Fynn was wrong—this was worse than a spear to the chest, Sol using her departure to sway his decision in her favor. “And what will you do with him in Nedros?” he asked mildly. “Having Draven will be dangerous enough.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Sol dismissed impatiently. “Fynn, please.”
Wind crackled in his veins, snapping at his insides as if to mock his resolve. “We barely have enough food to sustain us,” he tried. “That thing is just another mouth to feed.”
“Actually,” Amael cut in. “Nevis’ are an aquatic type of dragon. They prefer fish.”
Fynn gritted his teeth. “Of course they do.”
Sol bounced on the heels of her feet, Indyr rattling in her arms. “If you teach me how, I’ll fish for his food.”
Regarding the beast with wary eyes, Fynn took a single step closer. “Sol,” he strained, dropping his voice as if his friends might not hear. “I am terrified of dragons.”
The Princess frowned. “I know,” she said, and not without sympathy. “But Indyr is nothing to be afraid of. I’ll keep him away from you. Please don’t make me abandon him here alone.”
He breathed with the aid of his wind, a gentle draft stirring the space around him. Indyr lifted his head, sniffing at the air as if he could sense the Captain’s Magic. Fynn cringed and looked at Sol, at her jutted bottom lip and the plea in her eyes. He knew that if she weren’t holding the dragon, she’d drop to her knees and beg.
Fynn shuddered with resignation. “Opposite sides of the ship,” he conceded grimly. “At all times. And if it bites a single person on my crew, I’ll chain it to the anchor and toss it to the bottom of the—”
A solid, would-be blissful weight crashed into the Captain’s chest as Sol hugged him around his middle. She’d thrust Indyr into Amael’s arms, then threw her own around Fynn’s neck to squeeze the air back out of him. “Thank you,” she cried, and didn’t care that Fynn did not embrace her. “I promise, he won’t be a bother.”
“I’m glad my suffering will be worth it to you.”
It may have been a half-hearted jab, but Sol didn’t care about that, either.
He waited until she let him go, until she scooped Indyr from Amael’s arms and twirled the dragon in a circle. And as she cooed at the beast and spoke to it like one would a child, Fynn turned to his friends and pointed his finger in accusation. “You’re both going to burn for this,” he said dismally. “For stabbing me in the back. You know how much I hate dragons.”
Riel snorted. “Stop being so dramatic,” she replied. “At the very most, we staged a mutiny.”
Amael smiled thinly before lumbering after Sol, the Princess of Sonamire chatting victoriously with Indyr. It tugged at something in Fynn’s heart, her vibrant eyes and the unabashed happiness she exuded. He’d felt that same way the day he’d rescued her in Valestorm.
His Quartermaster clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you’re afraid of them,” she said meaningfully. “But this will be good for her—for both of them. Amael is gutted.”
He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t find anything?”
Riel shook her head. “Nothing. He’s got no idea where they went, or why they might have left.” She paused before adding, “Supposedly.”
Fynn angled himself towards her entirely. “You think he’s lying?”
“I think he might be.”
He rubbed at the tension in his jaw.
To Hell with the godsdamned Dragon’s Heart, and to Hell with Amael and Sol. He could not get off this island fast enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SOL
In all the weeks the Princess of Sonamire had spent on the Refuge, she had never seen the crew refuse to tend to their morning duties. They had always done so without complaint, without any hesitation at all. But this morning, when the first of them had risen from the planks, it’d been different.
Much to her own chagrin, Riel had roused Sol into consciousness with a swift kick to her shoulder. She’d groaned and swatted her away, Draven snarling at them both for the disturbance, but Riel had only laughed and booted Sol onto her back. “Give me the dragon,” she’d demanded, and before Sol’s eyes had even had the chance to snap open, Riel had yanked Indyr from her arms.
“Riel, wait—”
“It’s time for breakfast,” Riel had cooed, ignoring Sol entirely. “Who’s a hungry little dragon?”
He was still with her now at midday, stumbling across the deck and chasing after the Quartermaster with a forked tongue lolling from his mouth. Riel jogged backwards, an apple held in one hand to lure Indyr into following her. His clawed feet carved gouges into the planks as he tried and failed to run against the Emerald’s current.
Indyr’s crystalline scales were bright beneath the sun, fracturing the rays into beams of colorful light. A living sculpture of ice, Sol thought, his pale blue scales like shining shards of beautifully frosted glass. Indeed, Amael had explained that if dragons still possessed their Magic, Indyr would have likely been a Water-Wielder. He’d have likely had a fondness for ice.
She and the boatswain sat together against the mizzenmast, Draven sprawled between them as Amael sliced the skin from an apple. He cut the fruit in half, handing Sol the bigger piece. “He’s settling in well, don’t you think?”
Sol nodded, nibbling at her cut of apple and savoring the bitter sweetness. “The crew enjoys him.”
Enough to ignore their morning duties and play fetch with him, it seemed. Gracia had abandoned her post at the helm to feed him bits of fish that Amael had caught that morning, and even Luca had ventured up from below deck to tote the dragon in his arms. He’d introduced him like a child to the deckhands still wary of what he was.
“Everyone except Fynn.” Amael pointed to the helm with his knife, the blade sticky with the apple juice dripping from its tip. “It’s been three days and he’s made sure to stay clear of both of you.”
Sol frowned. She tipped back her head and squinted against the sunlight.
The Captain was perched at the helm, his mouth still twisted with that same scowl he’d donned since the day they’d left Dryu. Fynn did not look beneath him as he steered, did not watch the members of his crew romp about the deck and play with Indyr. The dragon was waddling after Arden now.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Sol murmured. “Is he truly so afraid of Indyr?”
Amael shrugged and licked his fingers. “Apparently so,” he said. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll come around. Fynn is the type of man to face his fears head-on just to say he conquered them.”
Sol scoffed, finishing off her apple slice. “Indyr is harmless,” she insisted. “Draven was far more likely to rip off his arm when we first met, and Fynn barely batted an eye at him.”
“Indyr is harmless now,” Amael agreed. “But fully grown, there’s no telling what his temperament might be. He’ll likely be as big as this ship, and I pity the people who cross you. Fynn, as dumb as he might be, is right enough to fear that.”