I wasn’t sure how long had gone by when the night’s call Tyrrik had described began to override everything else. My muscles spasmed, contracting and stretching with flashing bolts of agony. My body seized and shook, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out. My body alternated between searing pain and extreme fatigue, the cycle shortening as the night approached. I shuddered and gasped, “Am I going to give birth?”
Tyrrik’s response was to tighten his arm around my waist, tuck my head in the hollow of his neck, and urge the horse faster. Before the pain began, I’d done my best to make sure our skin did not touch. I’d kept my sleeves pulled up over my hands. I’d sat straight in the saddle, determined not to lean on him, but I was far beyond that now. King Irdelron himself might’ve sat behind me, and I’d still be a whimpering sack of potatoes.
Another wave hit me. I bit down on my lip to stop from screaming but couldn’t help arching in the saddle, going taut with the throbbing pain.
We veered off the path toward the base of a mountain range.
“Not long now, moje láska.”
I hung onto his voice like a lifeline. As the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, the tendrils of night reached out for me, singing to me, inviting me toward them. I’d longed for the touch of darkness for months, but now it was an endless chasm of blackness that wanted to trap me inside, just like the dungeon. I’d never get out. “Tyrrik.” My voice was thick and heavy. “The night wants me. It won’t let me go.”
“No, Khosana. You belong to the night, and the night belongs to you.”
“Scales!” I hissed, as they appeared on my hands. A sharp stinging sensation crawled over my skin, like needles were scratching me raw. I cried out, clutching the sides of my neck as the pain crept upward. More of the lapis lazuli pieces appeared, and I whimpered. What if they never went away?
Tyrrik whispered encouragement in my ear, the words of a language I was only beginning to understand.
My muscles cramped more and more. A dull pressure in my chest expanded until it felt as though the Jotun of my nightmares was sitting on my heart. Sharp, stabbing pains rippled over my body, and as the sun kissed the horizon, my hold broke. I screamed, the sound piercing the twilight, terror-filled and yearning at the same time.
Tyrrik pressed his lips to my neck, to my scaled neck, speaking in my mind. The first time is the hardest. You are strong, Ryn, plenty strong. Just hold on.
He drove the horse to go faster, faster, faster.
My vision blurred, bright blue-and-green colors shattered and splintered amidst the darkness swirling around us. My body seized, and the pressure built inside me. I tipped my head back against Tyrrik’s shoulder and screamed through my raw throat as the pressure exploded. Pain overwhelmed me, and the darkness coiled and wound unabated around my body. Blue tendrils unfurled, expanding as the ache deep within my bones flared.
Tyrrik’s shouted cursing was the only sound surrounding me as he pulled me from where I sat. But I never hit the ground. Instead, I floated high above, staring up at the silky night with unblinking eyes.
Night had fallen.
6
I groaned. Every single part of me ached, and I wondered why my Phaetyn powers hadn’t healed me. Rolling onto my back, I hissed in pain and tried to heave myself back on my side. Large warm hands helped me turn, and I forced my eyelids apart. A distant part of me couldn’t believe I’d managed to drift off—though it was more likely I’d passed out from exhaustion at some point during the night.
Tyrrik scooped his arm under my shoulders and lifted me upright until I was sitting. My head swam, and I clutched the neck of his aketon to steady myself. “Dizzy.”
He held still until I nodded then reached behind me to grab something. The sweet smell of nectar floated to me as the Drae held a goblet to my lips.
“Thanks,” I rasped. I took a long draught, and the nectar soothed the ragged edges of pain from the inside of my throat. But as soon as Tyrrik withdrew the chalice, I stammered, “M-more.”
He obliged, filling the shiny stemware and giving it back to me. I took another long drink, although this one was more to avoid talking about what happened last night. That Tyrrik saw me as a screaming, blubbering, contorting mess deeply embarrassed me. I was inordinately grateful that he had been here. He’d said I’d need help, and as I thought of the hourly baths he’d given me in the pool of nectar and the words of encouragement through the night, I no longer doubted this fact.
His dark hair was disheveled, and his cheeks and chin dusted with a day’s worth of growth. Darkness clung to him, like wisps of spider’s webs, his black aketon was rumpled, and he offered a wan smile.
“You look as bad as I feel,” I said, breaking the silence. The black threads seemed to be emanating from within him, and when I blinked, they faded. Even my eyes were exhausted.
He huffed, a mannerism that would look less odd in his Drae form. “It is not easy to watch someone go through that,” he said. “I have never cared for another Drae during their transformation before.”
“You did a stellar job,” I mumbled. My pitiful gratitude was lost as the buzz of languid fatigue spread through me, and I closed my eyes and leaned into him. I could probably sleep for a week.
“Your transformation seemed worse than I remembered.”
“Because I’m part Phaetyn, do you think?” I asked, my eyes opening a crack before floating closed. “It was pretty horrible.” And didn’t compare to the torture sessions with Jotun; this pain had a reward at the end—it wasn’t meaningless pain meant to break me but pain resulting from something I hoped would make me stronger. A thrill of excitement vibrated through my chest and out to my extremities. I could feel the new strength in my fingers, in my body, even as weary as I was. Aside from that, I seemed pretty much the same as I’d been, though this was coupled by a knowledge that my skin would be impenetrable to weapons, even those dipped in Phaetyn blood—or so I assumed. I blinked my eyes open again, and testing my sense of smell, I inhaled deeply . . .
And stiffened.
My mouth watered, and I slapped a hand over my lips before any of my saliva spilled out. My cheeks heated, and I dropped my gaze and yelped when I saw thread-like energy in vibrant blue and green coming from my core. I blinked again, and the wisps of color disappeared, but the captivating scent did not.
“What is it?” Tyrrik rumbled beside me, his breath washing over me.
What is it? I swallowed. Tyrrik smelled freaking incredible is what. I took another deep breath and let the scent wash over me. Like pine needles and smoke and leather. Slap me with a pancake and call me a potato! I could exist on that smell alone. I loved it so much I could roll around in it, lick it up like syrup, I could . . . I blinked through the sudden fog of desire surrounding me. “N-nothing?”
“Ryn,” Tyrrik said through clenched teeth, backing away from me. “You need to rein it in.” His nostrils flared.