17

They left the village with no trouble. Cyrus remained close to Greyson's side, and he didn't say anything, which wasn't unusual. He was always quiet, but this silence felt more pensive than normal. They continued north, up the side of the mountain. The path steadily grew steeper and made Cyrus' thighs burn with exertion while his breath grew jagged. The only good thing about the steep road was the sweat he worked up. Finally, he was warm.

Greyson strode ahead of him, seemingly unbothered by the fast pace or the hike. Shaking his head, Cyrus tried to keep up.

When Greyson finally stopped for lunch, Cyrus fell to the ground—exhausted. Footsteps crunched on the ground and a shadow came over him.

"You're getting soft."

"What?" Cyrus asked, breath uneven.

"You used to be much fitter. You've gotten soft from sitting around my cabin," Greyson said with a slight smile.

He arched up. "I guess I need more activity."

Greyson cleared his throat and stepped back. Cyrus sank to the cold ground, panting. The footsteps receded, then returned before a slight thump sounded as Greyson sat right beside him.

"You should eat," Greyson said before taking a bite of a crisp apple.

Cyrus sat up, and Greyson gave him some food. He took a bite of dried meat, then took a sip of his waterskin. "How long until we reach the next village?"

"About a week."

"Is the path this steep the whole way?"

"Pretty much."

A groan escaped his lips, and Greyson chuckled. Cyrus chewed on his lip as a tension stretched between them. Greyson's gaze shifted to him, and the smile on his face dimmed into something softer as he stilled. That expression drew Cyrus in like a moth to the flame as the urge to touch Greyson, to feel his skin, flooded him. Cyrus shifted closer, boots scraping on the rocks beneath him.

Greyson jerked toward the treeline.

Cyrus went back to his meal as a sharp stabbing sensation started in the region of his heart. He squashed it. At least Greyson sat close to him.

When they finished, they started off at a brisk pace and continued until sunset. The pattern held the same for the next three days. On the afternoon of the fourth day, a cold drizzle started, changing the path into a mud pit and chilling Cyrus to the bone.

They pressed onward until they reached the side of the mountain and a cave system. Greyson shoved him under an overhang before, staff held out, and investigated the cave for inhabitants.

The mouth of the cave was wide and gaping, much taller than Greyson. Cyrus peered around the long tunnel as Greyson's staff lit up the darkness. The walls were shiny with water and there was a deep pool in the back as well as a few large stones. Thankfully, though, it was empty.

"Get undressed before you freeze, and I'll build a fire." Greyson went back out in the rain while Cyrus shakily took off his soaked clothes before wrapping himself in a damp blanket. Greyson returned several minutes later and quickly built a fire near the entrance, then hauled Cyrus toward it. The second Cyrus sank next to the flames, heat washed over him. Stretching his hands to the roaring flames, Cyrus glanced at Greyson.

Greyson stripped off his clothes, and Cyrus couldn't help but watch. The line of his muscles. The way he moved. His long, capable fingers. Even the black hair scattered over his chest. All of it was perfect. Cyrus sighed. Greyson paused, and Cyrus looked up at his face, only to blush. He'd been caught staring. Greyson rolled his eyes and spread his clothes out to dry before pulling on another pair of trousers and a shirt.

Crouching in front of him, Greyson tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "I shouldn't have even tried this journey. You're going to freeze before we even reach the coast."

Smiling, he touched Greyson's arm. "I'm fine, Greyson."

Scoffing, Greyson pushed his hand back under the blanket and covered him again. "Stay under the blanket."

After a quick dinner, they settled down for the night. The drizzle had transformed into a downpour as lightning flashed across the sky followed by a roar of thunder. Greyson placed their bedrolls next to the fire, then tossed another piece of wood onto the flames before lying down. Cyrus glared at the space between them. Apparently, the rain was not enough to draw Greyson close.

Facing Greyson, he asked, "What are we going to do if it doesn"t stop raining?"

"Just go to sleep."

Cyrus nodded, staring at Greyson as the fire warmed his back.

When the morning came, the rain hadn't slowed. Greyson stuck his hand out from the cave, then glanced back at Cyrus. He watched him with a slight smile, and Greyson scowled. "We'll have to wait until the rain stops to travel again."

"So we'll stay here?"

"Yes."

A wide smile tugged on his lips. Cyrus didn't mind the rain. Greyson settled against the cave wall as he played with his staff. Cyrus watched the movements, but nothing magical seemed to happen. Greyson grinned before he twirled the staff. The rocks nearest to him rolled over. Cyrus' eyebrows rose. With a breathy chuckle, Greyson performed the same flipping, twirl motion with his left hand. The rocks rolled again.

"How does it work?"

"Repetition of movements with your dominant hand and learning how to channel magic appropriately."

"Do something else," Cyrus demanded as he drew his legs to his chest.

Greyson arched a single eyebrow, but amusement danced in his eyes. He swept the staff in a long arc, and a gust of wind rushed into the cave, making the fire sputter. Cyrus smiled, though a shiver went down his spine from the sudden chill. Greyson's brow furrowed, but Cyrus asked, "What else can you do?"

He shrugged. "A lot and not so much."

"Which is it?"

"Both."

"Do you like magic?" Cyrus asked, genuinely curious. Greyson didn't use it often and never seemed to talk about it.

