I didn’t know whether to punch him or laugh. Or cry. My shoulders softened, and I spoke. “So this is goodbye?”
The twinkle left his eyes. “I doubt I’ll be permitted to visit your realm for many years. Maybe not until you’re an old woman. All pruny and wrinkled, with seventeen great-grandchildren.” He snorted in distaste. “See, your hair is already starting to gray.”
I let out a laugh. “White,” I corrected, combing through the snow-touched locks with my fingers. “It turned white from using the Wraith’s pearl, not from age.”
“Same difference.” Seryu waved a dismissive hand. His sleeves and robes were already dry, unlike mine. A useful enchantment.
He was in a mercurial mood, his true thoughts impossible to decipher. But when he spoke again, he sounded strangely gentle. “If you do end up marrying that lordling, I hope they take after you, not him.”
“Who?”
“Those great-grandchildren,” he replied, tartly now. “Gods forbid they be dull and stiff-necked.”
I couldn’t help defending Takkan. “He isn’t dull and stiff-necked. You barely spoke to him!”
“Something I regret deeply,” Seryu replied. “He should know I won’t be saving you again, so he had better be up to the task.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You do realize I’m capable of saving myself from time to time.”
“Even still. With all the trouble you get into, Shiori…all the trouble you’re going to get into…you need whatever help you can get. Make sure he knows that.” After a pause, he said, “Make sure he deserves you.”
There came a twinge in my heart, and my hands fell to my sides. Not long ago, I could have imagined falling in love with Seryu. If Raikama had never cursed me, if I’d never spent that winter in Iro, it might have been him that I longed for, not Takkan.
But that would have made for a different story. Not this one.
“He does,” I said softly, “deserve me.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” grunted Seryu. “I’ll be visiting those great-grandchildren, you know, and telling them stories about you. Unflattering stories, to repay all the grief your friendship has given me.”
I hid a smile. For all his churlish remarks, Seryu was trying hard to be impassive and dragon-like. But I knew him better than that.
“Tell them some nice things too,” I said lightly.
He grunted again. “I suppose I’ll have time to think of some.”
Seryu arose now and turned for the sea. His horns were growing—the first sign that he was beginning to transform back into a dragon.
“Wait!” I shouted after him. “Don’t forget this.”
I held out the necklace he had given me what felt like a lifetime ago and pressed it into his palm.
“Don’t you dare say it,” he muttered, hooking his claws through the necklace.
“Say what?”
“All those idiotic Kiatan farewells: ‘May our strands cross again’ and, worse yet, ‘May the luck of the dragons be with you.’ If you say such things, I’ll have no choice but to drag you back into the sea.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. “Farewell, my friend,” I whispered. I’ll miss you, I wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat.
Instead, I hugged him.
The dragon was caught off guard and immediately stiffened, but he didn’t push me away. Before he could utter anything that might ruin the moment, I pressed my lips to his cheek. A kiss, like the one I’d given him all those months ago by the Sacred Lake the first time we’d said goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”
Seryu’s breath hitched, and his skin felt far too warm for him, a cold-blooded dragon. He drew back and, mustering a lofty tone, said, “It would never have worked between us, being companions and all. We’re both far too proud—and I’m far too magnificent.”
I tilted my head but didn’t speak. I knew he wasn’t finished.
His voice went solemn. “All the same, I’m glad to have known you, Shiori. You’re interesting, for a human. When you look into the sea, think of me sometimes.”
“I will,” I said softly.
As he whirled, a hard gust of wind made me fall back into the sand. By the time I got up again, all I saw was a splash in the water—followed by a sharp flare of sunlight. I shielded my eyes, trying to stare through the light to glimpse the dragon’s tail.
But Seryu was gone.
For a long time, I watched the water, half wishing he might bubble up again.
Kiki landed on my shoulder. I’ll miss that dragon, horns and all. She peered up when I said nothing. You all right, Shiori?
No, I wasn’t.
Seryu’s strand and mine had been knotted once, tied so closely by fate that we had almost been bound forever. Now I wasn’t sure whether they would ever cross again.
The taste in my mouth was bittersweet, and I swallowed hard, finally answering: “I will be.”
I will be. I pulled myself to my feet and wrung my skirt of seawater. “Come, Kiki, it’s time to go home.”
Sand kneaded between my toes as I hiked across the beach, chasing the rolling hills in the distance, the curved red roofs that peeked out from behind a sprawling wall of pine trees.
Gindara. The palace. Home.
In a few hours, I’d be back. Maybe in time for lunch with my brothers—and Father, whom I hadn’t seen in over a year.
Look! Kiki cried, spying ships. Your father’s sent the navy to greet you!
An entire fleet was assembled behind the sea cliffs, crowding Kiata’s coastline with brilliant red sails and banners.
My throat tightened. I replied in a low voice, “Those are A’landan ships.”
I clambered up the dunes to higher ground and shielded my eyes from the sun, squinting to figure out why A’landan ships were docked on Kiatan shores. But it was impossible to see from so far away.
Nine Hells, Kiki uttered. Has Kiata been conquered?
Six months ago, when I left, relations with A’landi had grown increasingly volatile. Had the situation escalated while I was in the dragon realm?
“It’s too early to make assumptions,” I replied as calmly as I could, but my fists were clenched at my sides. Answers would come once I reached Gindara.
Or sooner.
In the middle distance, a group of men were calling my name. “Princess Shiori!”
The coast’s keen winds distorted their voices, but I recognized their crimson-feathered helmets. I’d grown up surrounded by them.
My father’s sentinels.
Relief washed over me. I straightened my back and squared my shoulders, trying to summon an air of royalty. There was little I could do about the sand clinging to my cheeks or the kisses of algae in my hair, but I could at least stand like a princess.