The Dragon (Creasan #2)

Fendrel hesitantly rapped his knuckles on Ana’s locked bedroom door, shooting a cautious look over his shoulder, down the hall Thea had disappeared to search for their friends. Though she had suggested Fendrel come with her, the prince had opted for talking to his sister-in-law. Yes, it was a conversation he’d been meaning to have with her ever since they’d first arrived in Tamilem—made even more urgent by her sudden insistence on carrying a weapon—but Fendrel’s choice to speak with her had less to do with concern and more to do with avoidance.

Avoiding Thea.

Or rather, avoiding the strange tension that had taken up space between him and Thea. It was a foreign feeling, one that seemed to gather clouds inside Fendrel’s head so that all he could focus on were the thick eyelashes that rimmed her glimmering brown eyes or the gentle scratch of her calloused warrior’s hand on his bare shoulder or the kind smile that had turned up her smooth, bow-shaped lips—

The door opened, jerking Fendrel back to the present. Ana spoke before Fendrel even had a chance. “I don’t care what you’ve come to say. I am going, and if you’ve come to convince me otherwise, you ought to save your breath.”

Fendrel blinked away any residual thoughts of Thea to focus on Ana. He’d known Ana his entire life, but the look on her face was one he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t anger or annoyance or fear. It was something else entirely. Something deeper. So Fendrel didn’t bother arguing with her. “All right,” he said.

Ana blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yes. May I come in?”

Ana narrowed her eyes at Fendrel, certainly trying to decipher the trick he was playing, but she opened the door wider and Fendrel stepped through.

Just like the other rooms, Ana’s room was large, cavernous, and inviting with a wonderful view of the sea. Her sword rested against one of the bedposts, and Fendrel eyed it carefully. It was a longsword, so it must’ve been very heavy for Ana to lug around all day. One of Thea’s, Fendrel recognized. He remembered seeing it in her room that morning he’d woken up beside her after Maerwynn died.

Again, he forced himself to turn his thoughts away from the rebel leader. With controlled movements, Fendrel sat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and glanced up at the queen. “Just tell me why.”

“Why what?” Ana questioned.

“Well, you’ve never been to battle,” Fendrel reasoned. “The most action you’ve encountered was the Leitham Serpent, which if I recall correctly, you did not fight—“

“I already told you, I don’t want to hear this.”

But he persisted, “You do not know how to use a sword or how to shoot an arrow, but you do know it is dangerous. So help me understand why you want to go.”

Ana’s eyes darkened but she didn’t say anything.

“You want to kill herself?” Fendrel prodded. “Is that it? Be reunited with your son? I loved Althalos, too, Ana. He was my nephew, but—”

“Shut your mouth,” she snapped at him.

“There are easier ways to kill yourself than a dragon.”

“I am not trying to kill myself.”

Fendrel paused at that and stared at her. “You’re not?” he repeated slowly.

Ana clamped her mouth shut and moved to pick up her sword. “We should be leaving by now,” she said. “I ought to see what Thea—“

“Wait a moment.” Fendrel was on his feet again, eyes searing as he studied her. The deeper, darker look he’d noticed before still shone in her eyes. And Fendrel thought he knew what it was: resentment. “Is this…is this about Favian?” he asked.

Ana moved for the door but he stepped to the side to block her. Confused was not a strong enough word to describe how he felt. “But I thought you hated him.”

“I did. I do.”

“Then…” He trailed off as he studied her even more closely. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, fixing her gaze straight ahead at the door over his shoulder. He blinked as realization settled on his shoulders. “You hate me.”

Ana looked at him, and he saw the truth there in her brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black. She didn’t bother denying it.

The shock of it knocked Fendrel back a step. “But…we’re family, Ana. We’re the only family we’ve got left.”

She scoffed, and he noticed tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. “Family? When have you treated me like family? When have any of you Lances ever treated me like family?”

Fendrel’s lips drifted open in surprise, and his gaze moved from her face to the sword in her hand. It all suddenly clicked into place. “That’s why you’re going,” he said, voice breathless with astonishment. “You’re going to try to stop me.”

