This is all strange, but it’s also wonderful. I need to remember that.
I step closer, sliding my arm around his waist. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He makes a noise. “She says the same about you.”
I blink. “What?”
He looks down, embarrassed for a second, which is hilarious coming from a man who’s seen me naked. “She talks. To me. In here.” He taps his head. “Like Ebron talks to you.”
“Sevrin…” I stare at him, at the dragon, at the space between them. “That’s not possible. You’re not?—”
“A rider?” He grins, showing too many teeth. “I know. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, my brain not quite being able to put this all together.
“Her name’s Rosanthra,” Sevrin says, as if he’s reading my mind. “She says she’s never met a human who smelled like iron and sea salt before.”
“She’s never met a Hollowborn before,” I correct, a little awed. “Rosanthra. That’s… that’s a pretty name.”
Dragons don’t talk to humans that aren’t their riders. Dragons don’t let random humans touch them, or know their name. What the hell is going on?
Sevrin’s hand is shaking a little, but he doesn’t stop petting her. “She says she feels connected to me.”
“Connected how?”
He turns to face me, his eyes intense and raw. “She says she belongs with us. With me.” He lowers his voice, soft and secret, as if afraid to admit it even to himself. “She says she’s never wanted to bond before. Not with any other rider. Not with any male dragon. But… she likes the way I think. The way I feel in her mind.”
Rosanthra hums, and I realize she’s been listening the whole time. Her eyes lock with mine, and for a moment I feel herinside my head, curious, gentle. Then she pulls back and nuzzles Sevrin, careful as a cat.
“How do you feel about this?” I ask. My hand finds his, squeezing it.
He takes a deep breath, chest swelling with it. “I never thought I’d get to have this.” His voice is barely audible. “All my life, I thought dragons were only for your people. I mean, a Hollowborn has never, ever, in all of history been a rider before, but,” his laugh is full of disbelief, “she says I’m her rider, so I must be.”
I stop for a second. Whyisn’tit possible? He’s a man, just like any other. I just never expected him to be a rider.
“You deserve it.” I lean my head on his shoulder, letting the silence settle. The dragon wraps her tail around us, not quite touching, but close.
For a while, we just stand there, soaking up the morning sun, the wind full of salt and flowers. It’s almost too much, but not quite. Sevrin’s shoulders relax, bit by bit, and he reaches back to tug me close. I can feel the tremor in him, the battle between wonder and disbelief.
“Do you think the others will freak out?” he asks, voice low.
“Of course they will.” I smile. “But they’ll get used to it.”
He looks at me, and I see no walls. “I’m glad it’s you,” he says. “If I have to share a bed, a dragon, a life… I’m glad it’s with you. My mate.”
That sweet ache starts in my chest again. “I love you too, Sevrin.”
Rosanthra bumps her head against his back, nearly knocking us off the hill. He laughs, and the sound is brighter than the sunrise. He holds me even closer, and we watch the world get lighter, together until we know we should head back.
We take the hill’s slope at a shambling half-walk, half-slide. Sevrin’s in no hurry to leave his new dragon… his dragon. I stillcan’t believe it. But the way Rosanthra paces him, tail flicking and head bent like an overgrown puppy, is all the proof anyone would need. She doesn’t want to let him out of her sight.
When we get closer to the cave, I notice the others aren’t inside, but outside in the meadow, a blur of color and movement in the early morning light. Sylvara gleams silver in the sun, wings outstretched and shadow crisp against the blue grass. Verdraxa rolls in a patch of flowers, crushing them into spicy-smelling mulch. Nythera is perched on a boulder, looking like a snooty queen on a throne. All three look up in unison when they see Rosanthra.
The reaction is immediate. Sylvara hisses, bristling, while Verdraxa freezes and Nythera narrows her eyes, tail snapping. The dragons’ wariness is almost funny, but I know it’s not. These three are bonded through Ebron, and they guard their family with a jealousy that borders on feral.
Lucien, Alaric, and Gareth are standing nearby, watching their dragons try not to get in a fight.
Alaric is watching the whole interaction suspiciously, but seems to push it aside as he looks at me. “You’re up early.”
