46

Mor Trisencor and the Dragons

Time was frozen beneath the Jade Ocean. Mor wasn’t sure how long he’d spent underwater with the dragons, swimming and listening to them sing. They gave him wise council, and he told them stories of the Shadow Army and of the North and of the human realm. He told them what had become of him since he’d left the village. But after a while, the oldest dragon shook his head as though Mor was being absurd.

“Why are you here, Mor?” the old dragon asked.

Mor glanced at him strangely. “I’m here to tell you what happened to me.”

The creature’s deep blue scales shimmered in the muted sunlight as he leaned in to look Mor in the eyes. The dragon’s eyes were as large as Mor’s hands. The old dragon was a vicious creature, but his gaze had always been soft.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the dragon said. “We gave you the dragons’ gift so you could face this life on your own. But why do you keep coming back?”

Mor looked around at the dragons—his first family—and something sank to the pit of his stomach. “I think he beat me,” he admitted. The realization came flooding in all at once; brief recollections of a recent fight, and memories of a lifelong rivalry. “The nine tailed fox defeated me, once and for all. I suppose this is where I wanted to come when I passed on.”

The dragon nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “But you’re not dead, Mor. You’re simply dreaming.”

“What?” Mor blinked at the great creature. The rest of the dragons nodded as if to say that the old dragon told no lies.

“Wake up, Mor,” the dragon said. “You’re not finished.”

A slow beeping sound filled Mor’s ears. His eyes peeled open, and he saw a face before him he didn’t expect; a human with large glasses and a sloppy bun of hair atop her head. At first, he couldn’t remember the human female’s name. But it came back to him when he imagined visiting Violet’s house.

“Zorah.” His throat strained to make the noise.

She said nothing. She stared with round eyes that looked even bigger in her glasses. Then she ran out of the room, her white medical coat flapping all the way.

Mor blinked and looked around, finding white walls, white machines, white bed linens. It was a lot of white. Then he heard Cress.

There seemed to be a verbal dispute going on outside. Mor tilted his ear to hear the Prince of the North arguing with a human doctor. For a moment, Mor just listened, a funny smile finding him. But a thought trickled in—a face.

He sat up in his bed. Tubes ripped from his flesh; machines beeped. He tore off his covers and marched from the room. Half a dozen doctors were stationed in a line just outside his door, seemingly to try and keep Cress at bay. Mor looked past them down the hall but saw only Dranian sprawled over a row of chairs, snoring in his sleep. No one else was around.

“Where is my human?” Mor asked Cress over the doctors’ heads.

Cress threw up his hands. “Well, you could at least say hello first, Mor. Or possibly, thank youfor coming even though these fools don’t want to let me pass. Can you tell these humans that I’m your legal-guardian-person? Or at least explain to them that I’m your Prince. Perhaps that would do it.” Cress put his hands on his hips and waited.

“He’s my legal-guardian-person,” Mor said to the doctors, then to Cress in the same breath he said, “Where is Violet? Is she all right?”

Cress’s turquoise eyes softened a little, and Mor shook his head.

No. No, he did not want to see Cress’s face go soft, or worrisome, or concerned. The Prince hadn’t shared a concerned look for another soul in nearly his whole faeborn life—why was he doing it to Mor now?

Mor pushed through the human doctors. A small bead of blood rolled down his arm from where he’d yanked out a needly thing when he’d left his bed.

Cress took Mor’s shoulder, stopping him with a strong grip before he could pass.

“Your human is with Shayne,” the Prince said. “Mor, she doesn’t remember anything. She doesn’t remember you.”

Mor’s throat swelled. He swallowed. “I know.”

Cress didn’t release him right away. But finally, his fingers loosened and he dropped his hand. “Shayne is with her at Lily’s apartment,” Cress said. “She may be compelled to try and kill you again when she sees you.”

Mor nodded. “I know that, too,” he said again.

“Shayne would have enslaved her with her real name, but he seems to think he’s already going to be dead at your hands for enchanting her with a kiss before. He wanted you to be her master. If one of us has to do it to stop her from killing you, Mor, it should be you.”

Mor glanced at the floor. The white tile was dirty. “I don’t want to enslave her.”

