The bartender snorted. “No tab, then?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Absolutely not. I do not believe I am ready for that levelof commitment.”
That sent Artemis over the edge.
Artemis wiped at her eyes. “You’re never allowed to live this down.”
“I accept this consequence.”
Artemis ordered for us. A local ale for herself. For me, she hesitated, then chose a whisky distilled nearby, something traditional and uncomplicated.
When the glasses arrived, I lifted mine cautiously. The first sip burned, then spread through my chest and limbs like a slow exhale.
I had always avoided intoxication. Dragons are fire by nature; losing our wits is rarely strategic.
But this warmth was not the sharp unraveling I had feared. It was controlled. Contained. Much like the bond coiling quietly between us, it was present, undeniable, and increasingly difficult to pretend was incidental.
I wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to choose something simply because I wanted it.
“This is… good,” I said.
She grinned. “Mine too.”
We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, the noise folding around us, the city pressing close in the best possible way. For a little while, there was no urgency. No pursuit. No lineage unraveling at our feet.
Just the two of us, having a drink in a pub. And the strange, quiet miracle of being exactly where I had once dreamed of standing.
For one reckless moment, I imagined staying here, renting an apartment, losing myself in the rhythm of the streets. Letting my title dissolve into anonymity.
Letting Artemis walk beside me without consequence.
The fantasy lasted less than a heartbeat. Dragons did not get to retire into storybook cities. And I did not get to choose the shape of the world.
But the wanting lingered.
The cool, clean wind pressed against my wings. Beneath us, the ocean spread in a dark, endless sheet that caught the light like hammered metal. Flying always centered me. The rhythm of it. The certainty. Lift, balance, forward motion.
My thoughts kept snagging on the memory of the pub. Artemis had laughed so hard she’d nearly folded in on herself. I hadn’t known embarrassment could coexist so comfortably with happiness. I was glad we had gone. Glad I had stumbled through it instead of avoiding it. Artemis had turned my ignorance into levity instead of discomfort. And in doing so, made space for me to be exactly as uninformed as I was. It had been strangely disarming. I hadn’t realized how much effort I usually spent trying to hide what I did not know until she made it safe not to.
Artemis sat securely against the ridge between my shoulders, legs tucked in the right spots. She had the journal open, pages weighted carefully, hair braided tight against the wind. Even here, even now, she read with the same fierce focus she brought to everything. The world could be falling away beneath her, and she would still finishthe paragraph.
“This marginal note is arguing with the main text.”Her thought brushed deliberately against my mind, precise and intentional. “That seems important.”
I adjusted my wings slightly, angling us into smoother air, my attention split between the horizon and the very specific way her thoughts were reaching me. “You’re sending that thought directly to me.”
Her delight sparked immediately, bright and unmistakable through the link. “Yes. I figured out how to aim it instead of just… thinking loudly in your general direction. Like focusing on a specific shelf instead of the whole library.”
Pride rose in me, quick and warm. She had learned this in hours after deciding she really wanted to try. No hesitation. Just curiosity and precision.
And guilt followed immediately after.
Because I knew what she was to me.
She spoke aloud sometimes, when the wind was kinder, and sometimes through that careful mental channel she had discovered by accident and then mastered with enthusiasm. She puzzled through the journal, flipping between languages, tracing symbols with her finger, occasionally stopping to tease me with half-formed theories.
“If this symbol is meant to represent convergence,”she said, “then it’s not about place. It’s about alignment. That would explain why the map looks wrong.”
“You’re seeing things the author expected someone like you to see.”
