They hadn’t avoided each other entirely, no matter what Aesar thought. Jassyn had drowned himself in attending councils with the druids and training their shamans with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. Discipline as deflection. And Lykor had kept his distance because silence was easier than conversation.
Ahead, Jassyn broke into a jog, boots scraping gravel at the lake’s edge, picking up speed like he meant to outrun the night itself.
Lykor didn’t sprint after him, warping short bursts along the curve of the lake instead.
Jassyn angled toward sandstone spires jutting into the night sky that marked the city’s outskirts, the desert unraveling beyond. And then—of course—he began to climb.
Lykor exhaled through his teeth as Jassyn disappeared into a narrow cleft spiraling up the cliff. The staircase scored from ancient stone wound toward a ledge perched above the lake.
Lykor kept to a spire’s shadow, waiting until Jassyn emerged again—high above, a lone figure carved from starlight on the ridge.
He counted five heartbeats. Then warped.
His boots scuffed too loudly in the stillness as he reappeared behind Jassyn. Ahead, Jassyn stood with shoulders knotted, his curls thrashing in the wind. His wings appeared and flared wide, then snapped shut, pinioned tight to his body.
Half-veiled in shadow, Lykor lingered and watched.
Jassyn didn’t turn, the claws on his wing tips flexing then clenching. Below, the city’s lake sprawled, light from the moons rippling silver across its surface. Leather membranes quivering, Jassyn edged toward the brink, where the rock sheared away into a drop that should’ve made a newer flier balk. Heights meant to steal breath, not train wings.
Lykor read the tension in every rigid line of Jassyn’s stance—each stiff breath chased by a tremor, a resolve pretending at courage. He knew that posture, the way Jassyn always approached ledges like they might crumble beneath him.
Jassyn swayed, knees buckling as he pitched forward.
Lykor didn’t hesitate.
He warped, seized Jassyn’s leathers between the wings, and yanked him back.
Jassyn gasped as Lykor spun him away from the drop, skidding for purchase.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lykor snarled—the first words he’d spoken to Jassyn in days. Fear flashed but rage trampled it, breaking free before Lykor could contain it.
He shoved Jassyn hard in the shoulder, and Jassyn staggered, boots scraping stone. Without thinking, Lykor’s claw locked in Jassyn’s leathers.
“You were going to jump,” he growled, talons sinking into the armor. “And I haven’t even seen you fly.”
Jassyn’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Amber pinned to molten slits, the draconic gleam of beastblood rearing to the challenge. He knocked Lykor’s arm aside. “What are you doing up here?”
“What amI—” Lykor cut himself off, fury burning his tongue. “You left without telling anyone. If you’d fallen, no one would’ve known.”
“Butyoufollowed,” Jassyn clipped, nostrils flaring.
Lykor ground his fangs, breath crowding his chest. He wouldn’t admit that he’d assigned cloaked wraith to shadow Jassyn’s movements. Jassyn would hate him for it. Probably rightfully so.
But stars, if he hadn’t seen him on that ledge…
“Have you even glided from a dune?” Lykor snapped, deflecting. He already knew Jassyn hadn’t, pathetic proof of how closely he’d kept watch. “Better to eat sand than shatter yourself on stone.”
Jassyn flinched, eyes shifting back into pools of amber. He stepped away, out of reach.
“I’ve been trying,” he mumbled, wings quivering as he avoided Lykor’s stare.
Lykor hadn’t meant to strike a nerve. His fingers twitched with the urge to steady him, a wretched reach he had no right to crave. He strangled the impulse instead, crushing it into a fist.
“It’s the height,” Jassyn murmured, gaze fixed over Lykor’s shoulder on the lake below. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’re not even fully shifted,” Lykor said, folding his arms tight across his chest so his hands couldn’t betray him. “The druids insist you should start with the complete transformation to fly. Instincts aligning with bone. Or whatever nonsense they chant to sound like wisdom.”
“I know,” Jassyn admitted. “It’s just…” His breath shuddered, caught on the edge of the words. “When I’m fully shifted, it feels wrong. Like I don’t fit in my own skin.”
