The Dragon (Creasan #2)

Althalos sat on the filthy ground with his back pressed to the damp stones and stared blankly through the bars of his cell. He felt as if everything inside him, everything about him, was absolutely numb. He almost didn’t even care if he blinked or not. His gaze remained unfocused because what was the point of truly looking at anything. His mind had ground to a halt and his brain felt nearly empty.

The only parts of his body he’d been unable to render blank were his ears.

That madman hadn’t stopped talking since Rowan had delivered the news of Althalos’ father’s demise and the revelation of being a bastard. On and on he droned about animals plotting against each other, about the beauty of Queen Anastas, about his hatred for the king, about nonsensical things.

“Will they come, I wonder?” he was saying now. “Will they set us free to fly with them?”

Birds. He was wondering if a flock of birds would set them free.

It wasn’t too long ago that Althalos had decided to amuse himself by playing along with the madman’s delusions. “How would we join them?” he asked. “Can we fly, too?”

“Ah, a good point, Young Highness,” the man answered. “Our wings have been snipped. We must join them some other way.”

“Maybe we could just jump.”

“No. If we remain on the ground, the serpent and the lion can get to us.”

“Oh, of course, the serpent and the lion. How could I forget?”

There was a beat from the darkness and then the madman asked, “Are you mocking me, Young Highness?”

Althalos would have rolled his eyes if he’d the energy. “You are devising a plan to fly away after birds come to free you. Forgive me if my concerns do not align with yours.”

“Listen to me, child,” the madman snapped, and the sharpness of his tone brought Althalos right to attention. Not once had the madman called him anything but “Young Highness” and not once had he addressed him with such venom. “In the kingdom your father has created, those of us not born to a royal family must make a decision very early on. Comply or survive. Comply, and you will most certainly die. You cannot imagine the amount of people I have personally see perish before my eyes.” His voice became thick as he said, “I promised myself and my family a long time ago that I would not die. If there was anything I could do about it, I would survive.” There was a beat as he thought on what his promise meant. Then the sharpness returned to his voice. “So do not dare to mock the way in which I have managed to live. You know nothing of the struggle I have endured and - Aestus-willing - you will never know it.” The man blew out a deep breath and some of the anger bled out of his voice as he said, “I have lived this way for nearly a decade if not more. I have been ridiculed and abused and tortured by every follower of the king that has been sent down here. All wanting information, all wanting to know who I am and for whom I work. Others have succumbed to the torment of your father, yet I alone remain.” Anger returned as he bit out, “I will not allow a mere child to criticize the way I have managed to do so. You are not a prince, boy. You are a prisoner. Best to remember that.”

Althalos stared with wide eyes into the darkness where the last of the man’s words echoed. The boy had never heard the man speak so many coherent words at once and certainly not with this much passion. Althalos’ brows furrowed as he tried to unpack everything the man had said and it struck him that, “You’re not mad.”

The man humphed and his clothes rustled as Althalos imagined him angling his body away from the prince’s cell.

But he did not deny it.

“It’s all an act, isn’t it?” Althalos realized. “You pretend to be mad. This whole time, you’ve been pretending -“

“I have been left to rot in this dungeon for years. You are daft to think anyone could survive that without going mad.”

“But the rambling,” Althalos said, rising to his feet as his excitement started to vibrate through him. “The random animals you spoke of, the queen, the utter nonsense, that wasn’t real.” Althalos laughed with relief. Though he’d grown used to the ramblings of his prison mate, it had still been frightening. Knowing there was an adult down here who could actually understand Althalos made the torch on the wall seem to flicker brighter and fill the dark underground with hopeful light.

But if the madman wasn’t mad at all, that naturally begged the question, “Why have you done it? Why act mad?”

“I am mad, Young Highness. You mustn’t tell anyone otherwise.”

“Just tell me why.”

He let out a deep sigh, filled with years of exhaustion. There was a long pause of silence where Althalos thought he might not answer. But finally, he said, “No one trusts the words of a madman. Even if I broke, they wouldn’t believe what I told them.”