Again, Ana didn’t deny it. She stared back defiantly.

Fendrel shook his head emphatically. “You can’t do that.”

“Because your ego refuses—“

“Because you’ll get yourself killed in the process!” He took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Please, Ana, how ever you may feel about me, it’s not worth sacrificing your life. Revenge is never worth that.”

“It’s not revenge,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Ana, listen to me, you don’t under—“

“I do and I will. Unhand me.”

Fendrel hesitated a moment before dropping his hands. Without waiting for him to say another word, Ana was out of the room. Fendrel stared after her, so stunned that he couldn’t even move his feet to follow her.

The risk she was taking, the danger she was risking, the sacrifice she was willing to make, was because of Fendrel. She was doing all of it because she hated him. Because she would rather die than live in a kingdom he was leading.

The weight of that settled heavily on his shoulders. He’d gone in there with the hope of bonding with Ana over the loss of Althalos, of reasoning with her that her son would have wanted her to live in his name. He never expected her motivations were so…un-Ana.

And Fendrel knew—without a shred of doubt—that if Ana did go, if she did face Malum, she would be killed. And Thea had made a promise to him to keep Ana safe. She would probably get killed just by trying to uphold that promise.

So much death, so much destruction and heartache, all because Fendrel wanted to be king.

Isolde studied herself in the mirror, specifically her gaping mouth. Though her eyes still shone strangely, she noticed that her fangs were…gone. She poked her incisors just in case it was some sort of optical illusion, but nothing pricked her skin.

She wasn’t entirely certain when she’d noticed it, but it had suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t feel the alien press of her teeth against the inside of her lip. Isolde felt her spirits shoot up through the roof. Eyes she could hide, eyes she could explain away as a birth defect or some such thing. The fangs made her look like a monster more than anything else.

And they were gone!

“What are you doing?”

Isolde looked at the reflection behind her shoulder and laughed softly at the perplexed look on Merek’s face. She turned to him fully and opened her mouth widely, pointing. “Look!”

Merek’s brows drew together. “What am I looking at?”

“My fangs, Merek!”

His eyes widened and he crossed the room in two large strides before taking her face in his hands, tipping it back and peering into her mouth. “How is that possible?”

She shook her head in mutual wonder and laughed again.

Merek lifted his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “Does that mean you’re…healing?”

Isolde felt positively giddy as she smiled brightly. Her head felt light and she thought she might pass out from pure relief as she said, “That’s what it seems like.”

Merek’s hands fell away and a shocked cough burst out of him. He put his hand to his forehead, like he felt similarly faint.

Isolde asked him, “Did you need me?”

His eyes jerked up. “What?”

“When you came in here. Did you need me for something?”

“Oh, right. Thea wants to leave immediately. Gather as much supplies and weapons as we can.”

Isolde hoisted the mace she’d left leaning against the wall. “Ready.”

She’d expected him to grin or laugh or something. But Merek just stared at her, an intensity shining so brightly in his brown eyes that it made Isolde’s sluggish heart pick up some speed. She lowered her weapon and cleared her throat. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you.”

His brows ticked up in surprise and he waited.

“The other night,” she began, “when I yelled at you. That was…ungrateful. Thea told me how you didn’t leave me, and I…Well, I’m sorry for speaking to you the way I did.”

He waved her words away. “I shouldn’t been so tough on you. You were still processing it all. And honestly, it didn’t even taste that bad.” He gave her a crooked smile.

Isolde blinked. “What didn’t?”

“The venom.”

“Venom?!” she repeated loudly. “You were bit, too?”

“Wait, hang on.” Merek studied her in confusion. “I thought you just said Thea told you…”

“That you didn’t leave my bedside, not that you were bit as well.” Isolde dug her fingers into her hair angrily. She had tried to save him. That had been the whole point of her sacrifice, but she’d failed—

“No, Izzy.” Merek grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down. “I wasn’t bit.”

