“Rain’s coming,” Cyrus said.

As they had yesterday, the trio rode in a column. They continued to the north, because Val instinctively knew that was where she was needed. The general led the way. Of course he did. Val rode in the middle, determined to keep her companions — one demon, one a man she cared for — apart. For the safety of the one who was not a shapeshifting demon, of course. She hadn’t slept a wink last night, so she kept yawning and closing her eyes in unnecessarily long blinks. It wasn’t very warrior-like. Her mind was spinning, but her body was exhausted.

“I’m not afraid of getting wet,” General Merin — or not General Merin — said without bothering to look back.

“We’ll need to rest the horses soon in any case,” Val said. “Keep an eye out for a place we might stay dry.”

Could she sleep tonight? Did she dare?

Cyrus agreed. Val’s father grudgingly did the same. It was her father who spotted the dilapidated barn in the distance. They all turned in that direction.

She had searched for clues in the men who accompanied her, and found none. It was annoying. Uryen had apparently learned from her initial mistakes with Cyrus.

A couple of times during the day Val had planned how she might simply slip away. As the others slept. When she went to a pond or a stream to wash up. Maybe when she excused herself for personal matters. She was meant to make this journey on her own! But no. If she left, whichever one was Uryen in disguise might well decide to dispose of the other. The demon was afraid of Val. She was not afraid of anything or anyone else.

And so Val remained.

What she needed was a test of some sort. A way to force Uryen to reveal her true self. She had not yet thought of a proper test, and so they rode on.

A light rain began to fall not long before they reached the barn. The cool mist felt good on Val’s skin. It was invigorating, at a time when she could use it. Neither of the men with her seemed to be bothered at all by the rain.

They were settled under cover, the horses fed and lightly brushed, before the storm was upon them. The barn leaked here and there, but they were all able to claim a dry spot. Maybe they could sleep, and if the rain stopped before sunrise they could set out earlier than usual.

There was no fire tonight, but Cyrus found an old oil lamp and lit it, so they were not in complete darkness.

After they’d passed around water and nuts and oatcakes, her father closed his eyes and seemed to go to sleep instantly. It was an annoying habit he had, being able to sleep anywhere and everywhere. He did not toss and turn. Ever. Was that a sign he was who he claimed to be? Not really.

Cyrus was more prone to fidgeting. He did toss and turn. Constantly.

Since leaving Forbidden Mountain, Val normally fell asleep with her mind spinning, trusting that Kitty would wake her if necessary. Since she hadn’t slept last night, it was unlikely she could stay awake tonight even if she wanted to. Was it safe to sleep? It certainly wasn’t safe for her to continue without it.

Sleep came quickly, as she listened to the patter of rain on what remained of the barn roof. The dreams came soon after. She dreamed, as she so often did, of dragons and death. Of war and treachery. Normally in her dreams she had an army behind her, but on this night they had all turned against her. She was the enemy. She trusted no one and they did not trust her.

Kitty hummed, and Val woke with a start to see Cyrus at her side, so close she was instantly alarmed. He had a hand on Kitty’s blade. No, that was just one finger. One long, sun-browned finger where it did not belong. She did not know how much time had passed since she’d fallen asleep, but the lamp still burned. The rain had moved on, and bright moonlight shone through the wide spaces in the roof. She could see her friend…or not her friend…clearly.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, sitting up and snatching Kitty from him. Him or her? Uryen again, trying to take Kitty while Val slept? Val leaped to her feet and took a fighting stance.

Cyrus rose to his feet, too, though not as smoothly as she had. “I…I was just…I couldn’t sleep, and I swear it seemed the sword was whispering to me…”

Heavens above, it was her. Uryen wore Cyrus’ face again. This time she would have to kill the demon. She had no choice. Her grip tightened. She prepared every muscle in her body for what had to be done.

Her mind was not ready. She hesitated.

“Do it,” her father whispered. “Kill him. He betrayed you. You are destined to kill him. Her,” he corrected. “Kill her.”

Val did not relax her stance, but she did close her eyes. Gods, that was not her father. Not entirely his voice. Not his words at all.

Could she take the head of a demon who wore her father’s face?

What choice did she have?

“What are you waiting for?” Uryen whispered.

Val spun around on one heel. Kitty rose, smooth and deadly. Tears clouding her vision, Val leaped toward her father. Not her father, really, but that was her father’s face, his eyes, his stance. If she hesitated, if she allowed herself to think, all would be lost. She had no time for second thoughts, for wondering if she was right or not. This could not be a mistake.

No, that voice, those words…

It had to be quick. No hesitation. No second thoughts. And still, she did not see a demon before her. She saw the man who had raised her. Father, teacher, a husband who loved his wife. No one, not even his children, could make Tearlach Merin smile the way Bela did. He had taught Val to wield a sword, to fight with her hands, to survive when others might not. He’d laughed at her, hugged her, told her he was proud of her.

And that was his face.

Val swung her sword with strength, with determination. The tears in her eyes made the face she loved go blurry, and that was a gift.

Just before the blade met flesh, those eyes flashed red and her father — Uryen — screeched.

Val screamed, as what appeared to be her father’s head was separated from his body. While that head was in midair, it changed. The hair turned to flame for a moment. The body shifted to that of a slender woman as it dropped to the ground.

And Val continued to scream.

The horses, alarmed by the shrill sounds, whinnied and danced, but thank goodness they were well tethered and could not escape.

Val looked at what remained of Uryen, but in her mind, she still saw her father standing there as she took his head. She saw his face, his curly hair with just a few grays she had given him over the years, and she screamed again.