The prince blinked. If the king had been trying to get information out of the man, but thought him to be insane, that would make any crack in the man’s courage seem insignificant. Althalos chuckled again and shook his head in bewilderment. “Not only are you not mad,” the boy said, “you’re brilliant.”

“No,” the man answered darkly, and Althalos frowned in his direction. He said, “I am mad.” The way he said it, the way his voice rumbled through the air as if they came from deep within him, seemed to hold truth, though Althalos couldn’t understand. The prince had been about to ask for the man’s help in trying to escape, but the insistence of a sane man that he was not sane sparked fear once again in the boy.

While it had seemed like forever, it was true that the prince had been in the dungeon for a relatively short time. He hadn’t really known the man, and if he’d been pretending the whole while, then Althalos still didn’t know him.

Nor did he know what he was capable of.

Thea blinked her eyes open. Naively, she had hoped that a good cry would have made her feel lighter, but it hadn’t. She was just as tired, just as raw. Like her insides had been carved out.

She didn’t want to leave her bed. Because if she got up and went on deck, and she didn’t see her mother, she feared she’d completely fall apart.

Maerwynn had been the last of Thea’s family. The absolute last she’d had left. And now she’d been taken from her, too.

Killed by a bloody bug! Thea wanted to rage at the injustice of it. Maerwynn should have gone down as a fighter, with her sword in her hand and a battle-cry on her tongue. Not from a measly sting.

Thea suddenly felt breath on her neck and became conscious of the warm body behind her as Fendrel squeezed her tighter to him. Cautiously, she rolled over to find him still asleep.

She stared at his face. He didn’t look peaceful; some of his long black hair had come free of its tie, his brows were drawn tightly together, his eyes twitched endlessly beneath his lids, and the arm still slung over her waist tensed and relaxed over and over. Oddly, Thea took comfort in his restlessness. It was something they had in common.

Fendrel’s eyes started to flutter as he awoke and Thea felt a strange stirring in her stomach. Part of it was curiosity: why had he stayed with her? Yes, they had a truce, but it didn’t mean they were close. According to most of their previous interactions, Fendrel should’ve run for the hills after he’d prevented her from saving Maerwynn. Yet, he was still there, cocooning her in his body heat.

Thea should’ve been suspicious of him, of his sudden willingness to comfort her. But just like when he’d thrown himself in front of that dagger, she couldn’t find it in herself to harden her heart against him. His words from earlier - “What I wish someone had done for me when my father died” - echoed in her head, and she found herself overcome by the kindness of the act.

It wasn’t…right. This wasn’t their dynamic. They yelled, they showed contempt for one another, they goaded and dared each other. Their arms didn’t make each other feel safe. At least, they hadn’t…

Fendrel’s eyes opened and immediately found Thea’s. The storm of his blue gaze hit Thea hard, and she blinked quickly. She remembered when she had been washing her hair at the river and she thought Fendrel had been watching her. The way she thought he had blushed when she’d called him on it, how she had turned red in response. She had calmed herself with thoughts of his sacrifice being a ploy to gain her trust. It had restored her anger, fueled her.

But this? Waking up in a bed beside him and seeing his soft smile as he asked, “How are you feeling?” It was…strange. But not a bad sort of strange. Just…different. “The color’s returned to your face,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”

She wanted to say something harsh, something that would make him roll his eyes, that would make him leave her in a huff. But all that came out was a croaky, “I should check on the crew.” She gathered her strength and sat up, her arms trembling with the effort. It was true she had lost a lot of blood, but she couldn’t help thinking her shaking had less to do with that and more to do with the image of her mother swarmed and sucked dry.

Fendrel sat up with her and reminded, “Janshai has navigation covered.” Thea stalled on the edge of the bed. “And Brom has taken command of the deck. The crew will be fine.”

She glanced over at him. “They’re my crew. They need me.”

“They’re also your friends. They’ll understand if you need a minute to yourself.”

That was probably true. But Thea was a soldier. She knew that a ship sailing the Leitham Sea, especially one moving through Dúdach Cave, didn’t have the luxury of time to grieve. She needed to do what she had done her entire life and squash those dark feelings deep down inside her. An emotional leader was a useless leader, and she would not be useless.

