Ilya had been right; the sun was just setting when Garrik returned to the mountains for Kian, and it was fully dark by the time they touched down in the torchlit clearing between Castle Altan’s orchard and stable. The moment Garrik folded his wings, Prince Jaire came tearing out of the stable, white-blond hair streaming behind him.
“Kian, you’re alive!”
The prince threw the cloak he’d been carrying to the ground in front of Garrik and hurried to undo the buckles that secured Kian to the saddle. Kian’s feet had barely touched the ground before Jaire was throwing his arms around him.
“I dreamed… I felt… you were dying, Kian!” Jaire’s voice was trembling, as if he were on the edge of tears.
Kian hugged him tight, then held him at arm’s length, studying his face in the flickering torchlight. “You sensed that all the way from here?” he murmured, remembering what Ilya had said.
“Ai, he did,” came Garrik’s voice from behind them. He’d shifted back to human form and wrapped himself in the cloak Jaire had brought for him. “Woke the entire household with his screams.”
“It felt like you were hurt,” Jaire said. “Your back was burning and your insides felt like they were all torn up. I begged Master Ilya to go and look for you. Was I… was I right?” The boy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Were you dying?”
“Ai, it was a near thing.” Kian ruffled the prince’s hair affectionately. “But I didn’t. I’m all right.”
“What happened?” Garrik demanded, black eyes glittering with fury. “Who hurt you? I shall have his life for it.”
“Ambris already has,” Kian said. “I’ll tell you the whole story, but I think the Wytch Master should hear it, too. And I’d very much like to see Ambris first.”
“Ambris, is it?” Garrik arched a thick, black eyebrow. “On a first name basis with Miraen’s prince, are you, Kian?”
Kian’s cheeks burned, but he forced himself to meet Garrik’s eyes. “I… have come to care for him during the time I’ve spent in his company.”
“Your penchant for princes is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Kian.” Garrik’s eyes softened then, and he added, “Though from the look of you, I’d say perhaps it already has, ai?”
“Ai, Your Majesty.”
The Wytch King rolled his eyes and swatted Kian’s head. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” He turned and strode toward the castle. “Come on, then. We’d best go and see what Ilya has to say. When I left, he was making your prince comfortable in one of the guest suites.”
Jaire trotted along beside him chattering with excitement as he and Garrik led Kian to the suite where Ambris had been taken.
“We’ve settled him here for now,” Garrik said as they stopped outside the door. “Ilya says as long as he’s taking the anzaria, it should be perfectly safe for him to stay here in the castle. When he recovers, Ilya will take him up to the Stonehall for training.” Unspoken between them lay the knowledge that when really meant if.
“Thank you, Your— I mean, Garrik.”
The Wytch King nodded and turned to his brother. “Jaire, go and tell Melli we need a meal up here. A big meal. Kian looks exhausted, and I’ve been flying all day. I’m famished, and I imagine Ilya is, too.”
“May I stay and hear what happened?” Jaire asked. “After I’ve spoken to Melli?”
Garrik smiled and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Of course you can. You’re the one who told us Kian needed our help.”
“Don’t start the tale without me, Kian!” Jaire scurried off.
“Go on then,” Garrik said to Kian. “Go and see your prince. I’ll be back after I’ve changed into something a bit more respectable. I can hardly greet Miraen’s royalty dressed in a ratty old cloak.”
“I don’t suppose Ambris would care,” Kian said.
“I’m glad you’re all right, Kian.” Garrik gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “When Jaire said you were dying… It’s a good thing we found you alive and unharmed, otherwise poor Ilya might have had to deal with two raging dragons.”
Inside the suite, Kian found Ambris tucked up in bed and Master Ilya settled in a chair at his bedside. The prince looked even paler than usual, and his breathing was deep and slow. Kian’s mythe-senses told him Ambris was exhausted, but otherwise well enough.
“How is he?” Kian kept his voice low, even though there was no chance of waking the drugged man.
“Physically, he’s fine,” Ilya said. “A bit on the scrawny side, though I imagine a few weeks of Melli’s cooking will set that to rights.”
“But?”
Ilya shook his head, coppery braid sliding across his shoulder as he did. “We will not know whether he has retained his reason until he awakens. That could be any moment now.”
“May I stay with him, Master?” Kian asked. “I’d hate for him to be frightened when he wakes. He won’t know where he is, or who you are.”
