But how would that work?Andbesides, when we started this quest—or series of quests—he made it clear that we would be going our separate ways afterwards.Howcould we not, considering thatI’mgoing to work theTimeWeavingand put us all back in time to where we didn’t even know each other?
HisDrakedoesn’t seem to like that idea.AfterTheronShifts, the huge dragon snorts and rolls his golden eyes at me andIswearIfeel guilty.
“Look,Ihave to work theTimeWeavingspell,”Itry to explain to him.“Ihave to go back to stop a lot of bad things from happening.Ineed to get back to my old life.”
ButIcan’t help thinking that going back to the long, boring days at the temple, toSisterAgatha’sstrict supervision and the crowded dorm with the girls who all hated me for being a half-breed isn’t nearly as appealing as it used to be.
However,Ihave no choice.Nomatter how upset it makesTheron’sDrake,Imust go back in time and reverse what has happened to me.AsIam right now, with green eyes instead of blue,I’mruined.
AFaemaiden cannot have green eyes and be unwed—it simply isn’t heard of.Anyonewho looks at me now will think, “slut,” when they don’t see a ring on my finger or any marks of marriage on my pointed ears—which are expensive gold and silver earrings someHighFaeprefer to finger rings.
It’s one reasonIalmost tookSalazarup on his offer to give me a new set of clothes.Butin the end,Iwas afraid that he might charge me some other awful tollIcouldn’t or didn’t want to pay.HeforcedTheronand me together, after all—who knows what else he might do?
He forced you—right,a dry little voice in my head says.Likeyou weren’t desperate forTheronto touch you—to take you.Likeyou didn’t want him filling you…fucking you.
I push the thought away asIstep up on theDrake’swaiting foreleg and get settled on his broad back.Hehelps me mount but doesn’t duck his head back for any scritches behind his eye-ridges.Itseems he really is upset with me.
I wishIcould explain in a way he’d understand thatI’mruined now, andIhave no choice but to work theTimeWeaving.
But it’s too late for explanations.He’salready lifting off—his vast, sail-sized wings beating the air and raising us high over theSouthernWastelands.
It’s a long trip to theKing’sCourt, which is located in the very center of the kingdom.Buthowever long it is,IknowI’llwish it was longer.Idon’t like the idea of leavingTheronand hisDrakebehind—I’vebecome fond of both of them.
More than fond.
You love them both,whispers a thought in my head butIpush it away.BecauseIknow ifIlet myself think like that,I’mgoing to cry.
I can’t cry right now—Ihave to be strong.Ihave to stay on track and do this spell.It’sthe only way to get back to where—and when—Ibelong.Soeven if it breaks my heart into a million pieces,I’lldo it.
I have no other choice.
59
THERON
By the time theKing’sCitycomes into view, my chest feels like it’s full of broken glass.
MyDrakehas been quiet for most of the flight, which is unusual.Normallyhe’s all restless energy and possessive instincts wheneverElowenis on his back.Helikes feeling her weight settled between my spines—likes the warmth of her thighs against my scales and knowing she’s holding on to us.
But today he’s quiet.
The city rises out of the plain like something from a story—high stone walls glowing gold in the late afternoon light with towers and domes beyond them and banners flying from the battlements in crimson and silver.Evenfrom this distanceIcan hear the low hum of life inside the walls—the sound carrying faintly on the wind.Horses…carts…people…market cries—a hundred thousand ordinary sounds of everyday life…the kind of thingsInever thought much about beforeImetElowen.
Now every sight and sound feels sharpened somehow, edged with the knowledge that all of this—the city, the court, the spell—meansI’mabout to lose her.
Again, myDrakegrowls low in my mind.
“We must not lose her—we must keep her with us!”
I don’t answer him.There’sno point in trying to explain yet again thatElowenis her own person with her own life that she wants to get back to.
InsteadIangle down toward the outer fields beyond the city, keeping away from the walls untilIfind a stand of scrubby trees near a dry creek bed whereIcan land without drawing too much attention.Thesun is lowering in the sky, staining everything amber and red.Dustrises in little puffs as myDrake’sclaws strike the ground, andIcrouch low soElowencan climb off.
She slides down carefully, one hand braced on myDrake’sshoulder, andIfeel the light pressure of her fingers all the way through me.Gods.Evennow, after everything, that little touch is enough to make myDrakewant to turn his head and nudge into her palm like some giant fucking cat.
Instead of letting him,IShift.
The change comes easier these days—too easy, maybe.Eversince the partial bond formed between us, myDrakeis always there—always close to the surface.Ican feel him resisting me asIpull back into my human skin, resentful that we’re giving up wings and claws and fire.