Three breaths. Thea did as her brother had taught her and let her eyes drift closed as she inhaled. In…out…in…out…in…out…

Fendrel watched her meditation process with curious eyes. “Where did you learn that?”

She opened her eyes. “What?”

“That whole - breathing thing. You do it a lot.”

No. She would not think about her brother. She would not think about him or her mother or her father or Fendrel’s attention to something as insignificant as a breathing exercise. She would think about her crew and get them safely to Qamizeh.

She didn’t answer him and pushed up from the bed, brushing the stray hairs away from her face as she crossed the room. Damn, she would have to redo her braid -

Thea froze just before reaching the door, her hand stalling in her hair.

The braid her mother had done for her. The intricate style that only her mother could have executed. She was going to have to undo the last trace of Maerwynn on the ship. Thea felt her heart crack a little deeper, and the pain of it radiated out to the very tips of her fingers.

She heard Fendrel stand up behind her and she worried he would ask another question. Why had she stopped walking so suddenly? Why had she fallen silent? Why was her hand pressed so hard to her head? If he even tried to make her explain any of it, she feared she’d collapse into a crying puddle and never be able to get up again.

But Fendrel just said, “I think it looks good. You shouldn’t touch it.”

Thea turned to him sharply, her hand still in her hair.

His face was earnest and he offered a crooked smile.

Her eyes began to burn with approaching tears, and she felt at once grateful for Fendrel and furious at him for choosing now to be kind, when she would have given anything to focus rage on someone. Her voice was thick as she said, “I’m going to check on Isolde. I’ll meet you on the top deck.” And then she fled as quickly as her legs would take her.

Ana helped Carac secure a rope in place, sweating from the effort it took. The crew’s coldness toward the queen had slowly began to thaw, and Carac had easily accepted her help. She found herself marveling at his ability to function so seamlessly despite his blindness. The bandana remained wrapped around his eyes at all times, but one could almost fool themselves into thinking it was little more than a stylistic choice. As they finished, Ana crossed her arms and leaned against the banister with a sigh. “You know,” she began, “when my mother passed, I remember trying to describe it as feeling like a ship adrift. Like I was aimlessly wandering without anything to guide me or anyone to anchor me.” Carac wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned against the railing beside her. Ana suspected he didn’t hold much sympathy for a dead royal, but all the same, he let her continue. “And when my son…” Her voice choked off momentarily. She had hoped that so far away from Creasan, her ache for Althalos would have lessened, but it hadn’t stopped throbbing throughout her for even a moment. Ana cleared her throat and blinked hard to keep the tears at bay. “When my son was killed, I thought of myself as a sinking ship. Slowly drowning.”

“I felt similarly when my parents were killed,” Carac said, offering Ana an understanding smile. “The sorrow was…crushing. Suffocating. I don’t know if I’d have made it without Perry and the Wyverns.”

Ana stared at the young man for a moment. Though he hadn’t spoken accusingly, she felt guilty for the hardship he’d had to endure because of her husband’s cruelty. She wished she’d known just how bad it had been. Maybe she wouldn’t have been able to change anything - or perhaps, she could have made all the difference.

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed, hoping that he could feel her sincerity even if he couldn’t see it. “I am so sorry, Carac. I’m so sorry.”

His shoulders softened and he patted her hand. He didn’t say he forgave her or that it was all right, and Ana shouldn’t have hoped he would. But she supposed she’d have to be content with his lack of condemnation for now.

She swallowed hard. She felt bad trying to manipulate Carac at that moment, but she told herself it was for the good of Creasan. She may not have been able to protect families like Carac’s before, but this is what it would take for her to do it now. Ana glanced at where Fendrel had just stepped onto the deck and lowered her voice. “You have a lot of respect for the Wyverns, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said as if it were obvious, which it was, but Ana was building up to something. “They saved both me and Perry. We’d be nothing without them. Thea is one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever known. There’s no one else I’d rather follow than her.”

“And it’s clear she feels the same toward each one of you.” Ana’s eyes darted to Fendrel again. Brom had left him to go below deck - presumably in search of Thea - and now the prince was speaking with Merek. She had to make sure she said what she wanted to say before someone interrupted or became suspicious. “After everything she’s endured, Maerwynn’s death…I fear it might be too much for her.”

