Page 222 of The Black Witch

Tierney is the first to speak, her voice soft, her eyes gonehard. “Good.”

“We cannot all stay together here,” Cael puts in, his gazenarrowed at us all. “Ariel Haven can care for the dragon. As soon as Yvan isdone, the rest of us need to separate. And quickly.”

* * *

I rush back toward the North Tower, the sack over myshoulder containing the white wand.

Emerging from the wilds, I step onto the large, sloping fieldthat lies before the tower, the irregular, frozen ground rough against my bootheels. I pause, overcome by the immensity of the black dome of sky reelingoverhead. It’s ribboned with silvery clouds, sharp as talons.

Something moves in the sky to the northeast.Flapping.

Legs buckling, I’m seized by a sudden, crippling terror.

Dragon. Another dragon.

I stumble back into the shadowy woods. Shuddering with fear, Ifrantically search the northeastern sky.

A cloud. One of the ribbony clouds.The dragon shape has dispersed and split into three separate slashes against theblack dome of the sky.

I brace myself against a large stone, struggling to breathe asit all washes over me—the dragon attack, the beast’s terrible claws, the wildpain, the mountain falling apart.

We’ll be caught. They’ll find us andarrest us all. And then...

“Elloren.”

I flinch at the sound of Yvan’s voice and the feel of his handon my shoulder.

He’s so warm. I can feel the heat straight through the layersof my cloak, my tunic and my camisole. His warmth steadies me.

It’s a cloud.Nothing but a cloud.I force down my panicked breathing.

“Are you all right?” he asks, the angular lines of his facethrown into sharp relief by the moonlight.

“The cloud,” I force out, peering into the night sky. “Itmoved.” I swallow, fighting back the memories. “I...I thought it was adragon.”

Yvan nods and looks up at the sky, his expression darkening. Helets his hand fall from my arm, leaving a void for the cold to rush back in. Helooks tired. And worn.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, the wind stinging at my face.“We’re supposed to separate.”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

I shake my head tightly in protest. “You don’t need to thankme.”

“No, Ido.”

“For what?” I ask, incredulous. “For almost getting us allkilled?”

Yvan shakes his head in surprise and disbelief. “Naga’salivebecause of you. I needed help. I couldn’t do italone. Before you came here...before I met you...” He seems to be having troublefinding the right words. “Naga...she was...”

“Your friend. I know.” I finish for him softly, feelingsuddenly defeated, and as tired as he looks. I fix my eyes on his. “I know youcan talk to her, Yvan.”

He grows quiet, his expression turning carefully neutral.

I study him in the moonlight, the vivid hue of his eyes mutedto silvery gray. I remember how his eyes glowed a fearsome green. His inhumanstrength. His strange language. His terrible hiss.

“Whatareyou, Yvan?”

The line of his jaw hardens.

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