“Of course you may. You’re his healer.” Ilya gave Kian an appraising look. “And a bit more than that, I’d wager.”
Kian flushed, but said nothing to correct him. His master was far too perceptive, and once Ambris woke up, he’d see exactly how things were between them.
Garrik arrived shortly, followed by Jaire and a team of serving men bringing in covered trays laden with food. Melli had sent up enough to feed an army, but then she was well aware of how much two dragon shifters could eat after a long day of flying.
They moved to the main room of the suite to eat, and Kian kept a thread of awareness tuned to Ambris, so he’d know the moment the prince began to stir.
While they ate, Kian told them all that had befallen him at Blackfrost. The Wytch King and his Wytch Master listened gravely as he recounted the tale, Ilya’s expression growing more and more grim as the story unfolded. When Kian had finished, Ilya’s icy blue eyes had narrowed in fury, though he said nothing, waiting, instead, for Garrik to speak.
A long silence followed, which Garrik finally broke by asking, “What is Wytch King Edrun’s involvement in this?”
“He was the one who ordered Ambris sent to Blackfrost,” Kian said. “Patra said Wytch King Edrun blamed Ambris for the fire that killed the queen, and was so grief-stricken that he sent the prince into exile. The king hadn’t been to Blackfrost in years. I got the impression that he could barely stand to look at Ambris, and was happier to forget he existed. If that was the case, he may not have been aware of what Wytch Master Taretha was doing.”
“I am quite familiar with Taretha,” Ilya said flatly. “I would not put it past her to lie to her brother if she thought she had something to gain from it. Given how ambitious she was, such a scenario seems all too likely.”
“So do we send word to Edrun that his son is here?” Garrik asked. “And more importantly, do we tell the Wytch Council?”
“Not unless you want them poking around here and hounding the poor man to death,” Ilya said drily. “I think we should leave that up to Prince Ambris, to be honest. He’s a younger son. He has two older brothers, both of whom are married with sons of their own, so he’s hardly needed to ensure the succession. As for the Wytch Council… I rather doubt Taretha’s plan was common knowledge, but you can be certain she had allies and sympathizers. The Council has been divided for years, and it would be safer for Prince Ambris if they don’t know the particulars. If the prince wishes to be thought dead in the fire, then perhaps that is what the Wytch Council should be led to believe.”
Kian looked from one to the other of them, hardly daring to hope. “You would hide him from the Wytch Council?”
Garrik and Ilya exchanged an unreadable look. “I see no reason for them to be informed,” Ilya said.
“Then… if he chooses to go into hiding,” Kian said, “I beg you, let me go with him.”
“Does anyone else know that you and Ambris survived?” asked Garrik. “The guardsman and the housekeeper who helped you, what of them?”
“Jorin and Patra? I don’t believe they would willingly betray Ambris. Patra seemed very fond of him, and Jorin was the only one of the guardsmen who dared risk Malik’s wrath by being kind to Ambris.”
“Very well,” Garrik said, rising and stretching. “Let me know when the prince is awake and ready to speak to me.” His gaze shifted to Kian. “We’ll sort it out if we can, Kian. I’ve no objection to granting Prince Ambris my protection, should he request it. And you, Ilya? What will you tell the Council, if questioned?”
“I shall deny all involvement,” Ilya said with a sly wink. “As Wytch Master to Altan, the training of Miraen’s princes is hardly my responsibility. And if Taretha chose to keep the nature of Ambris’s Wytch power a secret and not request my help… well, that was her choice, wasn’t it?”
The last of the tension ran out of Kian’s shoulders, and he slumped back in his chair. “Thank you, Master. And thank you, Your— I mean, Garrik.”
“Does that mean Kian’s staying here?” Jaire asked, almost bouncing with excitement.
“Ai, for now, it does,” Garrik said, giving his brother a smile.
Jaire’s grin lit up his face. “Good,” he said. “It’s been nothing but lessons and Court since you left, Kian. Do you think Prince Ambris would be interested in reenacting a dragon battle in the tunnels?”
Kian managed a smile. “We shall have to ask him when he wakes up.” The smile faded as Jaire left the room, and Kian couldn’t help but amend silently, If he wakes up.
* * *
Ambris dreamed of flight and a desperate chase, pain, flames, and an unbearable sense of loss. He woke with a start, eyes flying open, body curling in a reflexive attempt to protect himself from the lash that was tearing into his skin.