Carac frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s her whole family gone now, Carac. That’s enough to destroy even the mightiest warrior. And with the prince here…” Ana trailed off purposefully this time, watching Carac closely.

He paused as he struggled to fill in her blank. He scratched his head in confusion. “What does the prince have to do with anything?”

“You are aware of the deal her and I made, yes?”

“Of course. Thea will be the one to strike down Malum -“

“The Thea that agreed to that was the one who still had her mother. She’s grieving right now. Someone like Fendrel will see this as an opportunity to be used to his advantage. While she is weak and in mourning, he might try to change her mind or -”

“Thea is not weak,” Carac said sharply. “She has never been weak. Nothing the prince does will be able to change her resolve.”

“But he wouldn’t be changing it, would he?” Ana licked her lips nervously as Fendrel’s eyes landed on her. He looked confused at the prolonged conversation. She needed to convince Carac, and do it quickly. “Thea never wanted to slay Malum to begin with. Now that she’s lost her mother, her resolve might have faltered - and understandably so. Fendrel could simply convince her of what she already believed: It isn’t worth the fight.”

Carac was silent for a beat and Ana looked up once more to see Fendrel descending the steps from the steering wheel to the main deck, heading for them.

Ana turned back to Carac to see that his back had straightened as her words had hit their mark. She sighed falsely and put a hand to his shoulder. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure it’s just my paranoia that’s making me worried. I’m going to see if Merek could use my help. Hello, Fendrel,” she said just as the prince reached them. She gave Carac’s shoulder a squeeze and headed in the opposite direction of the prince.

Thea sat in the seat usually reserved for Merek or Janshai and took Isolde’s hand. She bit her lip as she fought back tears. She’d already cried plenty last night. She didn’t need to become some blubbering idiot. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted that.

But still. Thea wished her best friend could be there to wrap her arms around her at that moment.

She blew out a harsh breath, voice wobbling as she said, “She’s gone, Izzy. We lost her, too.” Thea bowed her head and clutched her fingers around Izzy’s. She was glad no one was there to hear how small her voice sounded when she whispered, “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

Thea stared hard at Isolde, as if by sheer force of will she could make the healer wake and tell her everything would be all right. But Isolde remained asleep, her chest rising and falling calmly.

Thea’s shoulders drooped. “Please, Izzy,” she said, “I can’t lose you, too. I couldn’t stand it. I think I would actually fall apart.” She laughed sadly and wiped the single rebellious tear that had managed to escape down her cheek. “You have to wake up, Isolde. I can’t handle this without you.”

“Best not let the others hear you.”

Thea’s head whipped around but she immediately relaxed when she found Brom standing there.

He smiled kindly. “What would they think of their mighty leader then?”

Thea chuckled softly. “That she’s broken.” And they wouldn’t be far from the truth. She felt broken. Down to her very core.

Brom rested his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You will survive this,” he said.

“I know.”

“But that’s not what you want to hear.”

Thea’s brows rose and she glanced up at Brom in surprise. He smirked. “I’m a father, remember? My daughters may not appreciate my wisdom, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Her lips trembled as she tried to pull them into a smile - and didn’t quite manage it. “I could really use some of that wisdom, Brom.”

“A kind person,” he said as he crouched beside her chair, bringing himself eye level with her, “would tell you it’s going to get better. That with time, it will hurt less. Eventually, you’ll be able to grin and bear it, and perhaps you won’t even think of your loss every second of the day. But,” he said with a sad smile, “I think we both know that means nothing to you right now.”

She nodded, clenching her fingers around Isolde’s hand even tighter as she tried to keep more tears from falling. But they rolled down regardless, and Thea found she didn’t have the energy to wipe them away this time.

Brom did it for her, smoothing the knuckle of his index finger under her eye. “Right now?” He sighed deeply. “Right now, you will have to endure the pain.”

“I’ve dealt with loss, Brom,” she reminded him. “I do not need you to tell me of pain.”

“But Maerwynn was the last of them.” He met her eyes with compassion and sympathy. “The pain will be harsher. And it will be…awful.”

