The uncomfortable distance between them which Pax had created when he’d walked away remained, growing stronger throughout the day. Physically he stayed close, but the way he held his large body, the way he looked at her — the change was sharp and disconcerting.

She’d liked it so much better when he’d held her and asked her to stay, to dance, to live. As if such a life might ever be a choice for her. She could dream, she could fool herself for a while, but she knew her path in life had already been set, and it did not include Pax, love, or dancing.

Since she’d warmed the water on that morning, Linara decided to try again to discover what powers might manifest. Being away from the amulet for some time, being fed, and being free from Stasio and her own half-demon sisters, allowed a part of her that had been sleeping to wake. A little. She felt something new inside her, and when she imagined that what she felt was like the slivers of light in the dragonstone, she could control it.

She might need all her powers to kill the dragon.

All that day, and the next, and the next, Linara worked to bring the new light inside her to life. It wasn’t easy, but she worked hard and the light — light bright and dark — grew stronger. Once, as she stood a distance away from the cave where the stone was so powerful, Stasio crept into her mind. Do not delay.

She forced him out with a mental warning and erected a barrier so strong she felt him flinch before he disappeared.

Was it possible that he was out of her mind for good? If she prayed, she would pray it was so.

Barefoot on the cool stone, dressed only the white shift that she’d worn beneath her sturdier traveling gown — which was now much the worse for wear — she concentrated on her abilities, her spirit, and the essence of the stone that seemed to feed her much as her companion had. On occasion a breeze would whip around her, cool and strong, but she felt no pain in it, not even the slightest discomfort.

As she worked, Pax ignored her. Hadn’t he said he would leave? He remained, and did not seem at all inclined to head down the mountain. She didn’t ask him again to go. This was, after all, his home, not hers. That wasn’t to say nothing had changed. When she went to the pond, she went alone. When she slept, he did not join her. He did not touch her. Now and then he wandered away without explanation, to hunt or perhaps just to get away from her. She missed him, she missed his touch, but she would not beg. Not for him or for anything else.

On the fourth day, all that she’d been working for seemed to click into place. She had worked a wooden puzzle once, and it was much like that, as one piece and then another fell together. The world shifted; the world was hers. She felt everything, in the air, in the stone, in the water. She felt, intensely, the life on this mountain. The Anwyn and Caradon. The animals. The trees. All aspects of this land filled her, intense and powerful, beautiful and fierce.

She lifted her hand and created a fire on her palm. With a thought, it extinguished as quickly as it had been born. She took a deep breath and exhaled, and a cool breeze whipped around her. Even in the distance, the trees swayed with that breath. The colors within her, the tendrils of power, spread out and grew.

Knowledge was hers; she saw so much. Her family was well, though danger crept near them. She frowned. The family was divided, but all were alive and well. She wished for details, but could see none. Her parents were never separated for long, but while they were currently safe, they were not together. Was that Stasio’s doing? She could not be sure, but she suspected that was the case.

The world was at war, with pockets of peace as well as pockets of horror. Armies marched. Her demon sisters attacked.

The dragon flew.

For years, Stasio had invaded her mind without invitation, without warning. He had nudged, cajoled, and threatened. Standing on this mountain she now thought of as hers, she pushed into his thoughts.

Threaten my family again, and I will gut you. I can do it from here.

She felt his response. The dark wizard was alarmed, and then he was pleased. Before she ended the connection he spoke to her with an annoying smugness.

Nice to finally meet you, Ksana.

* * *

The village was a welcomed sight. Finally! Val had a simple plan. She would collect her horse and the sheath Cyrus had made for Kitty, and then she’d move on. Even though it was late in the day, she wouldn’t spend the night here, not with her relatives, and certainly not with Cyrus’ family. She’d collect what she needed and ride away from the Village of the Turis to be alone again. It was time.

