I patted the stone beside me, trying not to notice the way my blood sang as he drew near. He sat with one leg curled in, his elbow propped on the other.
“Where is the grumpy beast?” I asked.
“Off sulking like a petulant child in the healing waters.”
I kicked, splashing turquoise water. “I’m afraid he’ll do more than sulk when I tell him I cannot break his curse.”
“Yaga confirmed there is no way to break it, did she?”
“In so many words. Now that I have what I need, I can heal the dragon but not the man. She said he is being punished, and it isn’t my place to interfere.” I studied his face for a reaction. “Do you have any idea what she meant?”
His expression smoothed into a careful mask. “What do I know about the ways of seers? Regardless, it doesn’t matter to Alaric. He’s convinced you’rethe one.”
I heaved a sigh. “I was afraid of that. And when I fail?”
“He won’t harm you.”
“How can you be so—”
“He won’t,” Thorne declared, a low rumble deep in his throat.
I circled my ankles, churning bubbles while silence settled thick between us.
Finally, Thorne turned to me. “What else did Yaga say?”
“About what?” I said, stalling.
“Oh, I don’t know. About the flowers that bloom around you.The explosion of power in the warehouse with Mortis. The monsters who seem to have targetedyouabove all others.”
“Oh, that,” I said in a breezy tone.
He snorted. “Yeah, that.”
Should I tell him? Yaga hadn’t told me to keep silent. And gods, the burden of it—of being marked, of being used, of not knowingwhy—pressed too heavily against my ribs. I couldn’t carry it alone anymore.
I dragged in a breath, then another, until the words finally broke free. “She claims I’m Goddess Hathor’s handmaiden.”
“Interesting,” Thorne stated, tone calm. Too calm.
“Interesting?” I kicked water at him. “Is that all you have to say? Interesting?”
He swiped a droplet from his nose. “You forget I am a man who can shift into a dragon and breathe fire, and so, not easily shocked by the supernatural. I’d think you’d be relieved to have an answer.”
He did have a point.
“But you’re not.”
“No.” I wasn’t. Not even a little. “Yaga said Hathor erased my childhood memories because my parents were a couple of religious zealots who sacrificed me to the goddess.” That explained the nightmares that had plagued me for years. Dreams of being tied to an altar, blood and flames. I shivered.
“Ouch.”
“Yes. Ouch. Then the goddess, in her divine wisdom, abandoned me in the woods. Left me alone and afraid, my memories gone. All to fulfill some mystical purpose that I must sort out for myself.”
“Sounds rather goddess-like.”
“Doesn’t it?” I twisted, tucking my wet foot under my knee to face him. “I’ve been sacrificed, abandoned, sold, and enslaved. Tell me, Thorne, will I ever be free? Or was I born to serve one tyrant after another?”
For once, he didn’t smirk, his rugged features remaining somber, as if my words struck some place deep in him, too.