For one brief moment, he thought he was in his attic bedroom at Blackfrost, but as he blinked and took in the unfamiliar surroundings, he realized that he wasn’t. The bed he lay in was far too big, and the sheets were silky and soft.
He turned his head to the side, and the first thing he saw was Kian, sprawled in a chair beside his bed, fast asleep.
Tears filled Ambris’s eyes, and he knew he was dreaming.
Kian was dead. He’d seen him bleeding out on the cold flagstones of the courtyard after Malik had killed him. He couldn’t help the sob that tore from his throat. The moment the sound was out, Kian’s dark eyes fluttered open and fixed upon him.
“Ambris,” Kian breathed. “Are you… do you know me?”
“You… you were dead!” Ambris choked. “I s-saw Malik run you through…”
“Malik missed everything vital,” Kian said gently, and moved to sit on the bed so he could pull Ambris into his arms. “Patra tended me until I came around, and helped me stay conscious long enough to heal the worst of the damage.”
Not dead. Kian wasn’t dead, and somehow, he was here with Ambris, warm and alive. Ambris buried his face in Kian’s chest, hardly able to believe it.
There was a low murmur behind him, a voice he didn’t know, and Kian said, “I think he’s all right, Master.”
Ambris felt the rumble of Kian’s voice right through his chest, and breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to the Dragon Mother before turning his head to see the man Kian called Master.
Sitting on the other side of the sumptuous bed he lay in was a young man of about twenty, with shiny copper hair pulled back in a neat braid. His eyes were a pale, icy blue, but they were warm as he gave Ambris a reassuring smile. “How do you feel, Your Highness?”
“Who… who are you?” Ambris glanced about, taking in the rich tapestries, the velvet curtains, and the polished wood panels on the walls. “Where am I?”
“I am Ilya, Wytch Master to Altan, and on behalf of Wytch King Garrik, I welcome you to Castle Altan.”
Ambris blinked. “You… you’re Kian’s master? But you don’t look…”
“Old enough?” Master Ilya gave him a wry grin. “In truth, I am old enough to be your grandfather several times over, Prince Ambris. Can you tell me how much you remember of the past few days?”
Visions of fire and death filled his mind. “Blackfrost,” he whispered. “I burned it. I burned it all…”
Kian took hold of his hand and squeezed it, and Ambris turned to look at him.
“I saw them drag you back after you tried to leave,” Ambris said in a trembling voice. “I had to stop Malik from killing you. The only thing I could think of was to finally face the fire. Knowing Malik would kill you if I didn’t do something gave me the strength to do it. I shifted and I chased him and his men into the forest… I cornered them all and I burned them. But I wasn’t fast enough. When I came back, you were lying dead in the courtyard… all that blood…” Tears filled his eyes as he remembered his triumph turning to bitter defeat at the sight of Kian’s body on the ground. “After that… it’s all just flame and hurt and…” He shuddered, shaking his head. “Patra?” he asked in a small voice.
“Patra and Jorin survived,” Kian said gently. “They’re on their way here. I sent them to fetch Master Ilya after you flew off in a rage. Prince Jaire sensed… well, I suppose he sensed my pain after Malik’s beating. He was the one who sent Master Ilya and Wytch King Garrik out to find us.”
Ambris’s tears came faster now, hot and wild, and Kian wrapped him in his arms and pulled him close.
“It’s all right,” Kian murmured. “You’re safe here.”
More memories poured into Ambris’s head. “Taretha,” he whispered. “She meant to kill me… but you… you stopped her.” He stared up at Kian in wonder.
Kian’s expression turned grim. “She made the mistake of assuming I was dead. Patra begged her to heal me. She said it would be a waste of energy and offered to send me to the Dragon Mother. Patra wouldn’t allow it, which I’m grateful for. I was in no position to stop her.”
Anger surged through Ambris. “I’m glad I killed her,” he whispered. “And Malik, too. If that’s wrong… I don’t care. They hurt both of us.”
“They’re gone now.” Kian’s arms tightened around him. “And no one will ever hurt you again.”
“No, they won’t, not if I have anything to say about it,” said a voice from the doorway, and Ambris looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, black hair and dark eyes leaning against the door frame. “Good morning, Prince Ambris. I’m Wytch King Garrik. Kian’s told me some of what you endured at Master Taretha’s hands.”