She would follow Kitty’s lead and join the fight she was destined to lead. She wasn’t sure where or how just yet, but something in her whispered North. She had heard that was where the fiercest battles had been fought in the past year, so it made some sense.

And what of Uryen? That was another reason to move on quickly. Val knew that if no one was with her, she would put no one’s life in danger. Cyrus could’ve been killed. That was an unpleasant thought. He was a friend, after all. The only one she had!

Soldiers died in war, she knew that, but Cyrus was no soldier. He was a farmer’s son, one who had supposedly prophetic dreams and worked with leather, but still, a farmer. He was strong, thanks to years of helping his father, and he was at least moderately intelligent. It had been nice to have him along as a companion, for a while. Still, he was not a soldier.

She did not want him to die.

Her friend did not ask her to stay, or wonder aloud if she would visit her family before moving on. He knew better. Cyrus left Val at his family’s kitchen table with hot cider, oatcakes, and a bowl of hearty stew, while he slipped away to collect her horse. She didn’t want to see her cousins, didn’t want to be told that she needed to stay and wait for her father or — horrors — find out that he was already here, waiting for her.

Trust no one. Need no one. See this war won and then, maybe…

No, no maybes. Not yet.

Val thanked Cyrus’ shy mother for the food. The woman kept her eyes lowered and clasped her hands, when those hands weren’t busy with her womanly work. Was she always so shy or was she afraid of the warrior who’d just scarfed down a large meal in her home? Val was accustomed to people looking at her as if she were strange, avoiding her at all costs, acting as if by being in her presence they, too, might be called upon to fight.

She wasted no time or words trying to break through Mistress Bannan’s fear. Sincere thanks delivered, Val walked out of the rear door. A large garden, much of it newly planted, grew close by. There were early vegetables that could withstand the cool nights, as well as many new plants that would be bursting with produce come summer. Beyond there were fields where Cyrus’ father and brothers worked. It was a nice sight, pleasant, green, and peaceful. She soaked the sight in, as she knew there was not much in the way of peace before her.

Only minutes passed before Cyrus rounded the corner of the house, leading the mare Val had left with her cousins. She was relieved and afraid, ready and reticent.

Her time had come.

She took the reins and patted Snowflake on the neck. “I hope my kin gave you no trouble.”

Cyrus blushed a little. “I saw no one. I thought it best to quietly…”

“Steal my horse for me,” Val finished when he faltered.

He smiled. The blush faded. “Yes. I thought that would be best.”

He had been hiding the sheath he’d made for Kitty behind his back, and he whipped it out with some small fanfare. It was indeed beautiful, though she hesitated in telling him so. She did not need beauty; she needed things — and people — with purpose.

But the V he had worked into the leather was special, she’d admit. Even the flowers on the other side were unexpectedly detailed and elegant. His work was fine, perfectly fashioned, without flaw. She took the offered sheath, immediately running one hand along the soft leather to show her appreciation. She asked Cyrus to hold Kitty while she strapped on the thin belt that was attached. Neither of them, not the friend or the weapon, cared for the arrangement.

As soon as the belt and sheath were properly positioned, she took Kitty from Cyrus and slipped the blade into its place. It was a perfect fit.

She felt a real and true warrior, now, with the promised sword, a proper sheath, and Snowflake. Her time had come. Finally!

A part of her wanted to close the short distance that separated them, go up on her toes, and kiss Cyrus’ mouth. Nothing romantic, or anything, just a thanks.

Of course, she had not kissed his mother in thanks for the food.

“Thank you for your assistance, and for the fine scabbard,” she said in a firm voice. Her tone was that of a soldier, not a woman. Or a girl. “I’m sorry you were injured.”

He lifted an easy hand to the side of his head, which they had wisely cleaned well before Cyrus’ mother could see the evidence of his injury. “It was nothing.”

No, it was something, but she didn’t dare extend the conversation. She nodded once and started walking, leading her horse through a field so she could reach the road without being seen.