She shook her head. “Then what—“

“I sucked it out.” Merek let go of her hands suddenly and his eyes darted around the room uncomfortably. “The venom. When you were bit. I knew if we could just suck it out before it reached your heart, then you’d be okay. The others helped, but at a certain point, it seemed…” He didn’t say the word hopeless, but Isolde heard it. He shrugged and ducked his head. “I wasn’t ready to let you go yet, though. So I…kept going. You were breathing again by the morning. A shock to all us, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

“You—“ Isolde frowned hard as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. “You tried to save me…for hours?”

He shrugged again.

“That must’ve been…” Disgusting. Exhausting. Terrifying. She didn’t know what it must have been. She couldn’t imagine doing what he had done for her.

Before he’d known the truth about Sepi. Before he’d known why she’d treated him so horribly.

He glanced up at her finally, through the strands of his overgrown brown hair. “Like I said,” he responded, “I wasn’t ready to let you go yet.”

Isolde looked at the man in front of her in complete and utter astonishment. Really looked. At the curve of his jaw, at the tense press of his lips, at the shagginess of his hair, at the bulkiness of his torso, at the shifting of his feet.

At the hesitancy in his achingly beautiful brown eyes.

He hadn’t known about Janshai when he’d saved her, but he did now. He hadn’t known she would have serpent’s eyes when she woke up, but he did now. And he was still there, just in front of her, uncertainty in his gaze but as sturdy as he’d always been. Right beside her whenever she needed him. She knew without a doubt that he would be right beside her when they faced Malum.

Isolde wasn’t sure if it was the emotions unfurling inside of her or the sudden thought of their days being numbered that made her take a slow step toward him, but she did. Merek’s eyes sharpened, as if he were on alert, as if he half-expected her to slap him.

But he didn’t look away. He never looked away, no matter how striking her eyes were, no matter what she had become. He didn’t turn from her.

Isolde took another step, bringing their bodies so close together, they were only separated by a breath of space. Her heart—which had been so noticeably slow before—was practically galloping in her chest as she reached her hand up to his face. Very gently, she traced the slope of his lips. They had been pressed anxiously shut, but any tension seeped away at her touch, and Merek’s chest brushed Isolde’s with every heavy breath he took, making her skin there tingle.

He whispered into the space between them, “I had wanted to talk to you, too. About Sepi.”

Isolde stared at his lips as he spoke, her face warming for the first time in what seemed like ages.

“I know you two—That it was for his protection and then with what we saw with Anai, but…I know feelings have a way of sneaking up on a person, and if you’ve come to—“

Isolde pressed her finger insistently against his lips, silencing him. Those lips that were usually curved with a mischievous grin or ready to offer a sarcastic joke. Those lips that had literally pulled her away from death. Merek’s lips. Isolde ran her finger over them gently, savoring the smooth valley of them. Her voice was barely audible when she said, “You saved my life.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You saved mine first,” he answered, and Isolde watched the way it made his lips curve under her fingers.

They simply stood like that for a moment, sharing the same air, the only point of contact at Isolde’s fingers. She wished he would lean down and bridge the gap between them, but he didn’t. He gazed down at her, that intensity still present in his gaze, but he refused to move. He was waiting for her.

Always, he was waiting for her.

Very slowly, Isolde trailed her fingers from his lips down his chin, his throat, to grip the neckline of his shirt. Then she tipped her feet up and pressed her lips to Merek’s.

The first kiss was drawn out and soft, like both of them were scared of frightening off the other. It made those emotions unfurling inside of Isolde burst, and her fingers tightened on Merek’s shirt and she kissed him harder.

A groan bubbled out of Merek and his arms enveloped her, pressing her body against his. Through the sheer fabric of her new clothes, she could feel the heat of his body pour into her. It made her gasp, made every nerve ending inside of her explode. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her cold serpent’s blood, but the feel of his warmth was like a drug. Like he was a furnace and she was on the brink of frostbite. The way his hands ran over her seemed to heat her from the inside out. It made a pleasant shudder fall down Isolde’s back, and when Merek’s hands tensed at her waist, squeezing her slightly, it was like something snapped inside of her.