Eventually, she realized that Cyrus’ hands were on her shoulders, and he spoke to her.

“It’s over.”

No, it has barely begun.

“That was not your father. I should have known.”

I should have known.

“It’s going to be all right.”

At that, Val jerked away and spun on Cyrus. “All right? Have you lost your mind? Nothing is all right. I just killed my father.”

“You killed the demon you were destined to kill.” His voice was maddeningly calm.

“But she looked like my father. When I took her head…” She saw it again, and again, in her mind. Her knees went out from under her, and she dropped to them because she no longer had the strength to stand. The tears came, harsh and ugly, and again she screamed.

Cyrus dropped, too. He wrapped his arms around her. She jerked away, but when he grabbed her again, she fell into him and cried even harder.

“I hate this! I hate it all!”

It was Kitty who whispered, This is who you are, Valora. It is who I am.

“Don’t cry,” Cyrus whispered as he held her close. He even ran one hand through her unruly hair.

Cry, Kitty said forcefully. Cry while you can. It is a luxury you will not have for much longer.

* * *

The rain stopped, and Linara left the shelter of Pax’s wing. By the light of the morning sun, she studied the wound that had brought him down. The wound — delivered by her hand wielding his sword — seemed to have healed a bit. Not enough to suit her. How quickly did a dragon heal? How could she possibly know?

She wondered if it was possible that healing was one of her gifts. You wouldn’t think a demon might possess such a power, but anything was possible. Aunt Juliet was a talented healer, and though Linara had no Fyne blood in her veins, the influence existed. It thrived. That influence was what had kept her from being the terror she’d been born to be.

She had never realized how strong that influence had been, until she’d tried to deny it.

Pax’s eyes opened. He turned his large head slowly and looked at her. She saw it all in his eyes. Pain. Anger. Betrayal. He could decide to kill her here and now. Or later. Or tomorrow. Was one ever truly safe with a dragon? Especially a betrayed dragon.

She would not run. She would not leave him. If he ended her life, then so be it.

“I would like to look at your wound. Can you lift your wing a bit so I can see?”

One eye narrowed. At that moment she could see the similarity between the man and the dragon. The slant. The arch. The sarcasm.

“Yes, I realize I’m the one who cut you. You know why, so don’t give me that look.” He did understand, didn’t he? Otherwise, she’d already be dead.

The wounded wing lifted slightly, and Linara peeked beneath to study the injury more closely. She winced at the ugliness of it, at the gash so near to where she’d slept while it rained. There was little blood. She didn’t know if that was because of the location or if dragons simply didn’t bleed much.

There was so much she didn’t know.

She lifted her hand to the edge of the gash nearest Pax’s body. Heal. She thought the word, and then she whispered it. In the shadow of his wing, she could easily make out the colors that emanated from her fingers. Those tendrils of color touched him, they whipped around and then inside the tear in his flesh. He flinched.

That flinch knocked her back so hard she flew out from the shadows. She lost her breath for a moment. From her new position on her backside, she could see the dragon’s face well.

He looked far too pleased with himself.

“I’m trying to help you,” she snapped.

His expression told her nothing.

For years, Stasio had spoken to her. She had, on more than one occasion, shared thoughts with her half-demon sisters. Could she touch the dragon’s mind as she had on the night they’d first met?

She sat up straight and — before proceeding — made sure the wall she had built against Stasio was strong. He could not see this, could not know the dragon lived. That done, she rocked onto her knees and leaned toward Pax’s large and beautiful head. The scales there possessed all the colors of the rainbow, in darker hues. His wings were beautiful shades of green and blue, but his face possessed more color.

“I’m going to touch you now,” she warned. “Don’t knock me back, please.”

One eye narrowed, and again, she saw the man in the beast.

Moving slowly, she reached toward him. Her fingers brushed against his face. He did not throw her off. Her palm pressed against his scales, and when the touch felt right, she closed her eyes and reached for him.

Yes, he was there. Yes, she could touch his mind. She almost jerked away; she did flinch. But she made herself stay. She did not break the physical connection.

The language of the dragon was one she did not know, and could not speak even if she did understand. The words in Pax’s mind were guttural and harsh, grinding and sharp. Before she could ask him to shift his thoughts to those she could understand, he felt her confusion and did so on his own.

You cut me.

I told you why.

I am not afraid of your wizard. Was it he who told you I was vulnerable beneath my wing?

No one told me. I just swung wildly. Call it luck.

Bad luck, for me. You do the work of your wizard. Do not deny it.

He will kill my mother if he discovers that I did not complete my task.

There was silence for a long moment as Pax took in that information.

Your mother…

The woman who raised me after my birth mother died. Sophie Fyne Varden. You would like her.

She felt his puzzlement, not in words but as an emotion. I like no one.

Linara smiled. You like me.

Grudging acceptance.

I brought you down not only to save you, but to save her. Stasio must believe you are dead.

I am not afraid…

He is afraid of you. Otherwise, he would not have been so desperate to see you dead.

I will kill him. That thought was expressed with such fierce emotion, Linara allowed her hand to fall.

And still, she heard Pax’s thoughts. They remained connected. But first I must heal. Do what you must. I will not throw you off again.

Sitting beside him, legs crossed, sunlight on her face, Linara pressed her fingers against his scales and then, with ease, slid into her healing mode. She knew the ministrations hurt, maybe as much as the wound itself had. Forgive me?

There was a bit more of that guttural language, followed by thoughts she could understand well.

Not yet.