THE DRAGON SLEPT IN its dragon form, twined several times over around the base of the altar. It woke the moment they entered, lifting brow ridges to reveal its spectacular water-gray eyes.
Kirin stopped, lips parted, unafraid but desperate. Nothing realized he was looking past the dragon at Sky.
Had he even noticed the river spirit?
Nothing said, “Selegan, do you remember Kirin Dark-Smile? May he approach?”
But the prince was already crossing the floor. The dragon’s scales rippled, and its wings unfolded, drawing in two wide arcs over the altar. It lifted itself upright, claws against the stone, and crouched across Sky. It did not threaten, merely watched Kirin curiously as he halted.
“The prince,” the dragon said.
“Hello, Selegan River spirit,” Kirin said coolly.
The dragon vanished, replaced in the very instant with the youth, wide-eyed and silver-blond. They tilted their head sideways.
Kirin bowed shallowly, and the dragon returned the gesture. To Nothing it seemed two powerful spirits greeted each other as equals.
“He fought me for you,” the dragon said.
“He shouldn’t have, but I am glad you both survived.”
Nothing walked to the head of the altar and put her hands on either side of Sky’s face. He was warm and slept with the same deep peace as before. His face was less sunken, the color better, only a little darkened under his eyes and pale around his mouth. “Wake up!” Nothing commanded.
Sky’s eyes flew open and he gasped in pain, wincing as he tried to sit.
“Sky,” said Kirin, shocked, and Nothing reached for Sky’s shoulder. The warrior slumped back against her hands, one of his arms wrapping his left side.
“Aren’t you better?” Nothing demanded.
But Kirin was there, standing beside the altar with a hand barely touching Sky’s forearm. The prince breathed carefully, expressionless except the anxiety flaring his nostrils and the hope in his honey eyes.
“Kirin.” Sky leaned back onto his elbow, propped there, and with his other arm reached for Kirin. He touched Kirin’s mouth, brushing strong fingers tenderly at the prince’s bottom lip.
Nothing looked quickly away.
“Is it you?”
Kirin said, “It’s me.”
The dragon came to Nothing’s side. It murmured, “That was chaotically done.”
Nothing pursed her lips, annoyed. “I had no instruction.”
Then Sky said her name, and she turned back to the altar, bracing herself.
Sky put his hand on her cheek, cupping her face. His brow was low, his brown eyes intense. “Are you well?”
She nodded. His fingers tightened briefly against her, uncoiling her nerves. He was glad to see her; she didn’t know why she’d been afraid.
“I’m starving,” he said, swinging his legs off the altar. He groaned softly, favoring his left side. His back was bare, as was the rest of him. His muscles rippled as he perched at the edge, blanket draped over his lap. Nothing traced the line of his spine with her eyes, the broadening of his torso and shoulders; blotches of faded greenish yellow marked bruises, but there remained no scabs or remnants of open wounds. Only his old purple scars.
She glanced up and met Kirin’s gaze over Sky’s shoulder. The prince had been doing the same, cataloging injuries. Nothing said, “There is plenty of food here, and we’ll find—or ask for—some clothes.”
The dragon piped up. “I can go for such things. I would like to, warrior.”
Sky hesitated, then dropped his head in thanks. “You honor me, Selegan River.”
“You were a fool,” Kirin said sharply. “To attack it.”
Sky tapped his fist against Kirin’s chest. “I thought…” He sighed gruffly and flattened his hand across Kirin’s heart. His fingers reached far, being so large, splayed possessively against the deep-red gown. Kirin covered the hand with his own.
“Sky,” Kirin said.
“What’s happened? How did we get here?”
“You were asleep, healing, for… three days?” Nothing said.
“Three days.” Sky glowered.
Kirin’s whole body suddenly twitched, and he leaned forward to kiss Sky. The jagged movement spoke loudly that he’d been holding himself back the entire time they’d been in the room.
Nothing left in the dragon’s wake, hurrying before either could notice and call out. She darted from the chamber and pressed her back to the rough wall of the corridor. Eyes shut, she swallowed the longing that threatened to overwhelm her again. Not for either of them, not for what they had, but for something. Something of her own.
She wondered if the great demon of the Fifth Mountain had wanted anything.
“I’ll have to ask the sorceress,” she whispered to herself.
“I’m here.”
Squeaking her surprise, Nothing flung away from the wall, whirling to face the sorceress.
A private smile graced the sorceress’s lips. Nothing glowered, hating to be caught out asking for her.
“Would you like to see my library now?” the sorceress asked innocently. She held out her hand.
Nothing slid hers against the open palm.
TWENTY-THREE
THE SORCERESS’S TOUCH WAS cold and dark, and Nothing closed her eyes. There was a soothing note to the darkness that she enjoyed, like the tension of a delicious promise.
“What does it feel like to you?” the sorceress asked.
Nothing frowned and pulled her hand away.
A sly smile brightened the sorceress’s face. She reached slowly toward Nothing, and when Nothing didn’t reject it, the sorceress’s fingers gently skimmed her jaw.
Darkness flickered and snaked along the edges of Nothing’s self, in her peripheral vision but also somehow in other senses. Something in her reached for it, and she told herself it was curiosity. But it was more than that: it was aspiration.
“To me your touch is warm,” the sorceress said. “And full of firelight.”
“Oh,” Nothing whispered, longing. She liked it.
“Do you like it?”
Nothing gasped and pulled away again.
The sorceress nodded and turned to lead Nothing down the corridor.
“Sorceress?”
She paused.
Nothing asked, “Where does my power come from?”
“The aether. That is where all magic comes from.”
The sorceress turned to go again, but Nothing said, “I thought demons were cut off from the aether.”
“Not great demons,” the sorceress called over her shoulder.
Reeling a little, Nothing tried to walk as smoothly as the sorceress, who seemed to glide through the obsidian corridor. The sorceress wore a long, elegant gown in pink and black, her arms hidden in trailing sleeves, and tiny heeled slippers on her feet. She’d left her tricolored hair down but for a few pieces wound with creamy orange orchids. The flowers were exactly the size of her mouth.
Nothing wrinkled her nose and forced herself to think about eleven murdered girls before she thought about kissing the sorceress.
Before too long the sorceress brought her into the library with its vaulted ceiling, narrow wooden shelves, and long tables displaying massive books, skulls, elaborately carved boxes, jewelry, and weapons. More, but Nothing was overwhelmed at cataloging it. She drifted down between two shelves that reached nearly to the toothy, glittering stalactites of the ceiling and touched the spines of many books: some leather bound, some cloth, some bound in metal and scaly skin and possibly worse. Magic books, she thought, though others were thin and marked like accounting books. Some were stamped with the empire’s sigils, others text and characters Nothing did not recognize.