Her fingers left his shirt to wrap around his head and pull him tighter to her. She opened her mouth to him and let him drink her in, let his tongue sweep in, a little moan escaping her as even the tips of her fingers tingled. She could feel his yearning in the shifting of his body against hers, in the grip of his roving hands on her, in the rumble working its way from his chest through her. Blood rushed through every part of her, making her legs unsteady and her head slightly dizzy.

“Merek…” she murmured, and she felt his hands clench in the fabric of her tunic at her lower back. Suddenly, his hands cupped her thighs, and she jumped instinctively, wrapping her legs around his waist, getting closer, as physically close as she could get. She clutched his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift and tense as he carried her a few steps until he reached the dresser. He set her down gently on it and kissed her harder.

Isolde clenched her legs tightly around him, keeping him trapped against her. Merek reached up to dig his fingers into her hair but got caught in the veil she’d used to hide her eyes. Impatiently, he ripped the veil away and leaned back, just staring for a moment.

Isolde nearly growled in frustration and moved to pull him back to her, but he caressed her face. Tenderly—so tenderly it nearly brought tears to her eyes—he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to each of her eyes, and she gasped. The eyes that she despised, that marked her as other, that made her feel hideous. He dropped kisses on them, whispering, “So beautiful.”

Her breath caught. It was so sweet, so gentle, so intimate, that her heart felt near bursting. And then his lips were on hers again, his hands were in her exposed hair, and a sigh spilled out of her. His chest rumbled in response, and he ground his hips against her.

It was like Isolde couldn’t get enough. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, feeling the pure strength there, the hardened muscles. The barrier of clothing between them was suddenly unacceptable, and she yanked his shirt up. Merek helped her, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder, only giving her a moment to appreciate his toned warrior’s physique before his lips crashed into hers again.

This time it was nearly overwhelming. His heat, his smell completely surrounded Isolde, filling her every sense. She ran hands over the blazing skin of his back, the tough scarred skin on his chest. It was intoxicating. She kissed him harder and harder—

“Ow!” Merek jerked away suddenly, putting a finger to his lip.

Isolde felt drunk, her vision slightly blurred, her head too heavy, her blood simmering low in her veins. She reached blindly for him again, but he dodged her. “Izzy, hang on,” he said.

It was like she’d been doused in ice water. Without Merek’s heat, she felt exposed, naked. She wrapped her arms around herself and blinked several times to make out the image in front of her:

There was blood on Merek’s lip, and on his finger where he’d touched the slice Isolde had made. He stared a beat, as incredulous as her, before his eyes came to hers. Whatever he saw there made his shoulders lower sadly.

Dread filled her and she didn’t even bother asking what had happened before shoving him away and lurching off of the dresser.

“Izzy, wait—“

She looked in the mirror and sure enough, there were her fangs. Long and sharp and monstrous, standing out starkly against her swollen lips.

Isolde stared hard at her reflection. At the fangs. Cursing their appearance. Wishing they were gone.

The fangs suddenly retracted into her gums.

She gasped. Her concentration slipped and they shot back out. But another beat of willing their disappearance sent them retreating again.

“How are you doing that?” Merek asked, his eyes wide with amazement as he watched her.

Carac had told Isolde not to fear her new features because fear would stop her from learning how to control them, and here was clear proof of her control. She didn’t have to live with the fangs; she just had to learn how to control them. And if that was the case, then maybe she could do the same with her eyes.

And if she could control her fangs, if she could control the serpent inside of her, then maybe she had a choice. Maybe she’d been given the choice to be her own weapon.

Thea fidgeted in her horse’s saddle, doing her best to ignore the numbness spreading through her backside. They’d been riding toward Yezahn for hours, long enough for the sun to have shifted from behind their heads to directly in their eyes. Thea was glad for the little veils that came with female Qamisian attire for the small reprieve from the sun it brought. But it didn’t do much against the suffocating heat.

Thea hadn’t been prepared for the Qamisian heat before, and now that they were under it with absolutely no protection, she couldn’t understand how anyone could live in a climate like it. Where the sun gave weight to the air, where that air seemed to suck the breath from her instead of provide it. It made her light clothing stick to her skin uncomfortably and sweat glisten on every part of her skin. A single glance at her friends told her they were similarly miserable, except perhaps Sepi and Anai who were used to it.

