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18
Clinging to a dragon’s back while holding a large bundle is more difficult than I expected. Fortunately, Kyreagan flies slowly, staying nearer to the ground than usual, as Thelise suggested.
“We’re not going back to your nest?” I renew my grip on one of his spikes and clench my thighs around his neck as tightly as I can. My free arm circles the bundle, holding the precious clothing and supplies close to my chest.
“I’m taking you to a different roost for the night.”
“What about dinner?”
“There is food waiting for you.”
“Good boy,” I croon. “You’re learning.”
He scoffs and swoops down, making my belly jump even though we’re not far above the open meadow. We’re skimming toward a series of low foothills at the base of another mountain. It amazes me how complex and varied the geography of this island is. I suspect parts of it are not entirely natural—probably built from dragon bones or carved by their claws, and then the land reclaimed those places, spreading moss, earth, and grass over it all.
Kyreagan zips through a gap between the hills, then glides over a shaded valley where glassy pools lie beneath gnarled, flowering trees. Spring is in full force here, with frothy pink blooms festooning the trees and rich purple violets coating the damp, gloomy hollows.
The beauty of it makes my heart ache.
“This place is so pretty it hurts,” I murmur.
Kyreagan hums low in his chest, and I know he feels the same way. Deep in that wild dragon-heart of his, there’s a softness I find appealing. I can’t help it.
It’s dangerous being out here alone with him, because I’m beginning to forget that I’m supposed to hate him.
To bolster my inner resistance, I summon the memory of him knocking Thelise into the wall. She wasn’t hurt, and I don’t think he intended to do more than frighten her a little, but the act of violence still angered me.
And he killed Listor. Grabbed him and flung him off the wall. But that was war, and the rules were different—he was angry, grieving—
No, Serylla. Stop making excuses for him. He has burned people alive. Soldiers by the scores, maybe even hundreds. He killed relatives of your servants, your guards, your friends…
Kyreagan glides over several round pools, each rimmed with crystallized rock. Steam rises from them, misting the air with heat. The crooked trees arch over the pools, as if drinking in the warmth, and their pink petals float through the air like fragrant snow, settling on the water and collecting in rosy drifts along each pool’s edge.
This is a hot spring. He has brought me to a hot spring, and my skin immediately cries out to be submerged in those heated pools.
“This is a sacred place,” Kyreagan says. “We come here on certain moons to ask the Bone-Builder for wisdom, and we bring our hatchlings here to be cleansed during the third moon cycle after their hatching. No human has ever been allowed to visit these hot springs.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because I wish it.” He lands on a strip of mossy rock beyond the pools, in the entrance to a shallow cave. When I peer inside the cave, I notice two more pools within its shelter. They’re glowing a faint bluish-green.
“The crystals in the rock glow at night,” he explains.
As if this place needed any more beauty to make me adore it. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.
“Wait here.” Kyreagan enters the cave and blows his superheated breath on a few cube-shaped rocks stationed at intervals along the floor. Each rock begins to glow bright orange, and unlike regular rocks, the light doesn’t fade. They must be uniquely adapted to hold the heat.
As the rocks’ glow floods the cave, it illuminates two worn blankets spread upon the rough stone floor. Set out upon them are three bowls—one containing some very stale-looking rolls, the second holding dried, salted fish, and the third boasting a wedge of golden cheese, coated with mold along one side.
But the thing that catches my attention is a small stone cup, the perfect size for my palm, obviously chiseled by a dragon’s claw. It’s half-filled with water, and a large, cold clump of tea leaves are swamped in the center of the liquid, like a pathetic island.
My heart seizes up as laughter, shock, and sweet pain collide in my chest.
Somehow I manage to compose my features as I point to the cup and ask the dragon, “What is this?”
“It’s tea.” He looks so smug. So proud of himself.
I stare at the cup, my throat swelling with tears and my heart with—no, it’s not affection, or gratitude, because I can’t feel those things for a monster, for the slayer of my people. I’ve betrayed my kingdom by letting the dragon lick me, by kissing him… I can’t go any farther down this road.