Cress flicked a hand through the air and cast an easy smile. “Oh, it’s not that big of a deal, Mor. I enslaved Kate. And I only abuse that power when it’s absolutely necessary—”

“It’s never necessary.” Mor shot him a look. “Don’t force Kate to do things, Cress. Don’t you remember how long you had to try and make up for the book release incident?”

Cress’s smile fell.

Mor shook his head and mumbled as he headed down the hall, “Why does that human want to marry you?”

“I’m strong, and powerful, and sometimes, I’m even adorable!” Cress called after him.

“You’re spoiled, you think you’re the best at everything, and you’re completely blind to your own weaknesses. I’d have told you that years ago if I didn’t think you’d cut out my tongue for it,” Mor called back, startling Dranian awake on the chairs as he passed.

When Cress didn’t reply, Mor glanced over his shoulder, fighting a smile. He realized half a dozen human doctors stood by the door of the room he’d abandoned, gaping and looking between him and Cress. Mor made a face, thinking about the loud ‘enslaving’ conversation he’d just had in front of them.

Mor shook his head and left anyway. “Humans,” he muttered as he rounded the corner, sniffing his way to the exit.

Shayne answered the door at Lily’s apartment. Mor took in the white-haired fairy’s wide smile.

“Welcome to our home—”

“Don’t even try that joke,” Mor said, shoving past him and searching the room. His heart did a double leap when he saw her.

Violet stood at the window. Her chestnut hair was down and loose without an ounce of styling. If she was wearing face paints, he couldn’t tell. Her freckles were prominent in the direct sunlight, and she wore flat shoes that looked comfortable and didn’t suit her. Her green eyes slid over to him standing there.

She had nearly no reaction; her face stayed the same. Her hands though…

Her grip tightened on the windowsill. Her throat shifted as she swallowed, and her gaze didn’t leave him. In her masked expression, he saw the hints of desperation not hidden well enough. The desperation eating away at her like a poison, making her muscles want to jerk toward him.

She wanted to kill him.

“Where’s Lily?” Mor asked Shayne as he watched Violet.

“She’s interviewing your interns.” Shayne moseyed over and stood at his side. His pockets looked stuffed with things that he no doubt stole from Lily’s apartment. “They’re fine, by the way. The female one looked a little shaken up, but there isn’t a single bruise on them.”

Mor nodded, biting back his relief. But his mind was occupied by the hundreds of memories, big and small, that he had with Violet, right from the day they’d met in his bell tower, and every day he’d spent with her after she’d thrown herself off his roof. “Where were they?” Mor managed to ask.

“You’re never going to believe it.” Shayne grinned and shook his head. “Your interns were tied together—his arms around her and her little arms around him—and locked in an ice cream shop downtown for two days. They were forced to hug each other in the beautiful, cool sanctuary of sweet ice cream and crunchy cones. It’s actually a little romantic when you think about it.”

“They were kidnapped,” Mor corrected. “They were probably terrified.”

“Yes, well, they ate ice cream and hugged for two days. I can think of worse ways to be trapped than in a delicious shop with my arms around a pretty female,” Shayne said. He grabbed a thin blanket off the back of the couch. “Speaking of which…” Shayne snatched Violet as she took her first leap and rushed for Mor.

Mor was too distracted to notice Violet rip a panel of wood from the windowsill as she charged. The point of the stake came within an inch of his throat before Shayne wrestled Violet into the blanket, tying it around her so her arms were strapped down. Violet stared at Mor as the panel of wood dropped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Tears sprang into her eyes. “Please leave,” she rasped. The first words she said to Mor.

Mor studied her shaking hands, the pleading in her voice. Her tone told him that his presence was making her lose control, and he didn’t need the senses of a fae to know why that was difficult for her. But he had to hear her say it herself…

“Do you really remember nothing?” Mor asked her.

Violet didn’t blink, even when a tear broke loose and rolled down her freckled cheek. “No,” she said.

“Enslave her, Mor. It’s the only way,” Shayne said, holding tight to her shoulders to keep her in place. “Undo what that fox did, or she’ll keep coming at you like this.”

Mor took in a deep breath. “Do you want me to?” he asked Violet. “Do you wish to be enslaved by me so I can command you to stop trying to kill me?”

Violet’s mouth moved. It looked like she was struggling to say something important. But try as she may, no sound came out. Finally, she closed her mouth and gave up.