Ambris pulled away from Kian and struggled out of bed. Kian moved to help him, but Ambris shrugged him off. This was his responsibility — his last act as a prince of Miraen — and he would do it himself. He walked slowly to the Wytch King and dropped to one knee. He probably looked ridiculous, what with his pale, scrawny legs sticking out from his nightshirt, but he wanted to waste no time in making his position clear.
“Your Majesty, I am Prince Ambris of Miraen, youngest son of Wytch King Edrun of Miraen. With you and your Wytch Master as witnesses, I hereby renounce my title and my loyalty to Miraen. I would willingly swear fealty to Altan, and I beg your protection. I place my life in your hands.” He bowed his head and tried not to tremble.
The Wytch King bent to lift Ambris gently to his feet. “I accept your promise of fealty and grant you my protection,” he said gravely. “I welcome you to Altan, Ambris of Miraen. Now, back into bed with you. You’re shivering.”
Ambris went, cheeks flaming. “Does that mean… does that mean Kian and I can be together?” He cast a shy glance at Kian. “If… if that’s what you want, I mean.”
Kian smiled back. “Of course it’s what I want, Your Highness.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Ambris said with a scowl.
The Wytch King snorted. “Good luck with that,” he said. “I’ve been telling him that ever since my coronation, but it’s Your Majesty this and Wytch King Garrik that. He’s a bit slow, is our Kian, though I suspect it’s all an act, and he’s actually a lot brighter than he lets on.”
“Anyway, I’m not anymore,” Ambris went on. “Not a prince, I mean. But I don’t care, if it means I can be with you.” Cheeks flaming, he leaned forward to press a kiss to Kian’s lips.
Kian returned the kiss, then glanced from the Wytch King to the Wytch Master, dark eyes troubled. “If the Wytch Council learns that I survived, they’ll be after me, and I’ll be sent away again.”
Garrik cleared his throat. “If the Wytch Council should inquire, I shall deny all knowledge of your whereabouts. It seems to me that it’s the Council’s job to keep track of their healers, not mine. If you and Ambris should decide to settle in Aeyr’s Grove, that would likewise be none of my business. And should you choose to help your father at the forge and use your healing skills to help the townsfolk there, well, that would be none of my business, either.”
The smile that lit Kian’s face made Ambris’s heart sing. Kian got to his feet and caught the Wytch King up in a hard hug. “Thank you, Your— I mean, Garrik. I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”
The Wytch King smiled as Kian pulled away from him. “Keep the people of Aeyr’s Grove healthy for me, and I’ll consider your debt paid in full.”
* * *
The Wytch King and his Wytch Master left with promises to have breakfast sent up for them. Master Ilya charged Ambris with seeing to it that Kian got some sleep, an order Ambris was in complete agreement with. The healer looked exhausted, and by his own account, hadn’t slept since he’d healed himself. Ambris wasn’t sure how long that was, but if the shadows in Kian’s eyes were any indication, it was quite long enough.
Kian, however, refused to get into bed before he’d bathed. “I’m filthy,” he said. “I stink, my skin itches, and I’m still covered in blood.”
The bathing chamber attached to the guest suite was nothing short of amazing, and Ambris marveled at the large, sunken pool in the center of the room, already filled with circulating hot water. When he exclaimed at it, Kian muttered something about hot springs and clever Wytch Masters who liked their comforts.
The healer was so tired, Ambris had to help him strip down. He shuddered at the sight of the stripes of dried blood crusted across Kian’s back, and had to touch the skin gently to reassure himself that underneath the mess, Kian was truly healed.
Kian swayed on his feet as Ambris undid his breeches and hauled them down over his hips. Ambris helped him down into the water, fearing he might slip and fall if left to his own devices.
When he was finally settled, Kian let out a contented sigh and leaned back in the hot water, closing his eyes. “This feels so good. That copper tub at Blackfrost just wasn’t big enough.”
“When Master Ilya said you were to sleep, I don’t think he meant in the bath,” Ambris told him.
“I don’t, either, but I fear I haven’t the energy for much else.”
“I shall just have to help you, then.” Ambris shucked his nightshirt off and slipped into the pool beside Kian. “Would you like me to wash you?”
“Aio’s teeth and tail,” Kian said with a groan. “Here I am in a hot bath with a beautiful, naked man who’s offering to wash me, and all I can think about is going to sleep.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And I’m quite willing to remain naked until you wake up.” Ambris’s face heated at his bold words, and he ducked his head so Kian wouldn’t see his flush.
