“Well, you already knowwhatI am andwhoI am. It doesn’t get much deeper or darker when it comes to me. The way I see it, if we’re trading secrets, you’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Fair,” he concedes with a smile that’s simultaneously inviting and disconcerting. “Is there a reason you won’t tell me what kind of gifts you like? You seem dead set on not answering.”
“Why do I need gifts?” I ask, irritation whirring around me like a cloud of cactus gnats.
I have no idea why this line of questioning makes me so uncomfortable, but it does, and for some reason, he’s not going to let it go.
Lorn looks at me like I just asked the silliest question he’s ever heard. “Everyone needs gifts…and before you give me a master class in stubbornness, I’m asking specifically because tomorrow you’ll take your official place amongst The Horde. It’s tradition for your family and friends to give you presents to celebrate your Naming Day. I want to know what you like. I want to know you well enough to pick out something you’d be happy to get, instead of giving you something you have to pretend you like because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“I’m not that nice,” I snort.
Lorn’s grin spreads wider across his face. “Still, I want to know, and I’m not going to shut up about it until you tell me. I’ll hound you if I have to, cancel all of my meetings and appointments just so I can breathe down your neck and ask over and over again what you want for your Naming Day.”
Agitation warms my blood, but I can tell he means business. He’ll do exactly what he’s threatening to get his way. It will be a clash of stubborn titans. I almost want to test him, see which one of us would come out on top, but I don’t have time for this shit. Not to mention, the last thing I need is another scion all up in my business 24/7. One is bad enough.
Lorn’s determined gaze softens a little, and he reaches up to capture a strand of my hair between his fingers. I freeze, my eyes darting to his touch. And just like in the rookery the other night—when I realized it was his lap I was sitting in after my freak out and not Aeson’s—I’m confused by why he’s touching me and unsure how I feel about it.
“I know this can’t be easy,” he tells me gently. “It should be your family giving you presents and getting you ready for what’s to come. I’m sorry they’re not here to help you, the way you deserve.”
The wordfamilybounces around the hollows of my chest. The last time I was in Four Tiers, my father intended to Name and Claim me in front of The Horde. Now it will be Lorn’s father, King Noctis, announcing my existence. It’s a fucked-up full circle moment I hadn’t thought about until now.
But he’s right, and fuck, does it hurt.
You’d think time would dull the sharp edges of grief, but it doesn’t. Somehow it stays razor sharp and ready to slice you open when you least expect it. And you will never heal, because you will never stop bleeding.
Loss is the price you pay for love. But as grief carves me open once again, I can’t decide if it’s worth it.
A forlorn exhale cascades out of me, but then an idea occurs. The flicker of thought presses my demons back, and a spark of satisfaction winks to life as I settle on an answer that will let me kill two birds with one stone—or rather a perfectly balanced dagger, if someone is nice enough to gift me one.
A wry smile spans my lips. Delight rises through my features and morphs into a clever twinkle that permeates my gaze.
“Weapons,” I finally answer. “I like high-grade weapons.”
Lorn stops walking and just stares at me for a second. He looks shocked and confused, and I spot a little concern threading through the other emotions too. Unexpectedly, he barks out a laugh. It’s not the measured snicker with a touch of arrogance that he’s already directed at me a few times, but a deep, genuine expression of stunned delight.
“I should have known,” he guffaws, shaking his head. “I thought maybe a necklace or something more sentimental, but…weapons…”
His laughter rings all around us. It rebounds off the shrubs at my back and nudges me forward, like it wants me to get in on the fun too. I side-eye the scion, but the longer he cackles, the more catching it is, and I feel the corners of my lips tilting up in response.
An air gondola glides by, its abrupt presence diffusing the moment and drawing my attention. The airboat lands in a nearby clearing, and Lorn wipes a few laugh-tears from his eyes and then gestures in the direction of the aircraft.
“Let’s go, Princess, your chariot awaits.”
“Go where?” I instantly demand, but he doesn’t answer as he starts to trudge off in the direction of the gondola. “I thought we established that I don’t like surprises,” I shout after him.
“The sooner you get on, the sooner we’ll get to where we’re going, and then it won’t be a surprise anymore,” he yells back, as though that somehow makes this all better.
I sigh and fight the urge to argue. I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to underestimating the Noctis brothers. Lorn is going to get what he wants. But that’s okay, I’ll save my fight for when it really matters. Because I too excel at getting what I want…one way or another.
Chapter 27
THE AIR GONDOLA ZIPS TOWARD the back side of Four Tiers. It groans in protest as it starts to slow, noisily complaining over its stuffed confines. We’ve crammed eight people onto a floating platform designed to fit six, and seven of those eight bodies happen to be the size of a keep tower, which isn’t helping things at all.
I think it’s safe to say that one of Lorn and Aeson’s prerequisites for their Wing members was that they either had to be the size of a barge or look as though they singlehandedly consumed their entire Training Flight. I suppose thego big or go homestipulation makes sense when you consider the bulk of the scions. Surrounding yourself with a Wing that’s much smaller than you is just asking for other dragons to constantly challenge the Wing’s abilities and the Heart’s authority. When it comes to dragons, size most definitely matters.
Any dragoness would agree.
The gondola lists to the left slightly as Onalar—Lorn’s hulking Channeler—tries to force Herm and Jori to give him more room. It’s a futile effort. There’s none to give. But if the big ice dragon doesn’t stop griping and making this thing wobble, I swear I’m going to shove him off of it.