She nodded. She knew as much. But there was something about hearing it spoken by someone else, a validation in it. It hurt, it was awful, and it was okay to feel like that. Thea bowed her head over Isolde’s hand and pressed her forehead against her friend’s skin.

Brom wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Now I shall tell you the worst part of it.”

“Oh, good,” Thea said sarcastically, sniffling. “There’s more.”

“You will be in pain. You will miss your family every moment of every day. You will want to curl up until the pain passes and you can breathe again. But you can’t.”

Thea raised her head and met his eyes again.

He stared back resolutely. “You must push any sadness, any agony, anything that might distract you from your mission aside.”

“I—“

“You are a soldier, Thea Wyvern.” He stood up and inclined his head. “A soldier must not be a daughter or a son, a mother or a father, a husband or a wife. A soldier must not be human. Because a mere human would crumble under the weight of war. You cannot crumble. We will go where you go. If you fall, we will all fall.”

Thea straightened under Brom’s gaze. No one else would have dared to say that to someone who had just lost the last member of their family. No one else would have the courage, nor the hardness of heart to say so. But that was why Thea valued Brom so much. He told her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. He told her the truth.

She stood and pushed her shoulders back. Her vision was still slightly blurred with her unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall this time. They stayed balanced on her lid, slowly drying away as she took on the weight of a commander.

When she’d lost Lief, she had The Source to focus on. When she’d lost her father, she turned that focus to the royals. Now that Maerwynn was gone, she would set her sights on Qamizeh. She would help captain their ship to the southern country, and she would not lose one single other person. They would land safely.

And then they would get Malum.

Fendrel had volunteered to take a turn in the crow’s nest. True, it was the position on the ship with the least amount of leadership, but it would give the prince the time he needed to think.

He felt the pain of the crew’s loss acutely. Perhaps it was because he’d come to know them so well that their pain was his pain, or perhaps it was because - like Thea - he had lost his entire family. Though he had done his best to bury the bite of it, it was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. Fendrel knew it was just a matter of time before it bubbled over and decimated anything in its path, Fendrel himself included.

He hoped he would be old and gray by then with an heir prepared to take his place on the throne.

It had felt like cruelty not to offer the comfort he could when Thea was so clearly devastated. The prince knew how helpful human touch could be, how necessary even. She had needed someone to simply let her cry, and Fendrel had been that person.

That was precisely the reason he now sat in his isolated spot dozens of feet above the rest of the crew. He bent a leg and rested his elbow on it while his other foot hung out of the nest. Fendrel brought his hand to his mouth and chewed compulsively on his thumb nail.

He had done what he thought was decent the night before…but when they awoke? Things had felt different. Intimate? No, not intimate, he chided himself. Intimacy, Fendrel Lance, and Thea Wyvern could not all exist in the same thought. It wasn’t possible. Animosity, yes. But not intimacy.

Fendrel searched for the word that would aptly represent the way it had felt to wake up with Thea in his arms. To feel her turn against him, to be captivated by her brown eyes held not even an inch away. To share the same breath, to feel her warm exhale feather against his cheek. The way his heart stuttered in his chest in the moment of silence before she had spoken. To gaze down at her and know that he was lying so close to someone so truly extraordinary, someone so truly special and unique and irreplaceable that she had managed to convince utter strangers to set aside their own wellbeing and take up her cause. Something Fendrel had been persuaded to do, as well. To know there would be legends and tales told about her for generations to come, to know he would contribute to such stories with excitement and reverence, and to know he was holding that legend against him.

Fendrel came up empty in his search for the accurate term.

He rubbed his forehead hard as he tried to pull himself together. He was thinking foolishly. He blew out a frustrated breath and shook his head. If Favian could have been there to hear the thoughts going through his mind, he would’ve scuffed the back of his head. Fendrel ought to have one single focus: Malum. Nothing else mattered except proving himself the rightful leader of Creasan. Nothing but redeeming his entire ancestry. The Lances were meant for the throne, and if it had fallen on Fendrel to ensure it was so, that should be his only concern. He did not have time to think about Thea Wyvern, the descendent of his clan’s enemy.

