She could feel Kaelan smile against her skin.
Another of his thoughts slipped into her mind.
“I’ve got you.”
And then they dove back down through the clouds, Kaelan anchoring her waist even as the wind lifted her slightly off Gur’s back until they caught another current and found themselves abreast of Damion, Honey, and Anqa.
As her weight settled against him again, Kaelan’s mood darkened. Not because of her, but because of Honey. He grieved for her as though she were dead and gone.
Magda placed her hand over his and focused on the new sense of strength he had helped create within her.
“Thank you.”
His hand tightened on her side for a second. And then he drew back into himself, his emotions only grazing her, like the wind streaming along the edges of her skin.
DAMION WOKE HERin the dark hours of early morning. “Your watch.”
She nodded, shaking off the heaviness of sleep. He lay down, falling at once into snoring.
The fire ebbed low, the air chill. She stirred the embers and threw a few more branches onto the flames.
They hadn’t come as far as she’d hoped they would, not yet across the gulf. But Anqa and Gur needed to rest and hunt and then rest some more. They’d settled in a damp hemlock forest on a tiny island not far from the southern coasts of the Pixie Lands. Or so Honey claimed. They sheltered beneath a high cliff, where Anqa could roost. Against the moonlight, the hulking silhouette of the roc cut an imposing figure, like a giant gargoyle. Gur snoozed not far off, having licked the blood from the boar he’d eaten earlier off of his paws. Still, the lingering iron tang churned her stomach.
The fire crackled steadily, its glow illuminating Honey’s pretty, slumbering face. The nymph lay curled not far from where Damion sprawled. Magda took a long drink from one of Damion’s water gourds. He’d also brought ropes, a couple of blankets, and some food from Poppy.
She nabbed a hunk of bread from the basket and strolled out of the firelight’s reach.
Kaelan was on his back on the opposite side of the fire from Honey.
She squatted down next to him. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic.
“Want to do some training?” she said, tearing apart the bread.
His eyes opened. “I should be sleeping.”
“But you’re not,” she said, holding out half of the bread to him.
He propped up on his elbow and took the bread. “It’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“What?” she asked, then took a bite of the bread.
“Our . . . connection,” he said, sitting up.
“Unusual for a Pixie, yes,” she said carefully.
His face fell. “But I’m not a Pixie.”
She stood up. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Don’t you think we should?”
She snorted, smiling. “Why?”
He touched the raised dragon-knots on his coat. “It’s not the same as it is with him.”
“Are you asking or telling me?” she said.
“Why is it different?” he asked.