"That's like asking me if I like water or breathing. It's a part of me. But yes, I like it well enough. Though," he said with a shake of his head, "I prefer making potions and poultices. I like healing people."

"What else do you like?"

"Many things."

Cyrus extended his lower lip as he silently pleaded for Greyson to keep speaking.

"I like cooking," he said, eyes averted. "I like making something delicious from nothing. I started cooking when my family died. It was something I could control, something I could master. I love herblore and wandering the mountains. No matter how much I explore them, I always find something new."

"I want to do that with you," Cyrus said.

"What?"

"Explore."

Greyson laughed. "You'd freeze."

"Not if we go in the summer."

His eyes darted toward the rain coming down in sheets. "That's true."

Cyrus wanted to close the distance between them, feel the smoothness of Greyson's skin, and the warmth of his body. He wanted Greyson to want him back. With everything that Cyrus learned and every day that passed, his love grew stronger, though it grew progressively sharper like a knife that twisted in his heart. He needed it to be returned, but Greyson pulled back whenever they got close.

After a bit, Greyson spoke again. "Do you want to hear another story?"

"Of course." Cyrus rested his chin on his knees.

"I can tell you a story about Ferrum. Ferrum Peak is the only mountain within the Griseo Mountain range without any venetus."

"Why?" Cyrus loved the sound of his voice and the way his face moved as he spoke.

"Just listen," Greyson snapped, but he gave Cyrus a smile. "Ferrum lived on the icy coast where the wind always blows and the ice crashes upon the rocky shores, which is where we're going by the way. Humans in general did not like Ferrum unlike his older siblings or the other dragons that came. He used the bones of the dead to wield magic and spoke to those across the veil. They saw darkness in it, the serpent's influence, so to speak. But there was none. He helped those souls that couldn't cross yet. He made use of the dead bones left behind. He used his magic to protect, much as his siblings did."

"That's sad," Cyrus interjected but fell silent with a sheepish grin when Greyson glared at him.

"One day, a ship crashed upon the shore. Ferrum saved the people aboard from the icy depths. These humans did not see darkness, but rather, someone who saved them when he had nothing to gain. They stayed by the shore so he would not be alone, and he taught them his magic.

"Years passed, and the village thrived. But Validus and Sarcio, as well as most of the other dragons, had taken their long sleep, forming the mountains. Ferrum wanted to as well, but he couldn't no matter how hard he tried. It would not come for him. So he went to Validus Peak to speak with his brother. Validus' soul came forth and told Ferrum that he hadn't completed his life's task. Something waited for him.

"Ferrum did not believe him. What would wait for him? He wasn't the eldest or the strongest in magic like Validus. He didn't heal or guide like Sarcio. He only spoke to the dead, and no one wanted to hear what they had to say.

"So he appealed to the human who became leader of the Griseo Mountains after Validus. She helped him."

"With what?" Cyrus asked.

"Sleep. She and many others worked together to help him sleep. The story doesn't say if it was accomplished by a spell or potion or some combination of the two."

"He became Ferrum Peak."

"Yes," Greyson said with a nod. "But unlike the others, it wasn't natural. The leader at the time said Ferrum would one day wake to finish his uncompleted task."

Cyrus asked, "Why isn't there any venetus in Ferrum Peak?"

"My mother had a theory. She said the dragons died in their sleep, and when their bodies broke down, they became venetus. Ferrum didn't die. He's spelled asleep. So there is no venetus because of it," Greyson said, sipping some tea.

"But you don't believe it?"

"No. It's a story. There are no dragons."

His arms tightened around his legs. "I believe it."

"Why?" Greyson asked with a laugh.

"Because you're like Validus. Strong and you protect everyone with that strength."

The next morning the rain stopped, and they continued their journey. Greyson set off, at a slower pace because of the mud, and kept casting glances over his shoulder at Cyrus. He tried to keep up as best as he could. The next two days passed in the same pattern as their earlier travels. On the afternoon of the third day since the cave, they came to a tiny village that consisted of six homes huddled close together.

All of the buildings were wood and plain. There was no color anywhere, even in the empty flower boxes and barren gardens next to the homes. A few scrawny chickens clucked as a few people in threadbare brown clothes went about their chores.

"Stay close," Greyson ordered.

"Is it like the last village?"

"Yes and no. I don't have a close friend here, and this village is extremely secluded. The people here don't like outsiders, nor do they trust me as much." Greyson started forward, and Cyrus followed right behind him. It took a little bit for people to notice him, but the second they did, it was like a current went through townspeople. They all stopped and swiveled toward him.

An older man with weathered features and thinning hair approached. "He's not welcome."

"Cyrus is with me," Greyson said, holding his staff out. The gem on the tip began to glow.

"He is not welcome here," the man repeated in a deeper voice.

Cyrus grasped the hilt of his sword. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he wouldn't allow any harm to come to Greyson. Greyson stood in front of him, so Cyrus couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were tight while he clenched the staff in a white-knuckled grip.

"Let's leave," Cyrus said.

"We're just passing through," Greyson said, staff glimmering with power. "Come on," he whispered over his shoulder.

As Cyrus passed by a woman, she glared at him, then spat. He recoiled as warm saliva hit his cheek, dripping down.

"Murderer," she growled.