“One more time,” Tyrrik said, rubbing his chin. “Then we’ll stop.”

I rolled my eyes. One more attempt would only make me feel like a bigger failure. A Drae-loser. Totally incompetent.

He’d had me shift from my human form to my Drae form and back at least a dozen times, or rather, attempt to shift. I could easily go from Drae to Phaetyn, but the Phaetyn to Drae had been impossible on my own. If Tyrrik touched me? Boom. No problem at all. And now I was seeing webs of black and blue color again. “I’m tired. Let’s just try again later.”

“Come on, Ryn.” He patted his aketon and pulled out the ruby. “One more time, and it’s yours.”

I looked at the gem with mixed feelings. When Tyrrik first showed it to me, I practically salivated, but now the stone represented what I couldn’t do on my own. Disgusted with myself, I waved my hand in dismissal. “Keep it,” I said, turning back toward the cave. “I don’t want it anymore.”

My words weren’t exactly a lie, but they weren’t the full truth, either. I did want the sparkling gem, but we’d set the terms for winning the ruby already, and I had yet to master the current lesson.

So much for it coming naturally.

Khosana, he called. Don’t quit.

I’m not quitting forever. I threw the thought back without looking his way. You said it wasn’t a weakness to call a halt. I’m tired. I’m not progressing. Let me sleep. I’ll try again in the morning. It had been a challenging day after an even more challenging night.

He sighed, and I shrugged it off. Why did he care so much? It wasn’t like it was his fault I couldn’t shift on my own.

The darkness swallowed me whole as I trudged into the cave. My eyes adjusted with a blink, and I scanned for a good place for my golden trinket. I pulled it from my pocket and studied the shiny treasure with a smile I knew was pretty crazy.

I strode through the main chamber, past the pool of nectar, and stopped. I glanced around the space but couldn’t find the goblet Tyrrik used last night. He probably hid it, not that I blamed him. If I remembered correctly, it was gold and encrusted with gems, the perfect chalice for nectar. A perfect addition to, what would be, a glorious horde.

I knelt, feeling the weariness in my body. I dipped my hand into the cool liquid, thinking of how he’d held me in the pool of nectar during my transformation. If I was this tired, Tyrrik must be tired, too. He couldn’t have rested that much in the last two days, and he had expended a lot of energy on my behalf. If I knew how, I’d do something nice for him. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I slurped the sweet goodness eagerly and choked in surprise, sputtering as my taste buds identified water instead of nectar. I was certain I drank several cups full of nectar from the pool last night, and Tyrrik brought me some earlier today. There wasn’t another pool, was there?

I stood and glanced around the chamber, but there was no other pool in sight. Perplexed, I called out for my only source of information. “Tyrrik?”

I turned back toward the front of the cave as he stepped into the darkness. My gaze went to the stemmed goblet in his hand. The bejeweled golden goblet, the cup of my dreams. If I got him to hand it over, I wondered if he’d let me keep it. Or maybe I could steal it while he slept. Would he notice? My covetous thoughts made me stop. What the hay is wrong with me? I’d never been envious of people’s wealth before. I’d never been a thief either.

But he kind of owes me.

“Do you need a drink?” he asked, his voice rumbling through the darkness.

“Do you have any nectar?” I asked. “Somehow the pool turned to water. I swear it was nectar before.” Not that I minded water, but I’d much rather have nectar.

If I hadn’t been watching Tyrrik, I would’ve missed his eyes widening as he inhaled.

“Has it never done that to you before? Did I mess something up?” Drak. “Was it my Phaetyn powers?”

That would be just my luck. I was bad at shifting, and now I’d messed with the nectar in the cave.

Tyrrik shook his head, another dubious non-answer. He went to the pool, dipped the cup in, and then took a sip. After swallowing, he asked, “Did you put your hand in there?”

How would that matter? Last night we’d both been lying in it. Or was he implying he was the magic behind the cave nectar, and I’d messed it up by putting my hand in the water? “Yes,” I said, drawing the single syllable out. “Because you had the only cup . . .”

He took another drink, tilting it up until it was almost gone.

“Hey,” I complained, “I want some. Why are you drinking it all?”

He finished his gluttonous chugging of the fluid and said nothing as he dipped the cup back into the pool and brought it to me.

I took a sip and narrowed my eyes at the lingering sweetness on my tongue. “It was water before,” I insisted before draining the goblet. I held the beautiful treasure, but my gaze went to the pool. “If I go over there and dip this in, am I going to ruin it again?”

Tyrrik studied me with pursed lips.

We were back to that again. “You know, I’m pretty much over the whole let’s-keep-secrets-from-Ryn thing. In fact, I think I was really clear yesterday.” Was that only yesterday? “About how I felt. We had a good day today, as far as trust goes, up until now—”

Tyrrik took the goblet from my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. With a gentle tug, he led me to the pool. “It has to do with our kind. How our males and females balance each other’s powers. I can’t make výživa, what you call nectar, for myself; no Drae can. This pool is water until one of us makes nectar for the other.”

“You’ve been making it for me this whole time?” I waited for his nod. “How do you do it?”

A teasing gleam entered his eyes as he waved a finger in the air. “I will it, knowing it will help you heal and replenish your energy. It’s just a matter of wanting that.”

“For another Drae,” I ventured slowly.

He paused before giving a quick jerk of his head.

“So we’re dependent on each other for nectar?” I asked. My thoughts, however, weren’t on how I could never make nectar for myself. All I could think was Tyrrik wouldn’t have had any since his enslavement to Irdelron. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to make it for him. It seemed . . . personal. Too personal.

A slow smile spread across the Drae’s face, his dark eyes lighting. “We’re interdependent.”

