Medea arched a brow at Falcyn’s dry tone. “Pardon?”
“You asked how to kill them. It’s what always worked for me. I am a dragon, you know.”
With a sarcastic laugh, she sighed at him. “You really are violent to your core, aren’t you?”
There was a light in his eyes that she didn’t quite understand. “From the moment I made the mistake of crawling out of my egg, everyone around me has tried their damnedest to kill me, for one reason or another. Starting with my own mother. That kind of survival doesn’t exactly lend itself to benevolence or trust. Just a whole lot of pissed off.”
Those words choked her as they gave her an insight into him that was brutally honest.
As hard as things had been for her, no matter the hell life had unleashed, she’d always had the shelter of her own mother’s love. She couldn’t imagine being alone the way he had. Of being left to fend for herself.
And while the death of her family haunted her, there for a time, she’d been deliriously happy with them. It was a happiness Falcyn couldn’t even begin to fathom.
That thought brought an unbelievable ache to her chest. How could he keep going when they’d taken everything from him?
In that moment, she saw him for what he really was.
A survivor in the purest sense of the word.
With a coldness she knew was only surface protection, he turned toward the others. “Blaise? Can you open the portal out of here?”
“The key I have only works in Avalon. My father keeps everything locked here because he doesn’t want anyone to discover that he’s still alive. But we should be able to find him in his palace, and get him to open it. Although… he pitched a glorious fit about opening a gate the last time I was here with Varian and we asked him. Might be easier to get a kidney from him than a key.”
Brandor scowled. “Your father?”
“Emrys Penmerlin.”
“Your father?” he repeated. “That bastard?”
“Hey now! No shit-talking the man who took me in and saved my life. I owe him everything.”
And still Brandor sputtered as if he were an overinflated tire that had sprung a leak on a hot afternoon. Really, the sounds were quite impressive.
A part of her had the urge to tip his teakettle before he exploded.
But after a few seconds, Brandor pulled himself together. “Well, we have him to thank for the lovely traps in this place. So I’d caution all of you to be wary of where you step and to keep your senses alert. At all times.”
Blaise let out a fake laugh. “He would not be wrong about that. My father was a little overzealous when it came to populating the landscape with terrifying creations.” He rubbed awkwardly at his neck. “You definitely don’t want to fall into the pits of despair.”
Medea scowled. Did he really mean what he’d just said? “The who… what?”
Blaise flashed a nervous grin at her. “They have a gas in them that makes you unbelievably depressed and you lash out at everyone. Although… Merewyn was kind of entertaining when she stumbled into a pit—at least for a while. Still, it’s best to avoid them.”
“Goodie. What else?”
“Standing water,” Brandor said irritably. “It explodes when you touch it.”
“Oh yeah.” Blaise smirked. “I forgot about that.”
Brandor snorted. “Wish I could. Lucky me, I learned the lesson when a hare made the mistake of trying to drink it before me. Least I got some hasenpfeffer out of it.”
Medea wrinkled her nose at his offbeat sense of humor. Although, she appreciated his ability to turn lemons to lemonade, or in this case, rabbit entrails to stew.
Without pausing, Brandor continued with the warnings. “Basically, Merlin controls everything here except for the sylphs, who hate his guts. They hate ours, too. So, again, avoid any water where the water sylphs might live—including deep puddles—and the trees where the tree sylphs are, as those are nasty men-hating bitches who will rip our limbs from us just for entertainment.”
“And the rocks will attack, too.” Blaise flashed another grin.
“Are you shitting me?” Urian was aghast.