Thea wasn’t entirely certain what Anai had said to the sultan to make him release Sepi to them, but she was incredibly grateful as he rode beside her. His face looked more severe than she’d ever seen him—though if she’d been faced with what had happened to his family, she probably wouldn’t be in a smiling mood either.

Anai led the way toward the distant city, chin in the air as usual. Thea wagered her presence must’ve been part of the bargain she’d made with the sultan, that Sepi would be allowed to accompany them as long as Anai ensured he didn’t run off.

Brom called, “Thea.” When she looked at him behind her, he offered a canteen of water, and she gave him a grateful smile.

Though she wanted nothing more than to guzzle its entire contents, she forced herself to take measured sips. She had wanted to travel light and thought eight canteens would be enough for the lot of them for a day’s journey. She hadn’t counted on the heat, and she mentally berated herself for the mistake.

If Maerwynn had been there, she would have warned Thea to be careful. She’d have reminded her of the foreign terrain, of the dangers of dehydration, of how difficult the trip would be despite its distance.

Thea drew a deep breath and held the canteen out to Fendrel beside her, pushing those thoughts away before she was nothing more than a mess of snot and tears on her horse.

Fendrel’s fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, sending shiver down her arm. Thea snatched her hand away quickly, frowning at her reaction. Fendrel seemed oblivious as he took his sip and passed the bottle on, which Thea supposed was a small blessing.

“We’ll have to set up camp soon,” Anai called from the front.

Peronell answered, “The sun isn’t even down yet.”

“It will be,” Sepi responded simply.

And they were right. Within twenty minutes, the fully suffocating sun had vanished over the horizon, plunging the desert into an impressive cold. One that could rival Creasan’s.

They made quick work of the tents and fire. Merek and Brom set to roasting the small rats Thea had allowed on the trip, ones that were light to carry and didn’t take up too much space in their packs. While they waited for the meat to cook, they bundled close to each other and the flames, and Thea cursed the light clothing she wore. Anai had warned them of the night’s cold and had brought blankets in preparation, but Thea wished she had her wool shirt and pants too.

The fire only warmed Thea’s front, leaving her sides and back to freeze. Her teeth chattered slightly, and she pressed closer to Carac in her search for warmth.

Anai told them, “We should reach Yezahn by midday tomorrow. Maybe sooner if we get an early start.”

“Thank Aestus for that,” Merek mumbled, crossing his arms tightly and tucking his hands under his armpits. Thea noticed how easily Isolde cuddled into his side, despite the fact that Sepi was sitting right beside her. She supposed whatever strangeness had resided there must have been cleared with the confession of Sepi’s true identity.

Carac asked Anai, “Will you fight with us?”

She nodded heavily, and Thea understood that heaviness. It was a horrible responsibility that lay on all their shoulders. The last defense the entire world had against Malum, the bringer of destruction, the cause of The Fire War. If they failed…there could very well be another war.

The queen looked around at everyone’s accepting faces and scoffed. “An advisor has just said she will fight a dragon, and everyone is all right with that?”

Sepi answered, “She is a skilled fighter.”

“How would you know?” Ana snapped back. “You’ve not been here since you were fourteen.”

“I assure you,” Anai said calmly, “I will be fine.”

Peronell started, “Perhaps you should show—“

Before he’d even finished his sentence, in a lightning fast motion that Thea almost missed entirely, Anai unfurled a rope that had been hidden around her waist, flicked it out, and split one of the roasting rats in half above the fire. The splintered skewer started to dip and dash their dinner into the pit of flames, but another flick of Anai’s rope encircled the rat and brought it to her. With an arrogant smirk, Anai held the sliced meat in her two hands. “See?” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Everyone—including Thea—just blinked at her for a moment. Her movements had been so quick, they’d seemed nearly inhuman. Thea couldn’t help but ask, “Could you teach me that?”

