“She’s not my—” Varyth started, then stopped, his lip twitching. “And yes, I’m aware.”
The casual way he said it—like my temper was just another fact to file away, another variable in whatever complex equation he was always calculating—sent another spike of irritation through me.
“I’m standing right here,” I said pointedly.
“Trust me,” Darian said, brushing leaves from his hair as he emerged from the bushes looking thoroughly dishevelled. “We’re both very aware of exactly where you’re standing.”
“You do have a remarkable affinity for violence,” Varyth observed, not looking up from where he was tracing patterns in the air near the Veil’s scar. His fingers moved, mapping something I couldn’t see. “It’s almost artistic.”
“Artistic violence,” Darian agreed, picking a particularly stubborn thorn from his sleeve. “Like poetry, but with more bruising. I respect that in a person.”
“It wasn’t violence,” I protested. “It was a gentle correction.”
“It was—” Varyth stopped, his head tilting. The air grew heavier, charged with an energy that made my teeth ache and the black fire stir restlessly beneath my skin.
Varyth’s entire body went rigid. “We need to go. Now.”
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, but he was already turning away from the Veil, his movement sharp with sudden urgency.
“Dariandralis is right, we shouldn’t linger too long in places like this.” His mask of calm had slipped just enough to reveal a hint of concern. Or fear. “I’ll let you know what I find when I understand it myself.”
Before I could argue, Darian was at my side, his hand warm on my elbow as he guided me toward where the dragons waited.
“Come on, shadow fire,” he said, his usual grin subdued by whatever had spooked Varyth. “Time to go before something decides we look tasty.”
Caorath lifted his great head as we approached, amber eyes alert and watchful. Whatever had set Varyth on edge, the dragon felt it too. His scales rippled with tension, wings shifting restlessly against his sides.
Darian swung up onto Caorath’s back, then reached down to haul me up behind him. His grip was sure and steady, but I could feel the coiled readiness in his muscles, the way he held himself like he expected trouble.
“Hold tight,” he murmured as I settled behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist. “And try not to fall off. Explaining that to Varyth would be awkward.”
Before I could open my mouth, Caorath’s wings spread wide, and we launched into the sky.
The ground dropped away beneath us in a rush of wind and vertigo, but this time I was ready for it. Ready for the way my stomach tried to relocate to somewhere near my spine, ready for the terrifying exhilaration of being airborne with nothing but leather and dragon scales between me and a very long fall.
Thessarian soared beside us, Varyth’s silver hair streaming behind him like a banner. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze kept scanning thehorizon like he expected something to come screaming out of the clouds.
“What spooked him?” I called over the wind.
Darian’s shoulders shifted in a shrug. “Could be anything. Places touched by the Veil attract things that shouldn’t exist. Best not to overstay our welcome. But?—”
The world exploded.
17
Amassive figure slammed into Caorath from above, the impact so violent it sent us spinning sideways through the air. The dragon’s roar of pain and fury tore through the sky as claws raked across his crimson scales, drawing lines of fire-bright blood.
I had a split second to register wings black as midnight, vast enough to blot out the sun, before we were falling.
Not falling. Plummeting.
Caorath’s wings beat frantically as he tried to stabilise, but whatever had hit us wasn’t done. It circled back, and I caught a glimpse of something that shouldn’t exist. A dragon, but wrong. Twisted. Its scales seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and its eyes burned with the sickly green of infected wounds.
Then Darian screamed.
The sound ripped through me. I looked down to see a spear—jagged obsidian that gleamed with its own malevolent light—erupt from his side, punching through leather and flesh to emerge blood-slicked from just below his ribs.
“Fuck!” The word tore from my throat as Darian’s hands spasmed on Caorath’s handles, his body convulsing around the weapon embedded in his torso.
