Black soot coated the floor an arm’s-length from me. Most of the furniture had disappeared, and two walls were black. The decorations, gone. Across the room, Shamino stirred. Beside him, an unconscious Jerroth. Tressa—
I vomited the moment I saw her. I heard Shamino doing the same.
Tressa was dead. She was worse than dead. Her golden hair had burned to black stubble. Porcelain skin had oozed like wax and pooled on the floor. The contour of her bones jutted through the melted slag, and charred ruby lips were frozen in shocked horror.
“First One,” Shamino said. He sounded as if he might vomit again, and my stomach quivered. “She didn’t deserve that.”
Disappointment and ambition had twisted my once-friend into my greatest enemy. I had no doubt that she had intended to kill me. But Shamino was right. No one deserved to die like that.
Shamino pulled a half-charred tapestry off the wall. He covered the body. I shivered as fabric sank over a not-quite-human shape.
“Jerroth?” I asked.
The man was still unconscious. He must not have shielded himself from the backlash of magic in time. The dagger jutted from his stomach, the blood around the blade sticky. Shamino felt for a pulse and pulled back Jerroth’s eyelids.
“Is he alive?” I asked.
“He’s breathing. Pulse weak, but not dangerously so.” Shamino examined the wound. “If he were a dragon, I’d say the dagger didn’t hit anything vital. I think he’ll recover?”
I shook my head. “No. He loved her; he’ll never recover. Tressa was using her Gift on him when she died, too. I don’t know what that’ll do to him.”
Shamino stood, and our gazes met. I knew so much from a single glance. He’d been sleeping poorly, he’d used magic earlier, the death he’d just witnessed disturbed him more than anything ever had. But I couldn’t tell how he felt about me, the deceiver.
Thorkel’s daughter.
Part of me couldn’t believe he was even there. “How did you get past Thorkel’s mages?”
“Paige. She Illusioned us to look like the wall, and we snuck past…” Shamino ran a hand through his hair. “Raul told me—I had to come before—Adara, I’m sorry, I still love you—”
That was all I needed. I stepped over Jerroth and kissed Shamino, hard.
It wasn’t like our first kiss—slow and scared and tender. Our lips crashed into each other, hungry and desperate. In the back of our minds we both knew I could die before sunrise.
Something heavy slipped onto my thumb. I broke the kiss and looked down. A thick gold ring with a silver tower on its face, the night sky glittering with sapphires and diamonds. The house of Evenspire’s signet ring.
“I need that back.” Shamino brushed my cheek with his fingers as he removed the dagger from his waist. “This, too. The dagger was Mother’s, and the ring—it’s just for now. I’d like to make you one that fits.”
I couldn’t speak. Apparently, I could just sniffle like a fluffbrain. I kissed him again.
He pushed the sheath to my chest as the kiss ended. “Hurry. Merram needs you. I’ll stay with Jerroth.”
“If he wakes—”
“I have my sword,” Shamino said. For the first time, I noticed the scabbard at his hip. “I can even manage an offensive spell if I have to. Now go.”
“I love you,” I said. The kiss had said so, but I needed to say it aloud, and I prayed to the First One that it wasn’t the last time. I blinked back tears, turned, and prepared myself to face my father.
Chapter Forty
I found them in the dragon cave.
The air vibrated with magic. The cave looked like Merram’s dragon had once entertained frequently, but now most of the furniture smoldered or formed strange pools on the floor. Gaping holes spotted the wall hangings. Only the great double doors were whole, and even they bore scars. The two men in the center of the cave flung spells with single-minded intensity. I couldn’t even follow the magic. Fire, lightning, water, ice. Spheres of energy, invisible blows. The air flashed red and black—the rings on Thorkel’s right hand blazed.
I am an ox-brained fool. I sagged against the doorway. The battle waged, and I wanted to run back to Shamino’s arms.
As I despaired, though, one thing became obvious.
Conserve your Gift, Zoland had told me over and over. One of the best strategies is to deplete your opponent. When he is tired, that’s when you go for the final blow.
Merram had to know the strategy. He did not know about the gemstones’ abilities—I’d kept it from him. The black mage flung spells slower than the red; he breathed heavily and his movements were jerky. They’d been fighting for a long time, and my Dragonmaster was nearing the end of his Gift.
I don’t need to fight. I just need one perfectly placed spell. A ball of fire, perhaps, from behind. If Thorkel survived it, his concentration would still be broken. It’d be enough for Merram to finish the fight.
I slid a step toward the side of the room. Another. I took care to avoid the smoking slag of furniture. Care to stay fluid, slow, lest I draw Thorkel’s attention.
Almost there. Merram’s gaze flickered my way. His mouth thinned and he flung spells with renewed fervor. He’d seen me, and he knew the end was near.
Maybe Thorkel saw that energy and knew what it meant. Maybe he heard me breathing, maybe I had brushed against an unseen spell. One minute my Gift swirled in hot, orange flames before me; the next minute, red flashed, a man fell, and Thorkel neatly blocked the fireball before it engulfed him.
“The Kyer has taught you such bad manners,” Thorkel said with my grin on his face. “Attacking me from behind. Not nice at all.”
I’d failed. Merram’s body didn’t move. The magic in the air, gone. “You killed him.”
Thorkel only laughed. “A fool the world will not miss. Merram was a charismatic speaker, but
