I stare at him.
“I… we never talked about that.”
“It’s understandable your man would want to keep you close,” the Sorceress says smoothly. “As long as he wears that collar, your life is bound to his. If you die, he will be trapped in his Drake form forever.”
I freeze.
“Wait—what?” My gaze swings to Valen. “Is that true? Is that why you came after me in the forest? Is that why you’ve been protecting me—just because you were afraid if I died you’d be stuck as your Drake?”
Valen’s jaw tightens.
“No! I mean… yes, it’s true. But that’s not the reason I?—”
“Would you have come for me if there was no collar?” I demand. “Back in the forest at the witch’s hut—would you have saved me or just changed into your Drake and flown away?”
“That’s not…I mean, of course I would have come for you,” he protests.
But I don’t know if I believe him anymore. I remember the way he held me and let me cry that night in the cave…the way he healed me with his Drake’s power. Was it all an act? Has he only been protecting me this whole time because of the power I hold over him? I thought we moved past all that…maybe I was wrong.
Valen’s face twists in frustration. “Baby?—”
“Maybe we should just get going,” I say, looking away, my heart suddenly aching. “I need to get back to my mother as soon as possible.”
He looks like he wants to argue. But then he just nods.
“All right,” he says stiffly. “We can go as soon as you’re ready.”
“Just let me change,” I murmur, looking down at myself. The robe is soft but too much of me is showing, and suddenly I feel exposed in a way I didn’t just moments before.
The Sorceress turns to prepare the vial of Healing Draught, and I walk away to gather my clothes, trying to pretend my heart isn’t cracking open.
71
VALEN
The Poison Desert stretches beneath us like a dead thing—miles of cracked stone and shifting ash, the air thick with acrid fumes that burn my Drake’s nostrils and sting his scales. The wind howls around us, sharp and foul, carrying the bite of poison and decay.
Fuck, I think grimly. I hate this place.
My Drake agrees, sending me a low, miserable rumble that vibrates through our chest as we beat our wings harder, pushing through the foul air. The poison burns—there’s no other word for it. It seeps into every scale, every breath. I feel it as keenly as he does—the shared pain an echo between us. My only solace is the fact that the Sorceress gave me an ointment to rub on myself before I shifted.
“To keep the poison of the desert from harming you and your Drake,” she told me. “You will still feel the pain when you fly over it, but the evil will not be able to penetrate your skin.”
So there’s that. But still—it fucking hurts.
We could fly higher. The air would be cleaner up there—thinner, colder—but cleaner.
But I don’t dare.
Because Irena is on our back.
She’s wrapped in the pale blue gown and soft cape the Sorceress gave her, the fabric fluttering gently against our scales. It looks warm enough. But I don’t trust appearances—not when the wind bites like this and the sky grows colder with every league.
Too cold, my Drake warns, his thoughts heavy with worry. She would freeze.
I know, I send back. We’ll stay lower.
Even though it hurts…even though every mile feels like flying through poison-laced knives.