Yet when she stepped onto the deck, his eyes disobeyed his orders to ignore her in favor of locking onto her form as she strode toward Merek.

When Thea stood in the fresh air again, with the wind of the cave blowing the small hairs of her messy braid around her face, she felt the numbness with which she had started their journey. She was not in pain, she was not upset, she was not scared or excited or angry or nervous for the struggle to come. She was…nothing at all.

Merek left his post at the steering wheel to keep Isolde company below deck, and Thea took up his spot. She asked Janshai, “Anything new?”

He gazed at her with pity in his eyes. Perhaps Thea should have been infuriated at the sight, but she simply did not care. “No,” he said. “I think we are reaching the end of Dúdach Cave, but I won’t really be able to tell until we’ve actually made it back to the open ocean.”

“Once we’ve made it out, we should be nearly to land, yes?”

“Yes but…Thea, are you all right? You seem…”

“Forgive me if I’m not as lively as you’d like,” she said, a bit of snark bleeding into her tone. “My mother’s just died.”

Janshai bowed his head and fixed his eyes to the map, surely embarrassed for having said anything at all.

Almost absently, Thea’s eyes drifted up to the crow’s nest, where the blue of water reflected off the blue of Fendrel’s eyes. Her muscles tensed as they made eye contact, and she quickly looked away, tightening her fingers around the wood of the wheel. She could have tried to name the confusing emotions inside of her, but the numbness made them little more than inconvenient gnats. She simply swatted them away and turned her focus to the ship.

Merek rested his head back against the wall and tapped out a rhythm on his legs. He hated to admit it - and he’d deny it if anyone asked - but sitting for hours on end alone without any way to amuse himself was starting to become a bit tedious. Of course, there was nowhere he’d rather be; if Isolde woke up without him there to explain what was going on, he’d never forgive himself. But he wished there was something he could do until she did wake.

His eyes landed on the book he had seen the queen reading a few times. Curiosity sparked, he picked it up and returned to his chair. But his shoulders drooped in disappointment when he realized it was just an account of The Fire War. Not even a slightly more entertaining narrative retelling. It was simply a textbook filled with unnecessarily complex jargon and straightforward facts.

Why on earth would the queen spend her time reading this? Why would she bring it along as her only source of amusement? It was perhaps one of the most boring books Merek had ever seen.

He flipped aimlessly through the pages but paused when he spotted handwriting on the last page.

If anyone finds you with this copy, you are as good as dead. Educated, but dead. I suppose you can’t say our lives aren’t exciting.

Be careful, my love.

Merek frowned in confusion. What was so special about a textbook on The Fire War? Everyone knew that history, almost verbatim. Why would someone kill the queen for it?

And why did the handwriting give Merek a sense of deja vu?

He glanced up as he thought about it - and jumped in surprise.

Isolde crouched at the head of the bed, knees to her chest and hands balancing her forward. Her eyes - which had been a comforting gentle brown - had become green, with her pupils a serpent’s slit through the middle. As she blinked, two layers of eyelids came together, one vertical and the other horizontal. In the short amount of time she’d been awake, her hair had come completely undone, and it now hung forward over her face, casting her face in shadows. She appeared menacing, vicious.

Merek’s mouth gaped open and he shook his head as he tried to make sense of the picture in front of him. The person was Isolde, but she looked nothing like the healer Merek knew. She looked like…a predator.

He swallowed hard as he stood, arms up.

Isolde hissed sharply at him, baring her new fangs. Her forked tongue shot out of her mouth, as if it wished to stab straight through Merek’s chest.

“It’s all right,” Merek said with feigned calm.

But the moment he spoke, Isolde hissed again and launched herself at him.

Merek grunted as the full impact of her body slammed into him, crashing him back into his chair. Her fingers wrapped around his throat, and his eyes flew wide as he gazed up at her. Each of her feet was balanced on an arm of the chair and her eyes seemed to glow as she loomed over him. She bared her fangs again, her forked tongue shooting out. With calculated control, Isolde peered her face closer to him. Black venom - the same shade of black Merek had done his best to suck out of her - dripped from her fangs. The way she moved, the way she tilted her head, the way her body seemed to become pure muscle, reminded Merek of a serpent. Her fingers tightened further around his neck, holding him in a snake’s vise grip.

