Page 97 of Deadly Maiden

Rorsyd’s eyes shine as if he’s loving this absurd performance.

“I came here to tell you, Cassandra and Stanton, that the C of U is planning to act very soon.”

It takes me a few seconds to remember those are the fake names he gave us. I check our surroundings. It would be a disaster if anyone strayed in and heard this. This is big. “An attack against the Aos Sin and the king?”

“Of course. More than that, an overthrow, a full rebellion. We have an army concealed and ready. I would hope to see you join us.”

“Impossible. We’re leaving Zardrake,” Rorsyd interjects, with more fire in his eyes than I have seen for weeks.

He can shift.

The exhilaration from that knowledge also burns inside my heart. What he has said though…is not his to say.

“We will consider this.” I shoot him a look weighted with unspoken words—we need to talk this through.

He nods, exhales heavily. “Of course.”

Andacc, the local expert in subterfuge, seems bemused by our interchange. He searches in a pocket and retrieves an envelope.

I take a step, hand already reaching. “From Thander?” Which would mean a reply from Landos.

“No. From Saphora in Wenway.”

“Okay. Thank you.” The envelope is scented, decorated with sketched pink flowers.

“If you aren’t prepared to help us, I will say no more. The killer drop is still functioning. Leave me a message, if you wish to, or if you change your minds about helping. Good day to you both.”

Andacc leaves via the same route, crouching to avoid having a wayward twig poke out his eye. I sit beside Rorsyd.

We’ve revealed so much to each other today. I feel cleaner, less burdened, but the healing hangs over me. It’s just a few more words. I should do this.

“Rorsyd—”

“Helping sounds simple. Helping may mean you dying.” This time he takes my hand. “I could not bear that.”

“Oh.”

“What he said means war. I’ve seen too much war. We’re finally together and on the same page.” He smiles. “A book analogy in this place.Ha. I cannot lose you.”

“Or I you.” This big bad dragonshifter who weeps when he sorrows. “Just…I don’t plan to die, and I hate what the king is doing to this land. People are dying horribly anyway. They’re being pulled off the streets and beaten, persecuted, imprisoned.” I almost spit that out, and I’m showing my teeth and panting. “Sorry. You’ve seen this too.”

“I understand this, but war is an abomination far beyond what is happening here from day to day. And I know this is selfish, but war is not for you.” He’s frowning, staring at our hands. “What I saw that day at the battle will never leave me. Thousands and thousands of dead, eviscerated people, guts ripped open, heads gone. Limbs, severed legs, and arms…and my own fire was eating up people with flame, leaving them black and smoldering. Your mother and father…” His voice catches. “I’m so sorry, but Wyntre, it cannot be you. You know almost nothing about necromancy.” He meets my gaze. “Don’t you see this?”

“I do.” That imagery is revolting. He didn’t mean to hurt me with it. I try to scrub it from my mind.

He exhales. “Good.”

“And I don’t, also. Sometimes, people have to die to achieve things.” The silence is leaden. “Are we at an impasse?”

“No. I understand the zeal in you. Tomorrow, let me take you somewhere. If I can shift, I will take you. It’s a place I love. It will give me time to see what I can say.”

To dissuade me. I can see that is his goal. “Okay. You’re certain you can do that? Fly?”

Then he stands and rolls his shoulders, stares off into the distance, as if the trees are not there. His arms are at his side. Colors flicker across his skin and the lines of scales glow and form on the sides of his face, on the backs of his hands. His eyes burn brighter, his claws grow long and wicked.

Then he lets it calm, and I hear crackling as the signs on his body subside. He becomes just a man in shape.

He shakes himself and turns to me.

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