She had not gone far when Cyrus called out, “I can come with you.”

Val stopped, turned, and looked at him. He was disturbingly handsome. “No. But thank you for the offer,” she added, a bit belatedly. She turned from him once more, and this time when he spoke to her, telling her that she should not do this alone, she ignored him. Something must’ve flown into her eyes, dust or pollen perhaps, because she teared up a little.

She reached the road, glanced in both directions to make sure she was alone, and mounted her horse. And as she rode away, she wondered if she’d ever see Cyrus Bannan again.

* * *

Linara had changed in the days she’d spent honing her skills. With every passing hour, she became more confident, surer of herself. Pax watched from a distance. He growled. He’d liked her better when she’d been a simple girl intent on killing him.

At the moment she was a powerful demon, still intent on killing him.

She did not know he was the dragon. How could she? So why did he feel betrayed that she had not given up her quest? Why was he angry that she wouldn’t leave behind all that she knew — war, magic, missions — for him?

Pax had not given up on his quest for a mate, but it might be many more years before he found that for which he searched. He would continue with his life until that time; he would know pleasure and purpose. For a short while, he had thought Linara could be a part of that pleasure and purpose. He had chosen her.

She had not chosen him.

Night fell, and he continued to watch. By night the colors of her soul were more distinct than they were by daylight. Brighter, more vivid, easier to discern. She had always had some black in her aura, but that black had been muted by the other colors of the rainbow. Colors that represented goodness, compassion, even love. The full moon seemed to emphasize the brightness and the darkness of her.

She had taken to wearing nothing but a loose, white underthing, a simple dress of sorts, that allowed her complete freedom of movement. She had set her boots aside days ago, and was always barefoot. If she was bothered by the cold that lingered here at the top of the world, she did not allow it to show. She seemed to like the feel of stone against the soles of her feet. He suspected she had found a connection to the earth, with her feet against the stone of this mountain.

As she made a small pile of broken dragonstone dance around her, the love in her all but disappeared. The black grew. Some of the other colors darkened as well. His heart fell. His heart should have nothing to do with her.

He should kill her now. Tonight. Before she became so powerful that she could not be killed. He could take his dragon form and cook her, as he had cooked the others like her, or he could take her head with his sword. She would not see the threat coming; she believed him to be caught in her spell. By the time she realized his intent it would be too late.

But he remained where he was, watching.

He had never before been conflicted. An uncertain dragon. That was a disturbing thought.

The stones Linara had been manipulating were guided to the ground, where they clinked together musically as they came to rest. When that was done, Linara looked at him. He’d only thought he was hidden in this stand of trees. She’d realized all along that he was there. That he watched. Did she have any idea what he’d been thinking?

A new trick: She snapped her fingers, and a fire leaped to life on the pile of small rocks. It was an entrancing and colorful fire, and she was beautiful in the light that fire cast around the clearing.

“Did you bring supper?” she asked.

Pax moved forward, and as he stepped into the circle of light he lifted the three small animals carried in his right hand. “Two tilsi and a piglet.”

“That will do nicely. I’m starving.”

Starving? Not for game, he suspected. “I’m sure training yourself to be an evil power works up quite an appetite.”

He saw the anger in her, the ire, the possibility of violence. And then those all faded, and he saw in her acceptance. “It does. And you know full well that I need more than tilsi and pork.”

“Am I to feed myself with the meat so you can feed on me?”

And now, sadness. “Yes.”

“If I refuse?”

She could take what he refused to give; she was that strong. Or soon would be.

“Then I will leave. I will trek down this mountain until I find another man and take from him what you will not give me.”

Dangerous as she was, he did not want her to kiss another man, much less…

“If your touch weakens me will you stop, as you offered to do in the past?”

“If I can,” she whispered.

If she was too far gone she would’ve lied to him, but she told the truth. She had always told him the truth.

He wondered when the time would come that he would do the same.