound brittle, like they might crack if I try to hold them. The moment seems too fragile for speech; I hold my breath.
“I’m sorry I left you,” she continues. “In the mountains. I wish I’d been able to tell you, but the sun was coming up, and I saw a lantern in the trees. I wouldn’t have been able to catch up with you and then turn back without attracting their attention.”
She falls silent, and her shoulders slump forward. I knot my fingers together to keep from reaching for her, trying to offer whatever comfort I can.
“I know,” I say.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide.