Anai chuckled softly as she handed the meat to Fendrel who struggled to put the broken skewer back into place above the fire. “If we had more time,” Anai said, “I would.”

“Go on, Your Majesty,” Merek pressed. “Your turn.”

The queen glowered as everyone laughed softly.

Carac asked, “How did you become advisor to the sultan, Anai?”

Instantly, the smile vanished from the girl’s face, and it made sympathy gather inside of Thea. But Anai vaguely responded, “I made myself important.”

She didn’t say more on the subject, and she didn’t have to. Thea knew what had happened to Sepi’s mother—to all of his family. If Anai had been in a similar position…

“I think dinner’s ready,” Brom said, changing the subject.

They ate in relative silence, everyone lost in their own thoughts, their own worries about tomorrow. Who would survive? Would any of them?

It wasn’t long before the queen excused herself to get some sleep, and Anai followed shortly after her.

Thea knew she ought to get some rest as well, but her stomach was turning over and over with nerves, and she knew she’d never be able to keep her eyes closed. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d ever been so nervous. She remembered how it had felt going up The Forbidden Mountain, of course, but this felt different. More dangerous. With a lot more riding on it. After all, it was a task she’d been specifically given by Aestus. She couldn’t fail. She simply couldn’t.

Across the fire, Brom used one of the long skewers to prod the fire, and Thea noticed the distinct line between his eyebrows. It gave her pause, not because he seemed frightened—which would have been expected—but because he seemed conflicted. Thea wondered what he could have to be conflicted about. Surely, he and Fendrel had plotted killing Malum from the start. As far as Thea knew, no allegiances had been made on the Guard’s part. She’d never ask something so unfair of Brom. But the look on his face made her curious…

“I think we’re going to turn in,” Carac said as he and Peronell got to their feet. Everyone wished them a good night, and then Sepi was also yawning and crawling into his tent.

Then Merek, Brom, and Fendrel were on their feet, going in search of some more brush they could use to the stoke the fire.

Leaving Thea and Isolde alone. Thea seized the opportunity to lean over to her friend and ask, “How are you?”

Isolde shrugged. “As nervous as everyone else, I’d wager.”

“No, I mean…” Thea gestured to her face.

Isolde understood. “All right. The fangs aren’t as much a problem which is…optimistic. The eyes are a work in progress.”

“But how do you feel?”

“Good, Thea. I promise.” She gave her a slight smile.

Thea nodded, satisfied. Then she licked her lips nervously and leaned even closer, making sure the boys couldn’t hear. “We fight for Fendrel tomorrow.”

“What?!” Isolde hissed.

“Shh!” Thea eyed the boys, but they were in the middle of their own conversation and didn’t pay them any mind. “Come on, Izzy, you know I didn’t want to be—“

“You brought us all this way—We never would’ve risked so much if we weren’t fighting for you.”

Thea gazed at her friend, at her wide eyes that looked even more shocked thanks to their serpent’s slits, at her agape mouth, at the way she’d recoiled from Thea, and Thea felt her shoulders droop sadly. They had all risked their lives, but Isolde clearly felt the consequences of that risk more poignantly than the others. Thea was incredibly sorry for it. All the same, she said, “I know. But our mission from the beginning as been protecting Creasan. Not me.”

“And you think Fendrel can do that? Honestly?”

Thea glanced at the prince again, taking in his crossed arms, his parted feet, the look of concentration that drew his features tight as he listened to whatever it was that Merek was telling him. But above all, Thea took in the gentleness in his gaze. Fendrel was paradoxically strong and soft, brutal and kind, merciless and merciful and that was exactly what Creasan needed. Favian hadn’t been able to do it, and for the longest time, Thea hadn’t thought anyone other than Lief truly could. But Fendrel could. And more than that, he would. So she answered honestly, “Yes.”

Isolde’s eyes followed Thea’s to study the prince as well before her head slowly bobbed in a nod. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “If you’re certain. We are with you, Thea.”

“Would you tell the others?” She clutched the blanket tighter around herself. She knew it was a coward’s move, but she also knew her friends, knew they would be as outraged as Isolde and wouldn’t accept it as quickly either.