“I’d like that,” Kian said in a husky voice.
“Well, then. Let’s get you clean. The sooner you get to sleep, the sooner you’ll wake up.” Ambris reached for a cloth and a piece of scented soap, and began washing the dried blood and sweat from Kian’s body.
“You have no idea how good that feels,” Kian said as Ambris scrubbed his back.
Ambris thought back to the first time Kian had bathed him, after his ordeal with the blood-chain, and a smile touched his lips. “Oh, I think I do.”
Blood and dirt stained the water briefly, then swirled away, carried off by the circulating currents. When Kian’s body was clean, Ambris started on his hair, which was a dark, tangled mass, half of it coming loose from its leather tie.
“A prince shouldn’t be serving a—”
“Shh,” Ambris said, laying a finger across Kian’s lips. “I’m no longer a prince. And if I wish to serve my” — he gulped — “my lover, then I shall.”
Kian twisted around to look at him, and Ambris shivered at the heat kindling in the depths of those dark, dark eyes. “Then as soon as I’m able, you must allow me to serve you in return,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Ambris’s lips.
“Oh, I will,” Ambris said against his mouth. “And I fear you’ll be quite shocked at the services I demand.”
Kian laughed, but it was a tired sound, and Ambris hurried to finish washing the dirt from his thick, dark hair. When Ambris was satisfied that they were both clean, he helped Kian from the pool and gently patted him dry, then led him to the bed. Breakfast was waiting in the main room, and Ambris brought Kian a plate of buttered flat-cakes smothered in honey. By the time he was down to the last few mouthfuls, Kian was drifting off.
Ambris tucked him into bed and drew the heavy curtains across the window to shut out the morning sun. He climbed into bed, snuggled up next to Kian, and was soon fast asleep.
* * *
Ambris woke in the afternoon, when Master Ilya slipped in to give him some more of the anzaria that prevented him from shifting. He’d tried to explain to the Wytch Master that shifting was such a struggle for him, it was unlikely he’d do it by accident, but Master Ilya insisted. If Ambris was to be his student, then he must do as the Wytch Master commanded. Ambris accepted that, and saw the sense in it; Master Ilya had no way of knowing how much control Ambris really had, and Ambris could hardly deny that he had lost himself entirely when Malik had beaten Kian.
The evidence was there for all to see, a smouldering heap of ash and rubble where Blackfrost had once stood.
After he’d finished with Ambris, Master Ilya checked Kian. He looked pleased when he was finished. “He’ll be all right,” he said when Ambris gave him a questioning look. “The sleep has done him good. I should think he’ll wake soon. You’ve both slept through lunch, so I’ll ask Melli to send something up for you. The Wytch King suggests it might be best if you two keep to this suite until we’re ready to move you to the village. The fewer people who see you, the fewer chances there are of starting rumors that might reach the ears of the Wytch Council. That hair of yours is unusual enough that people will remember it and remark on it.”
After Ilya was gone, Ambris propped himself up on his elbow and watched Kian sleep. Tears stung his eyes as he thought about how close he’d come to losing Kian.
Dark eyes opened and fixed on him, and Kian’s full mouth curved in a smile. “Ambris,” he whispered, reaching out to wipe a tear from Ambris’s cheek. “Are you sad?”
“No. No, I’m just… I was thinking that I nearly lost you.”
“But you didn’t,” Kian murmured, pulling Ambris into his arms. “You saved me. If you hadn’t shifted when you did, I have no doubt Malik would have finished me.”
Ambris pressed himself against Kian and held on tight. After a time, Kian pulled away and kissed the top of his head, then tilted his chin up and kissed him on the mouth. Ambris returned the kiss eagerly, his shaft swelling against Kian’s bare hip.
“There seems to be a beautiful, naked man in my bed,” Kian whispered, shifting his hip to rub against Ambris’s erection and running a hand down his back.
“How… convenient.” Ambris shivered at the touch and flexed his hips, wanting more friction. “What are you going to do with him?”
Kian chuckled, a deep, rich sound that rumbled deep in his chest. “I’m going to take my time and explore every last bit of him.” He lowered his head to nuzzle Ambris’s neck. “I’m going to touch him and kiss him until he’s begging me for more.”
