Page 6 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“What behavior?” I snarl.
“You know exactly what I mean. And I will not free you until you listen to me.”
“I suppose I have no choice but to listen.”
“When I was younger, I also sought out alethia. I was curious about the herb that destroyed my first family. I found it, I tasted it, and I understood, Ashvelon. I understood the allure and the danger. The pleasure it offers is intoxicating.”
“It is wrong to want pleasure?” The words lurch out of me defensively.
“No. It is not wrong. But to crave pleasure to the exclusion of all else, to forgo your responsibilities to enjoy it, to foolishly endanger your wellbeing to achieve it—that is where pleasure becomes cruelty to yourself. That is obsession.”
Everything inside me roars against what she’s saying, and yet it’s undeniable that I have allowed myself to come to this point of self-endangerment, of obsession.
Turning away from her, I lay my head and neck along the ground within the fissure, defeated. “Will you tell the Bone-King?”
“No, I will not tell him, and I will set you free. But Ashvelon—I must take a promise from you.”
“And what is that?”
“When you feel the urge to seek out alethia, you will come to me. We will hunt or fish or fly together. We will talk of something else, until your need subsides.”
I laugh harshly in my throat. “What will your Promised say to that?”
“Prince Kyreagan will not mind,” she says. “You and I are friends and nothing more. He knows that I care for him. That I—love him.”
Lifting my head again, I swivel it toward her. She’s hunched between her golden wings, looking more sorrowful than such an admission warrants.
Romantic love is a rarity among dragons. Friendship is far more customary. Mating is a compulsive occurrence based on momentary lust, not a link between hearts. Even life-mates typically make their arrangement based on companionship and practical considerations.
“You love Kyreagan?” I say. “Have you told him this?”
“Not in so many words, but I believe he understands my feelings, even though he does not feel the same way. Not yet.”
“Perhaps he will one day.”
“I hope so.” She shakes herself, discarding the topic for the moment. “Make me the promise, Ashvelon.”
“I will come to you when I crave alethia,” I say. “I vow it. And you can come to me when you’re in pain over the apathy of the Prince.”
“He isn’t apathetic,” she replies. “He respects me, and he is never unkind. He would die for me, as he would for any member of the clan. He cares, but not in the way I wish he would.”
“Does it give you some relief to discuss the matter?”
She blows out a breath. “Yes.”
“Then you will talk to me about it. We will help each other.”
Her head lifts and her wings arch, hopefulness in the lines of her golden form. “Yes. We will help each other.”
She bounds into the air, wheeling high into the arch of the sky before diving again. Her jaws open, and a blast of focused lightning stabs the rock on one side of the fissure. It splits and crumbles, giving me enough space to back out of the crack and free my shoulders without hurting them.
I hesitate, knowing that the alethia is now within my reach. I could move deeper into the fissure and seize the plant in my jaws. One swift lunge, and it would be mine.
Mordessa’s shadow falls over me. She’s watching.
She could send her lightning to shrivel the alethia and prevent me from taking it. But she doesn’t, because she wants me to make the choice.
I inhale deeply, and then I send a blast of frost-fire against the rock, withering the plant where it stands. It turns black and crumbles into charred, brittle remnants.