Isolde smiled softly. “Of course.”

Thea felt her heart swell as she looked at her friend. Isolde had always been by her side, had always trusted her, supported her. She had been there whenever Thea had needed her, and despite all odds, despite the Leitham Serpent’s best efforts, she was still with her. Thea took Isolde’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” she said earnestly, hoping to convey deep meaning behind those words.

Isolde’s lips wobbled slightly, and Thea knew she understood. Just like she always had. And then she pulled Thea into a tight hug. “We’re going to be all right,” Isolde whispered in her ear. “We are. Don’t say goodbye yet.”

“Izzy—“

“Don’t, Thea.” Isolde pulled back and looked Thea right in the eye. “All right? No goodbyes. We can do this.”

Thea didn’t bother arguing; she just smiled. “You should get some rest.”

“What about you?”

“In a minute.”

Isolde wiped a rebellious tear from her eye and nodded before heading into her tent.

When the boys returned, Thea noticed a strange tension in Fendrel’s shoulders, and she frowned.

Merek headed toward Isolde’s tent as he said, “We should all try to get a couple hours at least.”

“We will,” Thea answered, still watching Fendrel. “Good night, Merek.” And in another heartbeat, Brom was passed out on the side of the fire.

Thea crossed the short distance between her and Fendrel and sat beside him. “Is everything all right?”

“Hmm?” he didn’t even look at her, eyes fixed on the flames.

“Fendrel.”

His eyes jerked toward her at that. She repeated, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem…distracted.”

“Just thinking about tomorrow is all.” He gave her a short smile and Thea didn’t buy it for a second.

“What was Merek saying?”

“When?”

“Highness, honestly. Are you still worried I’m scheming against you?”

“That’s not it—“

“Because I’ve already told everyone we’re fighting for you.”

Fendrel stilled. His stormy blue eyes locked with hers. “You did.”

“I did. So enough of this doubt, all right? We will be ready. Who knows, in just a couple day’s time, you could be king.” She jostled his shoulder slightly.

He huffed a laugh and shook his head. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he did, his words were very soft. “Did you know Ana only came with us to make sure I didn’t kill Malum?”

For a split second, Thea thought about lying, about feigning surprise, but one look at the despair in his face made her set her shoulders. “I did,” she answered in a similarly soft voice.

His eyes widened. “Wha—“

“You suspected I was working against you? Well, I was. With the queen. But that’s done now,” she assured.

The surprise in the prince’s gaze dissolved to understanding and he lowered his head, bringing his eyes away from hers. He said, “She hates me, Thea. Deeply.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She told me she does.”

“The queen…has been through a lot. And sometimes, it’s easier to hold onto hatred instead of feeling grief.” Thea gave him a knowing look. That was her entire life summed up in one sentence. It had been easier to hate the Lances—all of them, totally and completely—rather than feel the unending grief that came with Lief’s death. That she now felt about Maerwynn. If anyone could understand Ana, it was Thea.

Fendrel knew it, too. The corner of his lips turned up at that. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Or maybe you’re wrong. Maybe she’s felt this way for a long time and I’ve just been too self-absorbed to see it.”

“Felt this way about your brother, perhaps,” Thea allowed. “But not you. You’re very difficult to hate.” Fendrel’s eyes sharpened at that, and Thea felt her heart give a kick in her chest, the same way it had in the sultan’s hallway, the same way it had in the wagon, the same way it had when Fendrel had told her he’d succumbed to the nymph simply because it had been Thea. It made her throat feel suddenly dry, so she added for good measure, “It’s quite annoying, actually.”

He chuckled. “Right. Well, same to you. It would be much easier to deal the killing blow tomorrow if you behaved more like you had on our trip to the mountain.”

Thea feigned offense. “Do you mean to say I was easy to hate then?”

“You were trying to be, weren’t you?”

Instead of answering him, she shoved him. Fendrel let her tip him slightly over with another laugh. “Exactly,” he said. “So it was easy to hate you.”

Thea couldn’t help her grin. “Okay—“

“Incredibly easy.”