Shayne sighed. “All right, I’m giving you exactly five seconds, Mor. Enslave her, or I will.”

“Do it, and I’ll throw you through the window,” Mor threatened.

“One,” Shayne said anyway, and Mor’s face changed.

“You’d better be joking, you fool.”

“Two,” Shayne went on, wrapping his arm around Violet and giving her a little squeeze as if to assure her he had her best interests in mind—which he didn’t. “Three…”

“Shayne,” Mor warned.

“Four!” The white-haired assassin was practically singing the digits now.

There was a pause after that. Shayne didn’t say the last number. He looked at Mor, waiting. Testing him. Mor stared back, positive Shayne wouldn’t dare.

Shayne’s smile widened a little.

“Queensbane,” Mor cursed. “Shayne!”

“Five!” Shayne shouted, spinning Violet toward himself, and Mor charged. “Haley Whitefield, I command you to stop trying to kill Mor!” Shayne blurted it just as Mor ripped him back. Every muscle in Mor’s healing faeborn body flexed as he lifted Shayne, turned, and hurled the white-haired assassin through the window of Lily’s apartment.

Glass shattered to the floor; fresh wind rushed into the living room.

There was a light thump below, and a car trumpet began to sound.

Shayne’s cackling laughter flitted all the way back up.

Mor’s chest heaved, even as he stepped to the window to steal a glance down, hating that he was too concerned to move on without making sure the fool was all right.

Shayne lay back against the roof of a human vessel, bringing one arm behind his head like he planned to take a peaceful nap there. He’d dented the roof—all the blue metal was warped, and the vessel sang its trumpet alarm without ceasing. The fairy waved up at Mor with a wink that seemed to say, “You’re welcome.”

Mor huffed, gripping the sill of the broken window. First, he had to deal with his human forgetting him. Now he would have to deal with Shayne’s fairy shenanigans as Shayne would no doubt play tricks on Violet at every turn with his new power. Mor only had one choice; to enslave her himself. Perhaps that was precisely what the white-haired assassin was hoping for. But Mor considered how much easier it would be to just take out Shayne’s tongue so the fool couldn’t command Violet to do anything more. He doubted the enslaving rule would still work with hand-gesture instructions.

It was settled then. Shayne was going to lose his tongue.

Mor turned back to Violet, not sure whether to apologize or to explain why he’d just thrown someone out a window or if he should start by trying to tell her everything she’d forgotten about him. But he started when he saw streams of tears wetting her face.

“Violet—” His heart did a double flip when she stepped to him and slid her arms around his middle, hugging herself to him tightly.

It didn’t seem real. She didn’t know who he was; why would she—

His phone rang. Mor would have ignored it, but he had a special musical flute that played whenever Shayne was calling him, so he’d know not to answer. But he’d just tossed Shayne through a window and—what if the fairy’s faeborn legs were broken and he needed help snapping them back into place? Mor bit back a growl, yanked out his phone, and hit the green button, but before he could ask Shayne what this nonsense was about, Shayne yelled through the phone, “Haley Whitefield, I want you to tell Mor the truth about what you can remember!” The sound almost burst Mor’s faeborn eardrum—he yanked the phone away from his ear and stared at it as Shayne’s words settled in.

“I lied,” Violet cried from a coarse throat. Mor’s gaze fell on her. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. At the look on her face, he dropped his phone to his side. “I lied, Mor!” she said again, the words nearly indistinguishable past her sobs.

Mor couldn’t stop the wild thudding of his faeborn heart at how close she came against him, how she gripped him, how she said his name. He wrapped an arm around her slowly, sure he was imagining it all. He placed his other hand on her head, brushing her hair away from her face so it wouldn’t stick to her tears.

“Violet,” he whispered. “What did you lie about?”

Violet unhooked her arm from him just long enough to wipe the sleeve of her shirt over her eyes. “I love you, Mor,” she blurted. “All I wanted to do was race to the hospital to see if you were all right!”

Emotions danced in Mor’s chest. “You remember,” he breathed.

There wasn’t time to ask her how. There wasn’t enough space in the whole human realm to have her explain or reveal how in the world Shayne had figured it out first. Time had vanished as she lifted onto her toes and pressed her soft lips against his. It was so much more than a simple kiss.

The kiss told stories.