She turned. “Tomaaz?” Her voice was tentative. Her face lit up, like moonlight in a forest, full of wonder and soft secrets.
Rushing toward her, Tomaaz couldn’t help grinning.
She held a hand up, stopping him, before he could hug her. “I—I—” she stammered.
“What is it?” He took her hand, enclosing it in both of his. “Lovina, what is it?”
She burst into tears. “No one else has ever come back.”
§
Tomaaz had come back to her. He was here. And he still liked her. Bill was wrong. She wasn’t a heap of horse dung.
Tomaaz wrapped his arms around her. “You have me, Lovina. You’ll never have to be alone again.”
She leaned into his chest, enveloped in his arms, and cried.
He brushed his lips against her hair, murmuring, “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
She wasn’t just safe, she was happy. And that made her cry even more.
Until his stomach rumbled.
She laughed and tugged him over to the table. Tomaaz stood there, staring at the food, nostrils flaring.
“I know.” She smiled. “There’s nothing like the smell of real food after Death Valley, is there?”
“So good,” he moaned, sinking into the chair opposite her.
She pushed a bowl of soup toward him. “I don’t know if it’s still warm.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, picking up a spoonful of soup and tasting it. “Oh,” he groaned, “this is delicious.”
“I would’ve said that about dishwater after Death Valley.” Even Bill’s food had been a jump up from Death Valley. Lovina passed him the bread rolls.
His hand closed over hers. “This is paradise, being here with you.” His green eyes searched hers.
She ducked her head. “I’m just not used to—”
He nodded, waiting. “Not used to someone loving you?” he asked, finally, stroking her hand with his thumb.
She nodded. Yes, that was definitely going to take some getting used to.
§
The ceiling swam in and out of focus. Marlies rubbed her eyes. Her arms still ached, despite the limplock remedy. She’d never imagined feeling so tired. Was this what the wasting sickness was like? Those patients had complained of bone-weary exhaustion.
“Zaarusha would like to see you,” Liesar melded.
It had been wonderful to see her dragon again, her silver scales gleaming as they’d first greeted one another. Now it was as if they’d never been apart.
“I’ll bring her,” Hans replied, wrapping a warm robe around her and lending her an arm to help her out of bed.
Marlies smiled. He was enjoying mind-melding with Liesar and Handel again. Save some masters on the council, few here would remember that the four of them could meld. She leaned on Hans as they made their way to the ledge outside the infirmary.
Zaarusha furled her wings and strode toward her. Marlies held up her hand and the queen lowered her head so they could touch. “Ah, Marlies. I’m so happy you’re back with us.”
“It’s good to be back,” Marlies replied. Zaarusha’s scales were warm under her hand. Or was she just cold?
“Thank you for returning my son. This journey has taken a toll on you. You’ve sacrificed much. I’m sorry you’ve suffered.” The queen sent a gentle wave of peace through her.
“But now I can stand tall before my people and the council once again,” Marlies said.
“You can indeed.”
Marlies bowed her head to hide her tears.
Giant John
Giant John lay still in the underbrush, his blood pulsing at his temples. Hopefully, he’d crawled far enough into the thicket not to be seen.
“Big one in here,” a guttural voice yelled. “Search.”
There was a crash to his right, then another. He forced himself not to move. Nearby, a branch hit a bush, trapped in its springy foliage. Then a log landed on another bush, crushing it. These hardy bushes could only withstand so much.
If he crept forward, the tharuks would see the bushes move. If he broke out, they’d surround him. For now, it’d be best to sit tight and hope they didn’t hit him. There were a few more crashes, then nothing. Giant John strained to listen, but everything had gone quiet. Too quiet. No bird calls. No rustling of animals. Everyone was hiding from those stinking predators. He caught a waft of tharuk stench, carried on the breeze. Giant John waited, his pulse hammering.
Behind him something crackled. The tang of smoke caught in his nose. They were burning him out!
Elbows striking sharp stones, he dragged himself along on his belly. With a whoosh, the bushes behind him caught alight, smoke billowing overhead. Good, that might disguise his movements. With stinging eyes, Giant John raised himself on his hands and knees and crawled faster. The fire was building, a wave of heat at his back. Soon it would engulf the whole thicket.
His knees ached and his palms were scratched and torn. Rasping, John pushed on. Not far to go now. Behind him the fire roared. Sweat dripped off his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but the smoke was too thick. Oh gods, he was going to cough. Or burn. Too late for stealth now. Under the cover of heavy smoke, Giant John rose to his feet and bashed his way through the chest-high undergrowth.
Over the roaring of the fire, tharuks yelled.
They’d spotted him, but they wouldn’t take him alive. Giant John broke from the bush, his feet pummeling the stony clearing. Yells rang out behind him. Through tearing eyes, he saw a tharuk charging at him. Giant John swerved, the beast’s claws raking his side. Despite the pain, he raced on, the tharuk snarling at his back. He took a giant’s leap onto
