Page 78 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
And then I realize what this is. Worry. Deep concern. Overme.
But he doesn’t seem to understand that’s a two-way street. I grip the hand on my face. “What if something happens to you here?”
He gestures around the cemetery with his free hand. “Frost was not wrong. This space is sacred. I’m not saying the Joywoodwouldn’t try to pervert the sacred, but they will find it incredibly difficult. I am safe here. You seven are the ones whoare walking in a world without safety. You must not spend your time here. You must not let me be a distraction. I acceptedmy imprisonment because I can handle it. Focus on your coven. Focus onyou.”
He’s trying to get rid of me. He’s trying tomanageme. He’s never done this before, and I have no idea what to do with it.
“Azrael,youare part ofme.”
He stares at me then. There’s gold in his gaze, but also something else. Something has changed. From the moment he saved mefrom that water, somethingchanged.
He presses a rather chaste kiss to my forehead. Squeezes my hand with the ring on it.Hisring.Ourring. “Do not take it off. It is protection, Georgina.” His gaze meets mine, serious and focused.
“I won’t,” I say, as honest and real as any vow. “But you must promise to reach out for help if something goes wrong. Youmust promise—”
“Georgina,” he interrupts, decidedlynotpromising. “You must go. And focus on the real problems at hand.” He holds my gaze, gleaming and determined. But there’san odd kind of desperation there. “The past does not matter. I need you to understand that.”
It’s such a strange thing for him to focus on. I have the terrible notion that he means... all of our pasts. Not just whathe’s been doing since he escaped his curse.
But I’m aHistorian. Of course the past matters. I would think so even if he hadn’t said it himself.
There’s no point arguing with a dragon who’s made a decision, though. Might as well go pound my head against the snarlingstone version of him instead. So I hug him, hold him close, and he does the same.
I put my hand over the gash on his arm. I am no Healer, but still I whisper words of healing, hoping it offerssomething.
When I pull back, his expression is careful, unreadable. But he smiles. “I will see you tomorrow morning.Notbefore.”
I want to scowl at him, but... This is what he wants. Andheis the one imprisoned, so I should give it to him.
Reluctantly, I leave him behind. Alone. Ihateit. I know if I go home to Wilde House, I will only stew, and likely convince myself to return against his wishes. So I goto the one place I know I can be distracted enough to forget he isimprisoned and alone.
I go straight to the archives.
It feels different immediately. It’s more welcoming.
There are stacks and stacks of books already on the table. A book on the history of dragons, three tomes on the dangers ofblack magic, and every other book I asked for before. Still nothing on the history of the Joywood, but it’s progress.
“What’s changed?” I ask out loud, frowning around at all thegolden light. “Azrael being imprisoned? Being attacked like that?”
Then it dawns on me. It was the black magic in my crystals.
The archives knew, clearly, and they could not allow me to have any information about power, about covens, about ascensionor black magic, until I was free of it.
If Azrael wasn’t stuck in a cemetery right now, I think this understanding might have defeated me. That’s how close I wasto ruining everything for everyone, because I had no ideaIwas the Joywood’s latest attack on my coven.
I thought Carol had kept my true parentage a secret because of some grand plan, but it was just this—a distraction. The Joywooduse the personal to distract from the political. And everything they do is about power.
I should have understood they would never give it up so easily.
I stand here, in the middle of historic texts and all ourpastslaid out to learn from. Why doesn’t Azrael want me to do that? It makes no sense. What is he trying to hide?
No, he’s not one to hide. I know that much. He’s trying to protect me from something. Something that connects to the attacktoday—and I frown at that.
What abouttodaymade him worry about thepast? About me, aHistorian, finding the past?
But I should focus on the Joywood’s past.
“Thank you for this important information,” I say, addressing these archives, this body of knowledge, that knew enough toprotect the witchlore from me. And who can tell the difference now. I raise my hands and tip my head back, like I’m free-fallinginto all thatknowing. I connect with the magic that makes me a Historian, the magic that has always led me through my research. The magic thatis why I’m here. “Show me the Joywood’s black magic.”
