“Are you sure they’re not toofar awayto listen?” Faron asked in exasperation. Her vague memories of early summoning classes had focused on calling to the astral of the most recent relative who had died, not reaching generations into the past. It seemed ridiculous that she should be able to feel the souls of creatures that were an entire ocean away. “They all went back to Langley last month, you know.”
They were on the patio where she’d first summoned him. Faron sat cross-legged in one of the three wicker chairs that were spread out across the tiles. Gael Soto was perched on the white-paintedlattice fence that hemmed in the patio from the grass. It squeaked under his weight every time he shifted, but he seemed unconcerned. Faron, on the other hand, found it mildly concerning. Every time she saw him, he seemed to get more solid. She could no longer faintly see through his skin.
But right now, she needed him too badly to care.
“Distance doesn’t matter,” he said. “If your will is strong enough, you can reach them no matter where in the world they are.”
“Or you could just stop the Fury yourself and save me the trouble.”
A slow smirk spread across his face. “Could I?”
“Can’t you?” she shot back. “I’m not naïve. You can’t convince me it’s a coincidence that there’s a new dragon disease and youhappento be the only one who knows how to cure it.”
“I’m hardly the only one who knows how to cure it. I knowacure, and you came to me for it.” Gael raised a single eyebrow. “I think that says more about you than it does about me.”
“That’s your story? Really?”
“It seems like you’ve already heard one. Tell me”—and now his smile was as sharp as his cheekbones—“what else are the other gods saying about me these days?”
“If your name is Gael Soto,” Faron asked instead, “then why do the Langlish call you the Gray Saint?”
“That’s another story, and you still haven’t told me one.”
Anything she could say felt like a weapon she’d be adding to his arsenal. Her blood pumped with the same energy she felt during battle. The knowledge that she couldn’t dare trust him even though she needed him turned their conversation into a dance at the edge of a rooftop. One wrong move, and she would plunge to her death. One small opening, and she could push him to his.
And both of them were feeling the other out to see who would fall.
“First, you tell me this,” said Faron. “I’ve been talking to the gods for over five years without hearing from you. Why come to me now?”
“Because you needed me.” Gael eased down from the fence, then glided across the tiles toward her with all the predatory grace of a boa. “Because I have knowledge that the gods never wanted you to know. The power that I am unlocking within you, the power to command living souls, has not been seen in this world since I was a part of it. Do you have any idea what you could do with magic like that?” His fingers captured her chin, as gentle as a lover’s kiss. “You could rule this world. You could bring it to ruin. You—”
“I just want to rescue my sister,” Faron interrupted, her heart thundering in her chest. The way he spoke, the beguiling cadence of his voice, was a trap. It was no wonder Langley still referred to him as a saint even though the commander admitted that the strain of his dragon bond drove him mad. He wore his charm like a cloak, and she refused to fall for it. “I want to learn to break the bond between a dragon and a Rider. I want to go home with my sister at my side, free to live her own life. I’m not interested in anything else from you.”
He stared at her, staredthroughher. “Very well.”
Gael stepped back, and her held breath shook loose from her chest.
“Again,” he said. “Really try to reach out this time.”
But before Faron could follow his instruction or demand more information, someone called her name.
“Class,” Gael drawled, “dismissed.”
He faded away, leaving her with her still-racing heart and the sense that she had won this interaction—barely. Faron climbed onto slightly shaky feet, searching for any hint that the god still remained, but his presence was gone. Only his impact lingered, raising goose bumps along her skin. Was he making her stronger, or was she makinghimstronger? Was she controlling him, or was he controlling her?
He made it so hard to think when he was around.
“Faron!”
With one last frown, she went inside.
Reeve brought Faron to the library, where the fireplace was lit and Elara—or, rather, Elara’s voice—waited to share the latest information she’d gained. The bags under his eyes had gotten deeper, his skin paperlike beneath the gas lamps. His hair was limp. Ink stained one cheek, as if he’d fallen asleep atop his own notes. Even with the short breaks he’d begun to take between hours of research, it was clear that Reeve was falling apart. Breaking himself to piece her sister’s life back together.
“Did you eat?” Elara asked from the fireplace once the two of them were settled. “You don’t sound well.”
“Later,” said Reeve impatiently. “I’m glad you were around to take this call because this is important. I looked for more books about the Draconian Wars that Zephyra mentioned to you, and I think I’ve found something interesting.”
Faron was sitting in the armchair she had come to think of as his, watching him pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. Concern threatened to overtake her mild interest in these DraconianWars they’d clearly discussed without her. Elara couldn’t even see Reeve, couldn’t see the way he paused to rub at his eyes, the way he ran his hands through his hair as if he wanted to pull it out. Seeing his agitation made Faron want to take care of him… and that was an impulse she needed to squash before she was forced to examine why.
