She nodded, matter-of-factly, as if I had a plan. As if she trusted me.
She shouldn’t trust me.
No one should.
I was Veskor: the renegade, champion of the Blood Hollow and the Iron pit, unknown and unclaimed, unbound by enclave or tradition or king.
And now I had a new title to add: manipulator of vampyres. They’d been so stupidly easy to command with a whisper. I’d dangled draken blood as bait, directing them like hounds toward the wards of Lyoness. They were disposable creatures, nothing more than hollowed-out husks who would do anything for a taste of power.
Unlike this little witchling hybrid.
I shook my head. They had swarmed, chaos had bloomed, and the wards had quivered, exposing their weaknesses and when I’d finally slipped through, I’d found this little one. This tiny, foolish, fearless creature.
Her scent clung to me now. She reached for me again, cooing softly, one hand on my chin, the other tiny fist curling in my hair.
“Careful,” I muttered, but my voice had lost its edge.
She yawned, clearly exhausted.
“Down,” she insisted, not begging or whimpering. Demanding.
This little wraith of a thing dared to command me? The victor of the Ash Circle and slayer of monsters and humans alike?
“Down!” she demanded again.
I set her on her feet. She tottered once, steadied, then turned in a full circle to take in the towering trees, their limbs heavy and straining under the fresh snow. She pounded her feet into the snow, delighted at the deep tracksshe made. The distant mountains peered at us through breaks in the tree line. It was so quiet.
Her eyes, bright, curious, unafraid, were too large for her small face.
“Where are we?” she asked, brushing strands of dark blue hair from her eyes.
“Far north,” I answered. “Away from the island.”
“Why?” she asked, sucking on her thumb.
Because I am a weapon.
Because I am alone.
Because your home is soft and bright and full of things I was denied.
I cleared my throat. “It is safer here. For now.”
She considered this and nodded. She accepted my half-lies and semi-truths far too easily. Hopefully not all draklings were such trusting creatures by nature. Or maybe they were, and that was why the enclaves protected them so fiercely.
Ha, not fiercely enough.
She kicked a pinecone experimentally. It skittered across a small patch of ice.
Her eyes lit up. She scrambled after it with a delighted squeak, vibrating in excitement, only to immediately trip in the deep snow and disappear face first into a snow bank.
I watched, curious what she would do.
“Ack!”
She came up coughing and sputtering, cheeks red with exertion and excitement. She stood up, brushed herself off, and threw her body down into the next snowbank.
I stared, baffled.
