“Had to get something. No, Attor couldn’t do it. Just me. Let me get that.” He knelt at her feet and helped her put on her boots. “I would dematerialize us over, but with your bones still healing, it would hurt like hell.”
“Yeah.” She shuddered. “So, it’s dragon mode, then—wait. Didn’t you say only your line bore black dragons? Wouldn’t that reassure them?”
“Hard to say.” He shrugged, deftly tying the last lace and looked up. “It’s been a long time. We’ll find out soon enough.”
She braced a hand on his shoulder and stood, refusing to show the jolt of pain rippling through her ribs. He rose and zipped up her jeans, his thumbs grazing her stomach. “Okay?”
She nodded, nerves knotting.
“I won’t drop you, heart-fire. I would have let you ride me, but you’ll need both hands.”
Right. “It’s quite all right.”
“C’mon.” He pulled her into a brief, grounding hug before stripping and leading her downstairs.
Outside, the late afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow over Duskscale’s streets. Race stepped clear of the buildings and shifted into his enormous dragon form, far taller than any of the structures. His scales gleamed like polished onyx, and his silver-tipped spines glimmered like stars in an obsidian sky.
He was so incredibly beautiful.
Ready?
Her gaze traveled up his long neck, and trepidation crept through her. She met his crimson eyes.
He lowered his enormous head, his warm breath tousling her hair, and his large, rough tongue lapped at her neck and face.
“Stop.” She laughed, pushing his scaled snout away from her, her claiming mark tingling, her wariness dissipating. “I’m ready.”
Her dragon chuffed, then scooped her up with his talons, careful of her injured arm and ribs.
“Well, this is a first for me, using this mode of travel with you.” She patted his talon, and though he couldn’t see her expression, she smirked. “I always thought when I rode you, my hands were free to do other things.”
A low rumbling purr reached her.You do like tormenting me, don’t you, heart-fire?
He leaped skyward with a thunderous sweep of wings. The rush of wind tore at her hair, and her stomach dropped.
“Warn me next time!” she shouted, gripping his claw tight.
And her tormenting dragon’s huff sounded exactly like laughter as he flew off into the sky.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Smoke coiledthrough the mountain air of Caelvyrn, the acrid stench of battle still clinging to the buildings and the massive, ruined square.
The city’s heart lay in rubble, the buildings charred and blackened, but its people gathered anyway—thousands of them. Even from this height, Ash could see every head lifted, watching them.
Race circled the place, then landed atop a tall, broken building—where one part of the roof still held while smoke rose from the other end—and set her on her feet. A hush fell over the square, but there were no cheers of jubilation.
“Their weariness and dread weigh heavily on them,” she whispered.
Below, Attor stepped onto the makeshift dais in front of the enormous, ruined fountain, still dripping water, where Varkyn and Braxion waited. He held a tall, iron-gray chest in his hands.
Worn faces lowered to him.
“People of Caelvyrn,” Attor called out, raising a hand, and the noise dropped. His voice rang through the square. “I am Attor Vurnoss, former Hand to the slain King Erycian. And this male…” He lifted a hand toward where Race and she stood onthe roof. “Is no pretender. He is the last of the royal bloodline. And he did not flee, as you were told. I will leave him to explain things to you, but he has returned to you now.”
The silence was deafening.
