“Wait,” Griff said suddenly.

John’s back was already turned. Face hidden, he squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment, fighting for control. His fists clenched, blunt human fingernails digging into his palms. His true shape pressed tight against the underside of his skin.

No more delays. No more. I will break if I do not return to my true self soon. This form is too weak, too frail, to bear this pain. I need to lock away my heart behind the armor of my scales.

“The time for words has passed, oath-brother,” he said without looking round. “Farewell.”

“Wait,” Griff repeated. He grabbed John’s arm, forcing him to pause. “You still owe me a life-debt. I’m calling it in.”

The sheer affront of it nearly blinded him with sudden rage. He jerked himself free of the griffin shifter’s grip. “I have done you service after service-!“

“Yes, and I have tried time and time again to persuade you that we’re even, and you have never accepted.” Griff met his glare without flinching. “Not even that last time, with Danny and Hayley—you said it didn’t count, because I’d turned out not to need your help after all. Were you lying, all this time? Is the debt paid?”

John made himself breath deeply, twice, in and out, before he could trust himself to speak. “I am a Knight-Poet of the First Water, vowed to candor. I never lie. The debt is not paid.”

It was the deepest gesture of trust a sea dragon could make, to refuse to allow a life-debt to be repaid. It was laying your throat bare to your oath-brother’s blade, confident that he would never use the weapon you had handed him. He’d thought Griff understood that.

I am a fool. Of course no dry-lander can ever truly comprehend our ways.

“Well, I’m calling the debt in now,” Griff said firmly. “I have one last task for you, before you disappear for good. I need you to take Neridia home.”

“Griff.” Neridia had overheard. “Please, don’t.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John caught a glimpse of her stepping forward. He quickly looked away, staring across the room before the sight of her could weaken his resolve yet further.

“It’s, it’s all right.” Her beautiful voice stumbled on the painful lie. “Let John go. Please, don’t torment him any more.“

“I’m sorry, and doubly so if this all turns out to be a mistake. I have a horrible suspicion that even if I’m right, this is just going to make everything worse…but John has to go to your house.”

“My honor,” John grated out through gritted teeth, “is not a leash round my neck for you to jerk at your whim. I warn you, oath-brother, that if you do this we will not part as friends.”

“I know,” Griff said quietly. “But this is too important. Neridia, you need to show John that painting.”

* * *

The journey to Neridia’s dwelling-place seemed endless. She lived on the far side of the loch, which was no distance at all for a sea dragon, but a considerable journey when one was forced to travel by land.

John did not like travelling in cars at the best of times; he had to contort like an eel to fit inside even the largest vehicle, and to have the world streaking past without any effort from his own muscles was deeply disconcerting. To be forced to cram himself into one of the hellish metal devices now, agonizingly aware of Neridia’s bare arm mere inches away from his, was a fresh depth of torment.

Though he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the dark waters of the lake blurring past outside, he could not close his nose to her enticing scent. He breathed as little as possible, tried to find a position that didn’t break his spine, and began to mentally recite the Creed of the Knights of the First Water.

By the time they finally stopped outside a small stone cottage, every bone in John’s body screamed protest at the constant jolting, he’d reached the Forty-Ninth Rule of Honorable Duels…and he was more rigidly hard than he had ever been in his entire life.

“Um. Well,” Neridia said, breaking the silence that had smothered them for the entire journey. She turned off the infernal vehicle. “Here we are.”

John contemplated first whether he could unfold from his contorted position, and secondly whether he wanted to. But his shameful state showed no sign of subsidence. He could only hope that the ridiculously thick, all-enveloping human garments he wore would conceal his lack of self-control.

“I still don’t understand why Griff insisted on this,” Neridia said, as she led him into the house. “Did he say anything more to you?”

“No,” John said, shortly.

John hadn’t given his oath-brother—his former oath-brother—the opportunity to explain himself. Filled with anger at his comrades’ betrayal, he’d stormed out of the ballroom, removing himself from their presence before he lost his temper entirely.

Privately, John was certain that Griff had just been seizing on any excuse to force him to spend more time in Neridia’s presence. Doubtless the griffin shifter’s eagle-sharp senses had allowed him to see just how close to breaking John truly was. He must have hoped that the enforced proximity would push him over the edge.

I will endure. I must endure. Only a few moments more.

His packed hoard, armor and sword were safely stored in the back of Neridia’s vehicle. As soon as he had discharged this ridiculous duty, he could seize them, and disappear into the depths of the lake. He would be gone, and never again have to know the torment of breathing the same air as her, walking on the same land as her, so close and yet so terribly apart.

“Well, this is it.” Neridia gestured uncertainly at a small painting hanging on the wall of the living room. “So? Does it mean anything to you?”

John glanced at the unimpressive thing. “It is a painting of the lake. With a sea dragon in it. There. Honor is satisfied. I shall not trouble you further.“

For fuck’s sake! his inner human yelled at him. Idiot! Look at it!

His inner human’s vehemence caught him off guard. Without his own volition, John’s gaze was dragged back to the tiny painted silhouette.

He still could not see anything special about it, certainly nothing to so agitate his inner human. It was just a sea dragon. Perfect in every detail, from the noble curve of the horned brow to the majestic sweep of the neck-ruff…

Wait.

John had seen many human depictions of sea dragons. They had all been laughably inaccurate. No human had properly seen a sea dragon for thousands of years, after all, not since Atlantis had sank beneath the waves. All humans had to base their fanciful pictures on were half-remembered legends and tall tales.

But this…this sea dragon was painted with utter accuracy, as if drawn from life.

And more than that, it was a very particular sea dragon.

“Who painted this?” John said softly, staring at the unmistakable profile.

“My father,” Neridia said, sounding puzzled. “That’s what Griff asked too. He-what are you doing?”

He’d seized her chin, gently but firmly tipping her face up to the light. Heedless of her muffled protests, he tilted her head first one way, then the other, staring at her features as if seeing them for the first time.

How was I so blind? How could I not see it before?

The elegant arch of her brow, the strong set of her jaw, the glory of her eyes…it was not merely the fact that she was his mate that made every line of her face shine with noble beauty.

“Why are you staring at me?” Neridia jerked free from his suddenly slack hand. “What’s going on?”

“Where is he?”

Neridia took a half-step back, eyes widening in alarm. “I, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He’d spoken in his own language. He fumbled for human words, tongue half-numb with shock. “Where is he? Your, your father, where is he now?”

Neridia’s hand crept up to close around her pearl pendant. “He died four years ago. He-John!”

He’d crashed to his knees, not gracefully, but as if felled by a sword-stroke.

“The Emperor is dead.” Shaking in every muscle, he bowed his head in the full genuflection due to her. “Long live the Empress.”