“Got it.”

“Exorbitantly—“

“All right!” Thea swung her arm playfully at him, but he caught her wrist before she could make contact with his arm. And he just…held it. Thea swallowed compulsively as the roughness of his callouses scraped against the sensitive skin there. Even though the air around them was cold, his hand was warm from the fire, and it made the hair on Thea’s arms stand up pleasantly.

Fendrel’s eyes lowered to where he held her, and Thea thought she noticed a change in them. The humor faded, replaced by a deep seriousness that Thea didn’t quite understand but that made her ears feel too hot or the blanket around her shoulders too heavy. “But even then,” Fendrel said softly, “I didn’t hate you. Not really. From the moment I saw you in the dining hall of the palace, I don’t think I’ve ever hated you.”

A lump suddenly lodged itself in her throat, preventing her from getting any words out. All she could manage was a shake of her head, which she hoped could convey her incredulity.

“You were beaten, arrested…chained.” Fendrel ran his thumb over Thea’s wrist, right where her hands had been bound all that time ago. It made Thea’s breath catch. But Fendrel continued, “But somehow you were still—you. You were completely at the king’s mercy, and you didn’t seem scared. You didn’t plead for your life. You weren’t even curious. You just sat there, facing the entire court with…annoyance. You were pissed.” He laughed at the absurdity of it, but Thea was too bewildered by what he was saying and the way his thumb kept stroking her skin, the way his own eyes were latched to where their skin met to react. “I think that’s why I can understand Ana and the others.”

Thea managed a choked, “What?”

Fendrel very slowly lowered their hands to the small space between them and looked up at her. “I knew then—before even knowing you were leader of The Source—that you were someone worth following. That it made sense those other men—Merek and Carac—had been fighting by your side. That they wouldn’t talk. I remember thinking…” He hesitated a moment, staring into her eyes. “I remember thinking I would happily follow you, too.”

Thea’s heart thundered in her chest and adrenaline shot through her veins, making her blood simmer beneath her skin. Though Fendrel had lowered their hands, he still held hers.

None of this was making any sense to Thea. His words, her reaction, his intense gaze that seemed to sear straight through her and touch a place inside of her she hadn’t known existed until then—

A voice that she hadn’t heard since their ascent up The Forbidden Mountain tried to force its way back into her head, spat at her to jerk her hand away, to laugh in the face of his words. He was a Lance, after all. A Lance whose own sister-in-law would rather see dead than on the throne. A Lance who had stood by when Lief was killed.

But none of that worked as it once had. Because Thea knew,without a shred of doubt, that if Fendrel could have done something to stop Lief’s death, he would have. Because she knew Ana’s rancor was based purely on hurt and grief, not a personal determination of Fendrel.

Because she knew Fendrel Lance. He was her friend, her savior, her partner. At some point during their long voyage together, that was what he had become to her. Her partner.

And that thought…terrified her.

Thea sucked in a deep breath and shot to her feet. “I’m going to, uh—sleep. We need sleep. You should sleep, too. Eventually. At some point. Okay. Night, Highness.” She knew she was stammering awfully, but she just backed away from him and hurried toward her tent. She heard him call a stunned, “Night, Thea,” after her, which woke Brom up, but she didn’t turn around until she was fully engulfed in her tent.

She practically fell onto the pile of blankets she’d fashioned into a temporary mattress, doing her best not to wake the queen sleeping on another makeshift mattress beside her. The tent was utterly dark, the only light coming from the fire some distance away.

Thea stared in its direction, where she knew Fendrel was still sitting. Her breathing was still uneven and the heat in her ears had spread through the rest of her face. She only knew it was still cold from the way her breaths fogged in front of her. Every part of her felt warm and shaky.

She laid down on the mattress and pulled the blankets to her chin, though her eyes didn’t remotely shut. Fendrel’s words reverberated in her head over and over. I would happily follow you, too. Why would he say that? He was going to be king. He shouldn’t following anyone, least of all Thea Wyvern.

But every time those words echoed in her head, it took every shred of willpower for Thea’s lips not to tip up with a genuine smile.