I could find him. Track him across miles using nothing but my magical awareness. Hunt the monster who killed my brother and make him pay for what he did.
The thought settles into me like poison. Sweet and deadly.
I don’t tell Lakhu about this new development. Don’t tell anyone. Instead, I practice in secret, honing my senses, learning to track that distant signature through the noise of a thousand other magics.
He’s moving. I feel it—the signature shifting position, drawing closer to the shadow-territories. Closer to me.
Coming to finish what he started, maybe. Coming to make sure I stay dead this time.
Let him come. I’ll be ready.
Three weeksafter resurrection
I leave in the dark of night, slipping past guards who don’t expect their guest to flee.
Guest. That’s what Lakhu calls me. A guest, not a prisoner. Free to come and go as I please.
So why do I feel the need to sneak?
I push the question aside and focus on the signature burning in my awareness. Zyphon is close now—hours away, maybe less. He’s entered the shadow-territories, moving through them with an ease that suggests familiarity.
I find him in a ravine as darkness falls.
And nothing goes the way I expected.
Now
He wouldn’t fight back.
I hit him with everything I had. Shadow-flame that should have killed him. Rage that should have burned him to ash. And he just... took it. Stood there bleeding, looking at me with grief instead of hatred, speaking of dying in my place.
Monsters don’t do that. Murderers don’t offer themselves up for slaughter.
The doubt gnaws at me as I flee through the forest, Lakhu’s guards close behind. Their roars split the air, their wings crashing through the canopy. They’re not being subtle. Whatever they want, they want it badly enough to tear through the forest to get it.
To get me.
Guests don’t get hunted.
The thought surfaces, sharp and unwelcome. I shove it aside and focus on running, on putting distance between myself and the pursuit. My lungs burn. My legs ache. The shadow-flame flickers weakly at my fingertips, drained from the confrontation.
I’m not fast enough.
They catchme at the edge of a clearing.
Two dragons in human form materialize from the shadows, cutting off my escape. A third lands behind me, his shift from dragon to man accompanied by a crack of displaced air. I spin, shadow-flame sputtering to life in my palms, but I’m exhausted. Depleted. No match for three trained warriors.
“The prince wants you returned.” The largest of them speaks, his voice flat. No sympathy. No pretense of concern for my well-being. “Now.”
“I’m a guest.” The words sound hollow even to my own ears. “I’m free to come and go?—“
One of them laughs. Short. Ugly. “Is that what he told you?”
The third guard circles behind me, and I feel the cold press of iron against my wrists before I can react. Manacles. Enchanted, from the way they make my shadow-flame completely die.
“Hey—“ I yank at the restraints, but the magic holds. “What are you doing? Let me go!”
“The prince will explain.” The large one grabs my arm, his grip bruising. “Move.”
