blocked, my breath is blocked, and how can he think I could do this? How can he ask me to kill him? I look around for something—anything—to fix it. To stop this. Myles. “Myles thinks there may be a way to save you, and if I can just—”
“ Myles? He’s dangerous—”
“I know what he is, but are you serious, Eogan? What you’re asking of me . . . I won’t. Not before I have the chance to try. And Myles says—”
“You can’t trust anything he says.” He takes on his trainer tone—the serious one he’d use when Colin or I would take risks too heavy for us. “I’m telling you . . . I’m asking you—”
“I hear what you’re asking! But are you jesting me right now? Your people need you. I need you.” My voice cracks.
His face softens. He flutters a finger down my face, my hair. “I’ve already damaged you enough for one lifetime—there’s no bleeding way I’m doing it again. Or have you forgotten what I did to your parents?”
What a bolcrane. “Don’t you dare use that on me, because honestly? What would you do if I was in your predicament right now?”
He snorts. Then he inhales and pushes a black hand through his black hair, which only succeeds in making it endearingly messy in his all-too-familiar way. “It doesn’t matter because it’s not you. And—”
“Right, it’s not. So are we honestly going to stand here arguing about it when we should be figuring out how to free you?”
He runs a hand through his hair again and eyes me. “I’ve been working on that.”
“And?”
A flash of apology crosses his face.
“I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that.”
“You have to. Otherwise . . .” His voice hardens even as his gaze drops to my lips. “Please believe me that he’s going to hurt you, Nym. And while that may not matter to you, it certain as hulls matters to . . . others.” I watch him swallow as the expression in those beautiful green eyes turns begging. He traces a finger down my cheek. His thumb stops beneath my chin and nearly crumbles me. Abruptly I am dissolving against his chest like paper flowersin a puddle and he is enclosing himself around me. “Listen. When you get to Bron, I need you to find Sir Gowon and explain what’s happened to me. Tell him about Draewulf.” He leans into me so close, as if to ensure only my ear will hear. “Tell him Elegy 96. He’ll know what it means.”
“Will he be able to help you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Eogan, will he be able to help you?”
“Hopefully he won’t need to by th—”
I move my mouth to his so fast to shut him up. He startles, but the next moment his lips are pressing down against mine, drinking in as if he’s been thirsty for emotion and warmth for far too long. Melting me into a tangle of heartstrings as everything I am, everything I thought I’d lost, rises to the surface. I push my fingers into his hair to pull him closer, tighter, because I cannot leave, I cannot breathe, I cannot let go of this moment.
His teeth catch my lip just as the shaking in his body grows stronger. He pulls away. “Promise me you’ll end this.”
I shake my head because nothing in me is ready for this. I still need to know—to find out—what will become of us, of him, of our future. I refuse to answer.
His response is one single nod. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I will not do it. Not when hope is standing here in front of me.
The next thing I know he’s gently edging me aside and placing his hands on the airship railing. His fingers grip down, and when I look up he gives me one last look of apology.
What is he—?
He lunges. I grab for his arm but it doesn’t matter—whatever control he has isn’t enough to throw himself over. His knucklesturn white and his muscles are rippling with the effort. He’s straining forward, but his body won’t move, as if pinned by another force.
His expression collapses in pain just before his body flaps like the air around us.
I grab his shoulders
“ Myles? He’s dangerous—”
“I know what he is, but are you serious, Eogan? What you’re asking of me . . . I won’t. Not before I have the chance to try. And Myles says—”
“You can’t trust anything he says.” He takes on his trainer tone—the serious one he’d use when Colin or I would take risks too heavy for us. “I’m telling you . . . I’m asking you—”
“I hear what you’re asking! But are you jesting me right now? Your people need you. I need you.” My voice cracks.
His face softens. He flutters a finger down my face, my hair. “I’ve already damaged you enough for one lifetime—there’s no bleeding way I’m doing it again. Or have you forgotten what I did to your parents?”
What a bolcrane. “Don’t you dare use that on me, because honestly? What would you do if I was in your predicament right now?”
He snorts. Then he inhales and pushes a black hand through his black hair, which only succeeds in making it endearingly messy in his all-too-familiar way. “It doesn’t matter because it’s not you. And—”
“Right, it’s not. So are we honestly going to stand here arguing about it when we should be figuring out how to free you?”
He runs a hand through his hair again and eyes me. “I’ve been working on that.”
“And?”
A flash of apology crosses his face.
“I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that.”
“You have to. Otherwise . . .” His voice hardens even as his gaze drops to my lips. “Please believe me that he’s going to hurt you, Nym. And while that may not matter to you, it certain as hulls matters to . . . others.” I watch him swallow as the expression in those beautiful green eyes turns begging. He traces a finger down my cheek. His thumb stops beneath my chin and nearly crumbles me. Abruptly I am dissolving against his chest like paper flowersin a puddle and he is enclosing himself around me. “Listen. When you get to Bron, I need you to find Sir Gowon and explain what’s happened to me. Tell him about Draewulf.” He leans into me so close, as if to ensure only my ear will hear. “Tell him Elegy 96. He’ll know what it means.”
“Will he be able to help you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Eogan, will he be able to help you?”
“Hopefully he won’t need to by th—”
I move my mouth to his so fast to shut him up. He startles, but the next moment his lips are pressing down against mine, drinking in as if he’s been thirsty for emotion and warmth for far too long. Melting me into a tangle of heartstrings as everything I am, everything I thought I’d lost, rises to the surface. I push my fingers into his hair to pull him closer, tighter, because I cannot leave, I cannot breathe, I cannot let go of this moment.
His teeth catch my lip just as the shaking in his body grows stronger. He pulls away. “Promise me you’ll end this.”
I shake my head because nothing in me is ready for this. I still need to know—to find out—what will become of us, of him, of our future. I refuse to answer.
His response is one single nod. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I will not do it. Not when hope is standing here in front of me.
The next thing I know he’s gently edging me aside and placing his hands on the airship railing. His fingers grip down, and when I look up he gives me one last look of apology.
What is he—?
He lunges. I grab for his arm but it doesn’t matter—whatever control he has isn’t enough to throw himself over. His knucklesturn white and his muscles are rippling with the effort. He’s straining forward, but his body won’t move, as if pinned by another force.
His expression collapses in pain just before his body flaps like the air around us.
I grab his shoulders
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