“Fuck,” I muttered, and turned to run back toward my cave.
Gareth didn’t follow, but I supposed he’d gotten his point across.
Provided I didn’t get back to my cave and find Blake absconded along with our egg. Returned to his monster of a king with the easiest dragon there was in the world to kill.
With . . .
I rushed into the cave to find that Blake was indeed sitting as close as he could get to our egg. To that last remnant of my sister that existed.
But he wasn’t cooling it in an attempt to steal it away.
No. He was using a stick to turn it in the fire, as he softly sang what sounded like a lullaby about warm, soft kittens.
Singing.
I had a momentary flash of Eilonwy doing precisely the same thing as she breathed life into the egg. Perhaps the words had been different, but it was the same. The same soft, sweet moment, caring for a helpless being.
Because Blake truly was different from anyone else I’d ever known, human or dragon. Perhaps he’d have liked to return to his people—or perhaps not—but it never would have occurred to him to kill anyone to “earn” that right. If he wasn’t willing to kill his brother, the monster who had issued the order, why would he be willing to kill a baby?
I stood there in the mouth of the cave for a moment, then sighed, long and deep. I went to the bed and picked up one of the bear skins I had draped over it, and crossed to lay it around Blake’s shoulders.
He looked back up at me, his eyes wide and warm and brown. “You forgot to tie me back up.” He held up his wrists, together. “Could you tie them in the front? I think it’ll make my shoulders hurt less.”
I dropped to the floor in front of the fire, and sat there for a long time, just holding his hands in my own.
I would not tie him again. Well, not unless it was for something else, and next time, we’d have to discuss intentions beforehand, so he wouldn’t be left thinking he’d done anything wrong.
Yes, things needed to change.
8
BLAKE
People in the Spires spoke too much.
Those were the kinds of people I was used to—the ones who spoke quickly and used barbed words to try and prove they were the cleverest in any given room.
I’d never been particularly skilled with cutting words, but I always had a strategy. No doubt it helped that I was a prince, and people were generally disinclined to speak over me, but I’d always approached those sorts of conversations with quantity over quality.
If quality meant being cruel, I wasn’t all that interested in it. Sometimes, I’d made people laugh, and while I was never entirely sure whether they were laughing along with me, or at me, it hardly mattered. I’d gotten attention and taken up air.
But there by the fire, when Andreas had just wrapped a fur around me, and with him holding my hands steady and staring into my eyes, I wasn’t sure what to say.
I had no idea what he was thinking.
Already, he’d said I should return to my people.
That wasn’t an option. I couldn’t return to the Spires. Evander—he’d been dead serious when he’d threatened me. I’dtold myself all my life that we were brothers and that meant something, even if we didn’t get along, but he’d kill me. I didn’t know how long he’d been looking for an excuse, or whether he’d accuse me of treason or have it done quickly under the cover of night.
He probably already thought I was dead, and it pained me to think that he was relieved by it. The thought alone made my fingers and toes feel stiff and cold.
I couldn’t return there and face that.
I wouldn’t.
Continuing to exist as Blake Cavendish anywhere in Llangard would only provoke my brother.
But it was more than just hesitance to return. There were times here when I didn’t question myself. The dragons spoke plainly, for the most part. They didn’t hide their emotions behind clever turns of phrase.
