She pressed her lips together, and he wondered if she knew it wasn’t her mouth she should be worried about betraying her; her eyes were glassy discs, staring disconsolately at something lost. *Now it feels like it was made by another person entirely. Someone … simpler. Someone who only had to worry about entertaining herself with her family’s obscene wealth.*
Her voice hardened, and her eyes followed suit. The inconvenient urge to put his arms around her faded.
Slightly.
He cleared his throat.
“Then you’ll know your way around.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” she said lightly.
“Almost as though they knew you were coming.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Worried we’ve stepped straight into a trap?” She said it with a sneer, as though the thought was ridiculous, then switched to telepathy. *I wanted to refuse Eloise’s so-kind offer of hospitality, remember. You’re the one who insisted we come on board.* Her jaw tightened.
She was scared.
*You think someone might be listening in?*he asked.
*I’d have this place bugged, if it were me.*She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Get me a drink. I might as well get some sleep before dinner.”
“Do you really think drinking is a good idea?”
She glared at him. “Anyone who decides to attack a drunk lioness deserves whatever they get.”
He didn’t reply.
She was right; the ship wasn’t safe. Eloise seemed delighted to have Francine join her on board, but the coincidence felt contrived.
Old friends, Francine had said.
And they were sailing to Antarctica, to scoop up the presumed surviving shadow dragons. How would they react when they discovered the fortress was empty?
How would Francine react?
She would feel betrayed. Enraged, very likely. As would the others aboard—whoever they were. All of them united against Gerald Harper for tricking them into paying for a prize he’d killed years ago, and sending them to a fortress that would resist all their attempts to enter it.
They would think Francine was one of them.
She would be safe.
And when would that be? A week? Less? How fast did a ship like this travel? His dragon was still a thousand shards of pain. The thought of shifting, of exposing its injured flesh to theopen air, made him feel nauseous. But he didn’t have time to let it heal completely.
The next few days would be a race between his body’s ability to heal and the knowledge that every wasted moment could end in disaster. He was running out of time.
To leave this ship, leave Francine, and return to the home he’d abandoned long ago. To discover whether the world would be better off with him immured behind icy walls.
Or dead.
“I didn’t plan this.”
Francine’s voice was oddly vulnerable. He quickly rearranged his features to attentive dullness. What had he looked like, to make her sound like that?
But she wasn’t even looking at him. The fracture in her voice must have been due to his silence.
She looked over her shoulder, and he angled a blank look at her. “Plan what?”
Her glance took in the room. “Being here.” Her tone was smooth again, but oddly defensive. As though she expected him to suspect her.