He let go of my hand and knelt at the edge of the pool. He dipped the cup into the water, took a sip, and then handed it to me. “More?” It’s an honor to serve you nectar.

My eyes widened at the errant thought, and I hurried to school my features, certain I hadn’t been meant to hear it. I took the goblet, and blinked at the deep sincerity I felt from him as our skin touched. I gulped the nectar to cover the moment, and the sweet drink soothed my throat and nerves, then my aching muscles.

I drank every last drop, even licking the rim.

With a totally straight face, Tyrrik said, “I guess this means you like my nectar.”

I blanched. “You did not just say that.”

Tyrrik cracked a joke? Was the world ending? I thought back to my fake dungeon buddy, Ty, and his funny quips when we were in the dungeon. I supposed Ty was Tyrrik, so . . . It took a few moments for my head to wrap around my altered perspective of the Drae—all the funny quips really came from Tyrrik. If I hadn’t known Ty, fake as he’d been, I would’ve never known Tyrrik had a sense of humor.

He stepped forward until he was in my personal space and wrapped his hands over the jeweled chalice in my grip. “Oh, come on,” he said. “I could’ve said much worse than that.”

My heart pounded, running a race I would never win. “Here,” I said, thrusting the cup into his hands. “I’m good now.”

I fled into the depths of the cave, Tyrrik’s throaty chuckle chasing me. If I were to turn around, I’d see him, but some part of me, a rather large part, was terrified of meeting his eyes and standing too close. Why did I feel so unsure? Was it a Drae power thing? I’d never been unsure around him. At the start, I was so scared I could’ve peed my skirt, but unsure? Never. His place in relation to mine had always been clear and easy to navigate.

I wandered through several caverns, searching for a secure place for my treasure. Plus, I wanted a comfortable place to sleep. I meandered for a while, not in any hurry to get back, looking for somewhere safe. Every room I entered felt off, and eventually, my Drae instincts led me back to the cavern with the pool in it.

Tyrrik was lying in one of the indentations in the wall. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern.

Disappointment and relief pulsed through me, but I told myself it was probably for the best—though what I meant by that I didn’t want to dissect. I paced around the cavern, letting my thoughts unravel the last few days. It wasn’t Tyrrik’s fault my emotions were all over the place or that I was irritable. For being so bodily tired, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

“You still don’t trust me,” he whispered across the darkness.

“Hmm, what?” I responded, deflecting. There were three more indentations in the wall, all three near Tyrrik, which made me all kinds of nervous, but to not go over there would prove his point. I mentally kicked myself, wishing there was a way to block my emotions so he couldn’t read me.

“There is,” he said after a pause. “I’ll teach you tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Will I be able to do it?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. “Or is it going to be like shifting? Because that would kinda defeat the purpose, right? If you had to help me block you.” My weak chuckle trailed off almost instantly. It hadn’t been my best joke.

He shifted, rolling to his side to face me. “What would it take for you to trust me again?”

I grimaced. That question didn’t leave much avoidance wriggle room. “For real?”

Lying in a dug out hole was more appealing than facing Tyrrik, so I crossed the room, feeling his gaze on me. Creeper. I didn’t throw the insult with the same vehemence I had weeks ago. I guess the nectar and his help had softened me. That discovery unnerved me to no small degree. I climbed into the space farthest from him, a whole arm span. At least I could look at the ceiling of my cubby and know his eyes weren’t on me.

“Will you please tell me?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and thought of Tyrrik and our interactions to date. There were many of them if I included the conversations with Ty and Tyr—which I guessed I had to as much as I didn’t want to. Tyrrik must have felt so alone for so long with his only consistent company the twisted Irdelron or a few dozen Druman children Tyrrik had been forced to spawn. The blood oath had caused him excruciating pain, both physical and emotional, for one hundred years, and he’d no hope of escape. Until he found me. If I were in his situation, I might have been a little desperate to be free too. No matter the cost to others.

“The cost to others was all I thought about,” he corrected, his voice aching with a depth of pain that made my heart hurt.

Relieved, but distrusting, I pressed him. “Why did you lie? The entire time. You lied, played with my emotions, and now, somehow, I feel guilty because I don’t trust you and you want me to. But how can I? How do I know you’re not just playing”—with my heart—“some game again? Or that you have an ulterior motive like last time?”

He sucked in a breath. “You think it was all a lie? You believe that?”

I remembered Tyr’s gentle caress . . . the sweetness of his kiss. I thought of the tears he’d shed while wiping away my blood after Jotun beat me. I recalled the jokes and hope Ty gave me, his companionship. However, through Ty, Tyrrik had betrayed my plans, our plans, for the rebels to free us, the plans he’d helped me make, to Irdelron. Tyrrik had killed Arnik and all of those rebels. The Drae had put so many people in danger . . . even me, so he could break his blood oath.

“So we could be free,” he said. “All of us. Is what I did really any different than what Caltevyn or Dyter did?”

“You hurt me,” I said with difficulty. “A lot.” So much I wondered if I would ever be able to trust anyone again.

I’d always thought I’d be able to tell if someone was lying to my face. I’d seen other people in love before, matches where one partner lied or cheated, and wondered how someone could be blind to their partner’s duplicity. I never thought I’d be one of those blind fools. I never thought I’d love someone with those qualities.

“I did lie. And I hated it. If I could’ve come up with any other way to break the oath, I would’ve.”

His words rang with honesty . . . but then, they’d done that before too. “So you say,” I mumbled, rolling toward the wall. “It’s been less than a week, and I don’t know if I have it in me to forgive that kind of thing. Just don’t deceive me anymore.”