“We could fly a little farther tonight,” I said.
*Adara.*
“She wouldn’t look at me,” I said. I turned my back on the camp. Mettalise watched me with a frown. “The entire village gathered to throw me out, and she never looked at me. Could you blame her?” I cut Mettalise off before my dragon could take the question literally. “A single tantrum took away everything she had.”
Mettalise did the draconian version of hmph, fluttering my hair and clothing with sulfuric breath. *And because you destroyed her home of sticks, Merram found you and decided to save her from marauding Carthesians.*
Sometimes I didn’t appreciate my dragon’s perspective. “I’m not ready. We can go after Thorkel.”
The sun setting behind her turned her silver scales rose. *We may not come back this way.*
“Please don’t tell me you expect me to join Thorkel.” She didn’t, I knew she didn’t, but I didn’t want to state the alternatives. “I said, let’s go. North.”
Mettalise positioned herself so I could climb on. She lowered the emotional block entirely and I fought a physical urge to brush my arms as if I could wipe away her disapproval. I refused to raise my own block and made a point of fastening the ties with fervor. Mettalise jumped, jolting my spine, and her first few wing beats were a bit more energetic than normal.
We entered the clouds, the clammy moisture clinging like Mettalise’s mood. Within moments of cloudbreak, I was shivering again. Next time I needed to go on a long journey with a high-flying dragon, I needed to wear a cloak. Not even the beauty of the stars appearing in the night sky distracted me from the cold.
*You want Shamino to accept you,* Mettalise said. *He can’t do that if you’re not around. Neither can those commoners.*
I stayed silent. She could sense my feelings.
*Yes, there’s the chance that they reject you. That they run you out of camp. But choosing to run first guarantees you will never be able to experience forgiveness.*
*Are you done?*
*Flying.*
We flew in silence until Mettalise decided my body couldn’t take the cold any longer. The next morning, she acted chipper, but I sensed grumpiness underneath. Eventually, being Mettalise, she let it go. My dragon didn’t do grumpy very well.
It took two more days of flying. I kept myself emotionally numb and physically alert. I squished every thought of Stoneyfield, or the Kyer, or Shamino. By the time we saw the tiny mountain sketched in Thorkel’s directions, I wanted to shout in relief. Yes, we were walking into a trap, but it was a nice, distracting trap.
Blessed rain, I’m thinking like Mettalise.
The profile of a mountain became actual trees and rock. On the low peak sat a large structure, and Mettalise scanned the forests leading up to it.
*If there are dragons, I don’t see them,* Mettalise said.
*Can you sense any?* I asked.
*I can only sense dragons I know,* Mettalise said. At my surprise, she explained. *I only have telepathic connections with those I grew up with. If I see a strange dragon, I can create a connection, but otherwise the enemy is invisible. That’s how they ambushed that Flight weeks ago.*
She circled some more. Not only did we see no dragons, we only saw one place for a single dragon to land. The clearing did have marks of large, heaving things having flattened the grass, but the clearing was many dragon-lengths away from the mansion. If Thorkel attacked me while I was in there, Mettalise would have to burn down the nearby forest to get to me.
*I’m a fool to have brought us here,* I said as she hovered.
*Meh. You had my support.* She lighted on the ground. I dismounted. *Be careful. I only get one human, you know.*
I nodded and started down the suggestion of a path through the pine forest.
Chapter Thirty-Four
By air, the structure on the mountain’s peak looked like some noble’s summer retreat. Up close, it was clear the noble had died long ago and his descendants did not love mountains. So many sections of roof had collapsed that the second floor couldn’t possibly be livable. Paint flecked everywhere, revealing wood that had rotted as the seasons changed. Closed shutters hung askew, slats missing. Shutterless windows on the second floor winked with jagged, broken glass; long ago, someone had taken the precious panes out of the first-story windows.
Yet the mansion still carried an aura of pride. It could be glorious again with attention. The house didn’t list, meaning the main supports still stood strong, and the first floor seemed to be whole. The view, if trees were cleared away, would be breathtaking.
For long moments, I stood in front of the large front door. It, too, seemed old, but by no means weak. I summoned courage and used the brass knocker.
A man with blue and purple etches on his cheeks opened the door so quickly he had to have been waiting on the other side. He wore a sandy, knee-length robe over a black shirt and breeches. A sword hung from his hip. He broke into a smile, his teeth gleaming white in his dark face.
“Adara! Welcome!” he cried in thickly accented Dragerian. He waved me inside, and I caught the glint of a ring. “Come in, come in!”
He led me down a dim hallway smelling of must and, faintly, desert spice. Cobwebs draped from the ceiling and dust coated the floor. He creaked open a door to an expansive room.
The mansion changed entirely.
At least ten men in Carthesian garb looked up from tables scattered around the spotless room. Sunlight filtered through a hole in the ceiling, making the air glitter and hilts glint. Most men sported