He had done this to her. Because of him, Isolde Taren, one of the kindest, gentlest, and bravest people he’d ever known, had become a monster.

Merek dropped his hands and relaxed in her grip, even as his vision began to blur and his chest began to burn with lack of oxygen. It felt like justice that her first kill would be the person responsible for her transformation. He closed his eyes shut and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Despite his resignation, he flinched hard and his eyes popped open again when he felt her forked tongue against his cheek. Merek’s eyes locked with Isolde’s not an inch away from him as her tongue tickled his skin.

Her mouth drew wider, dislocating, and her fangs gleamed as they nearly wrapped around Merek’s head.

He murmured, “It’s okay, Izzy,” just a second before her grip utterly cut off his words.

She hissed once more, leaned forward, and -

“Merek?”

Isolde’s mind felt foggy, her head too heavy, and she strained her ears to hear the voice that had called her name.

Slowly, she came back to herself, swimming frantically through the sea of confusion surrounding her brain. Her eyes buzzed and her mouth ached something fierce. Her heart beat echoed loudly in her ears, but it felt too slow.

Then she glanced down as her vision began to sharpen to see Merek, face nearly blue. And her own hand wrapped around his throat.

Isolde gasped and jerked back so hard that she fell off the chair she hadn’t realized she was standing on.

Merek coughed hard and gasped for air, bending over his knees as he did.

“Oh, my Aestus,” Isolde breathed, “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why - ow!” Isolde brought her finger to her lip and it came away with blood. Something sharp had nicked her. She pushed herself up to her feet, heading for the mirror.

“Wait, Izzy,” Merek croaked, reaching weakly for her.

But Isolde was already frozen in front of her reflection, her snake eyes bulging as she took in her appearance. She touched a fang experimentally and instantly drew back with a hiss of pain. Her whole body began to tremble with fear, and she backed away from the mirror, shaking her head. Her back hit the wall and then she slid down to the floor.

Isolde’s head thrummed and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “What’s happening to me?” Even with her mouth closed, she could feel the fangs pressing against the inside of her lip.

“Izzy, it’s okay,” Merek started, his voice little more than a rough whisper. He lowered himself from the chair to the floor, crawling toward her cautiously.

“No, it’s not!” She turned her frightened eyes to Merek. “Look at me, Merek! Look!” Against her will, a hiss burst out of her and she bared her fangs. Then her eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth as tears began to form in her eyes. What the bloody Malum had she become? An animal? A monster?

Merek crawled closer and rested a hand on her knee. “You’re alive,” he said, the words coming out on a breath, as if he hadn’t been entirely certain he’d ever be able to say those words again.

“Yes, but-“

Merek took her face in his hands and stared at her hard. The tears stilled on her lids and her words died on her tongue. “You’re alive,” he repeated stronger than before. “That’s all that matters, Izzy. You’re alive, and you’re you. Okay?”

Clearly, that wasn’t all that mattered. She had become some serpent-human hybrid, with an incessant impulse to hiss and fangs that dripped venom and Aestus knew what else. But the relief in Merek’s gaze as he stared at her, the way his fingertips pressed into her scalp as he held her tightly, the way he nodded reassuringly made Isolde want to believe he was right. Everything else would fall into place as long as she continued breathing. So she nodded. “Okay.”

Merek let out a long sigh, as if every worry was held in that breath. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek to her hair. “Okay,” he whispered.

Isolde clung to him and closed her eyes as she savored Merek’s protective presence. She always felt like Merek had been someone she could anchor herself to when she was adrift and she was beyond grateful for him just then. If he was beside her, telling her everything was going to be okay, then everything was going to be okay. Simple as that.

But then Merek pulled back and said, “Wait right here. I’m going to get Thea. I’ll be right back.” He did his best to smile, and then he pushed himself clumsily to his feet and staggered out of the room.

Isolde drew her knees tightly to her chest and rested her forehead on them, trying to take deep breaths. Suddenly, without someone there to reassure her, she felt utterly alone. And beyond the fangs and the tongue and the eyes, Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling of something much darker slithering deep inside of her.