Page 10 of Dragons' Future

“The camp’s the other way,” I shout through the wind.

“Too far.” Tavias urges me to move faster uphill, steering us parallel to the rocky walls. His magic flashes, melting the snow on nearby tree trunks as if looking for something. He grunts in satisfaction when one tree with claw marks is uncovered and starts melting snow along the mountain rocks instead. “Here.”

The rock face he steers me toward looks the same as all the others. “What is it?”

“There is a bear den here. Wait.” Tavias ducks into a small opening hidden among the boulders. A moment later he emerges and motions for me to come inside.

I duck through the narrow opening, squeezing through a tunnel covered with lichen and moss into a spacious chamber inside. Immediately, the bite of the wind disappears.

“It’s empty, but it’s the best we have,” says Tavias.

“You wanted a bear to be here?”

“It would have been convenient for dinner and warmth, yes.”

I shudder. Dragons.

“Stay here. I’ll return in a moment.” With that, Tavias disappears outside, leaving my new immortal eyes to adjust to the gloom.

As the eerie darkness becomes easier to see in, I discover bones and twigs keeping me company. Remnants of the bear’s dinner and bedding. Whatever Tavias says, I hope the resident beast doesn’t return to find us squatting in his home. Outside, the howling wind becomes so loud that it hurts my ears. Before I can work myself up into full panic however, Tavias returns with a few massive tree branches.

At least this drill I know by now. The pine boughs go on the ground as insulation and the thicker pieces will become fuel for a fire. I start covering the floor while Tavias clears a space for a fire. He works with the brutal efficiency of someone who knows exactly where each stick and rock must go. When all is done, the place is oddly hospitable, the carefully kept fire already warming the air. Which should make me relieved, but instead… instead everything hits me with a cruel vengeance.

My failure with magic. The memory of my mother. The arrows I launched into Tavias’s heart.

I look toward Tavias. Light and shadow from the fire dance over the prince's beautiful face and accent lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. I know he feels the shift too. The return of the day’s pain. How can he not? Nothing of what we did and said in training has gone away, except now there is nowhere to run from it.

“Take your clothes off,” Tavias says suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

He winces. “They are wet.” For someone who was so stars-damn confident with every movement just minutes ago, his sudden trouble stringing more than a few words together is that much more jarring. “Wet is cold. Cold kills.”

I don’t move.

Tavias drops his head into his hands. “Please don’t hurt yourself more just to punish me,” he whispers. “I know I deserve it, but find some other way. Please.”

CHAPTER 7

Kit

"Tavias." His name dissolves on my lips. I'm used to seeing him composed and commanding and angry. I know Tavias who is a storm, powerful in his fury, with tiny lightning bolts that play over his scales. I'm used to taking my life into my own hands when I stand up to him in a challenge. But seeing him like this, with his head bowed and shoulders trembling slightly—it is a blow of a different sort.

I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I want. Tavias is right about two things though—I’m cold and wet. I probably should take my clothes off. But they are the only armor I have left. I wrap my arms around myself and move closer to the small flame. It’s providing light more than warmth though, and we can’t make it larger with the little space and wood that we have.

"What I said when I was angry, all that about Quinton and Sethis leaving being your fault, it was wrong,” I say toward his curled shoulders. “It wasn't your fault at all. Surely you know that."

"Of course it was my fault,” Tavias looks up briefly but long enough for me to realize that he means every word. “Just as what I did to you was my fault. I've enough dignity left to at least acknowledge my failures.”

His failures? As if I wasn’t the one who couldn’t make one iota of progress all morning. I open my mouth to say as much, but Tavias beats me to it.

"I watched Quinton train you back on the Phoenix,” he says, his gaze going distant, as if he is seeing all the way to the sea. “He was brutal with you. And yet… despite everything he pushed you to do, he never hurt you the way I did."

“I’d not call training with Quinton a pleasant experience,” I say dryly.

“No, neither would I. That male knows how to dole out misery.” Tavias snorts, but his voice turns somber quickly. "The difference is that he never—never—made you feel the need to apologize for being you.”

Yes, well we didn’t discover just how useless I am until now.

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