“Yaga,” I cried, slinging my good arm around her wiry shoulders. “Bless the fates.” Tears burned my eyes. Relief from finding my mentor alive and unharmed threatened to weaken my knees. I sniffed back the emotions clogging my throat. Yaga wasn’t a fan of mushy demonstrations.
To my delight, the aged hag returned my hug, grip fierce despite her bony frame. “You’re late,” she said, an odd catch in her raspy voice. “I’d started to worry.”
Late?
“You must be the infamous Yaga,” Thorne said, extending his hand. “The one who helped to put the new king and queen on Carcerem’s throne.”
She ignored the gesture. Her cloudy eyes raked over him, anda crooked smirk tugged at her wrinkled lips. “That’s right. And you’re the handsome dragon shifter the fates have been yammering on about.”
“Fates?” Thorne wiped his palm on his thigh. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you, alright.” Yaga flitted a hand dismissively. She clasped my shoulder, steering me indoors. “Come, child. Let’s see to that arm of yours.”
Thorne made to follow, and Yaga stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway with her bony frame. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Inside, to watch over my charge.”
“And it’s a fine job you’ve done,” the aged hag spat.
“Yaga,” I admonished. “It wasn’t Thorne’s fault I was injured.”
Yaga’s milky gaze narrowed. “Nonetheless, your kind isn’t welcome here, young man.”
“My kind?” Thorne’s voice sharpened.
“That’s right. Draconis are not allowed in Hathor’s sacred buildings. Not after what your kind has done.”
Wait. Yaga knew Thorne was a Draconis? What was she talking about? Had they committed some crime against the goddess?
He took a commanding step closer. “Now, listen here—”
“It’s okay.” I was quick to cut him off before he insulted the one person who may be able to help his brother. “Yaga is my mentor. I’ll be perfectly safe in her care. Just wait out here. Please.”
After a heated pause, Thorne relented, exhaling a sigh. “Don’t be long or I’ll be forced to come looking for you.”
“Huh,” Yaga huffed. “She’ll take as long as she needs. Proper healing can’t be rushed.”
With that last stab at the shifter, she shut the door in his scowling face.
Relief loosened my shoulders. “It’s good to see you.” Hints of herbs and oils wafted from her skin, reminding me of the hours we’d spent together in her workshop.
“You too, love,” she said, voice soft with affection. “Now let’s take care of that arm.”
Yaga led me to one of the empty cots, ordered me to sit, then pulled up a stool. She unwrapped the makeshift bandage Thorne had made from a piece of his shirt. At the sight of the ragged wound, she clucked her tongue. “Nasty cut.”
“It was Mortis. But…not Mortis. Honestly, I’m uncertain what I saw.” I’d watched Thorne stab him, didn’t I? Except, Mortis hadn’t even flinched, smiling instead of screaming.
Rather than moth sachets, he stunk of rot and decay. His wandering hands were cold as death when they’d groped my body. I shivered at the memory.
“Mortis, huh? I’m not surprised that rat found a way to rise from the rubble.”
“When you left Nefarr, you said you were heading for Ironwood. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here. I suppose it’s good you left when you did.” Now that I had time to think, Yaga had impeccable timing.
“Before you ask, no, I did not foresee the attack. Not that the Puritans would have believed me had I warned them. I left because the fates guided me where I was needed.” A distant gleam in her eyes as if she peered into the future.
She shook her head, setting her bead-laden braids tinkling. Once she added a scoop of crushed herbs to a bowl of steaming water, she submerged my forearm.
I hissed at the sting. “Have you seen Speck?”
