Page 30 of The Shattered Rite
She felt… found.
And Vaeronth, ancient as the mountains themselves, shifted closer, lowering his head until she could lean—slow, clumsy, shaking—against his snout.
She whispered into the warm iron of his scales:
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”
He rumbled softly.
The prophecy is worth waiting for.
And Vaeronth added, quieter now:
So were you.
She pretended not to hear him.
“And what happens when we reach the surface?”
His tone shifted—grimmer, resigned.
I cannot walk with you in the world above.
“Why?”
Because my true form is too large. My wings cannot stretch beneath the ceilings of the castle. My shoulders are broader than their gates. I am shaped for sky and stone… not for corridors and courts.
Eliryn blinked slowly, almost dazed. “Oh.”
I will shelter within the vessel at your throat, the pendant forged to bind me. You will carry me. But know this: I am not diminished. I am waiting.
“For…?”
For whatever we may face.
She sat in silence for a moment, the runes faintly pulsing down her arms like they were trying to keep her heart beating.
“You know,” she said at last, “you really do sound ancient.”
I am.
She huffed a faint laugh. “And here I thought I was bonded to a mysterious young rogue.”
If you wish for flattery, you have chosen poorly.
Her mouth twitched. “Gods, Vaeronth, you could at least pretend to lighten up.”
I cannot. There is too much at stake.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Figures.”
A pause.
“You sound tired too,” she said more quietly.
I am that, as well.
Her throat tightened. She tried to swallow it down. Failed. “Great. Ancient, tired, and now you’re stuck babysitting me.”
