“Dragons! Dragons!” they screamed. “Run!”
They left their unpacked supplies, determined to flee.
And I was apparently forgotten about.
“Well, I suppose that fixes that problem,” I mused.
Tommins nodded. “They’ll be back, I’m sure. And we will deal with that when it happens.”
“We will?”
He hesitated, as though questioning the action, before thumping my shoulder twice and letting his hand fall awkwardly back to his side. “We will. Moonvale doesn’t sacrifice her folk, not even the newer ones. Not even gods.”
A weird, warm sensation crept down my throat. “Okay, then.”
As the knights fled into the distance, a small beast barreled toward me. Brambleby plowed into my arms with almost enough force to knock me over.
The air rushed out of my chest with an oomph, but the dragon wriggled happily when I caught him and hoisted him up. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “Hello, small beast.”
The dragon huffed out an excited breath. It was the most energy I had ever seen from the small, drowsy creature.
Ginger approached shortly after, her breath coming in short bursts. “Hi,” she said.
“Hello, Ginger. I take it this was your idea?” I asked, gesturing to the crowd.
“Somewhat. Actually, they didn’t take any convincing.”
“Really?” I asked, doubtful.
She nodded. “You made an impression, I suppose.”
“I do have that effect on folk,” I joked.
She grinned. “So humble of you, God of Shadows.”
Brambleby wriggled out of my arms, heaving like he was going to throw up. I hastily placed him on the ground. He gagged, coughed, and then choked.
And then, he spat up a mouthful of something that looked like smoke but didn’t have any heat.
When the fog-like substance dissipated, the smell of dirt and dust plumed in the air.
And a small, singular blade of grass sprouted from the rocky ground.
CHAPTER 50
Ginger
My brain couldn’t sort out what I was looking at.
I knelt beside Bram, ready to thump on his back to help his choking, but his short fit was seemingly resolved.
The dragon pranced happily away, seemingly satisfied with himself, and more energetic than his usual self by leaps—he was nearly as perky as Ember.
I reached out with hesitant fingers, prepared for the illusion to dissipate like mist.
My fingers were met with solid, crisp foliage. Green and bright, and only about as long as my littlest finger, the blade of grass was delicate.
But it wasreal.