“Is this part of serving me, then?” Ambris struggled to keep his voice steady as Kian gently scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin under Ambris’s ear.
“Very much so.” Kian worked his way slowly down Ambris’s body, exploring him with his lips and tongue. Ambris, unwilling to simply submit, ran his hands over Kian’s back. He loved the feel of all that hard muscle.
The dark gold of Kian’s skin contrasted pleasingly with his own pale ivory, and Ambris couldn’t take his eyes off of the man, could hardly believe that a man as gorgeous as Kian would take a second look at him, let alone want to be in his bed.
Then Kian moved even lower and pressed a kiss to Ambris’s throbbing shaft. Ambris moaned and bucked his hips, wanting more. More pressure, more friction, more heat.
Kian lifted his head and met his gaze, dark eyes burning.
“Please…” Ambris whispered.
A moment later, Ambris’s cock was engulfed in the wet heat of Kian’s mouth. He cried out at the touch, desire surging through him and wiping his mind clean of all but the desperate need for completion.
His hands moved to Kian’s shoulders, fingers digging in as bucked and moaned under the healer’s skilled touch. Kian’s hands were everywhere, stroking his body like tongues of flame. When he finally reached the peak, Ambris flung his head back and howled his pleasure.
Panting for breath as he drifted back to reality, he opened his eyes to see Kian kneeling between his legs, stroking his own shaft. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, and his long, dark hair fell loose about his chest and shoulders.
It was the most beautiful sight Ambris had ever seen. He pushed himself up and moved Kian’s hand aside, bending to take Kian’s rigid cock into his mouth.
“Ah… Ambris…” Kian’s hands rested on his shoulders, and Ambris sucked and licked until Kian came with a hoarse cry. When Kian was finished, he collapsed onto the bed, bringing Ambris with him.
“You have no idea… how long I’ve wanted to be with you like this,” Kian whispered.
“Not as long as I have,” Ambris replied, staring up into those lovely dark eyes.
They moved under the covers, still holding one another, and Kian drifted off to sleep again, head resting on Ambris’s chest. Ambris lay there stroking his hair and his back, unable to stop smiling at the deep contentment washing over him.
* * *
When Kian woke again, his cheek rested against a warm chest, and fingers were tangled in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Ambris smiled down at him.
“Sorry,” Kian murmured. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep again.”
“You sleep all you need. There’s no hurry.”
“No, I suppose there’s not, is there?” Garrik had made it very clear to Kian that he and Ambris were safe under his protection, and had ordered them to take all the time they needed to rest and recover.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so safe,” Ambris said, echoing Kian’s thoughts. “I keep having to pinch myself to remind myself it’s real. There’s no Malik to come and hurt me, no Aunt Taretha to take me away for a lesson.”
A shudder rippled through Ambris, and Kian wrapped his arms around him. “Never again,” he whispered. “No one will ever hurt you like that again. Not as long as I live and breathe.”
“No one will ever hurt you, either,” Ambris said softly. “Or they shall find themselves facing the dangerous end of a vengeful dragon.”
“Is there a not-dangerous end?” Kian asked. “I’ve seen what Garrik can do with that great, hulking tail of his.”
Ambris suddenly went still beside him. “Do you think he minds?” he whispered.
“Minds what?”
“You… and me… he’s the one, isn’t he? He’s very fond of you, and the way he looks at you… he was your lover.”
Kian smiled. “Ai, but I’ve told you, we were just friends. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at Master Ilya? Garrik’s heart belongs entirely to him.”
Ambris’s golden eyes met his. “Like my heart belongs entirely to you,” he said. “Thank you, Kian, for coming after me.”
“What else was I to do? Once I understood what Taretha was doing to you, I couldn’t let it go on. Which reminds me…” Kian rolled out of bed and went to the wardrobe, where he dug through the pockets of the cloak he’d been wearing when he arrived. His fingers closed around a cold metal chain, and he pulled out the jewel he’d taken from Master Taretha.
When he turned around, Ambris’s golden eyes were fixed on him, raking over his body with none of the shyness he’d shown earlier. Kian grinned. He was going to enjoy Ambris very much.
Back in bed, he took hold of Ambris’s hand and pressed the jewel into it. “This holds the power your aunt stole from you. It belongs to you. You certainly paid for it in blood and pain.”
Ambris stared down at it. “How did you get this?”
“She dropped it when I shot her. I’d forgotten about it until just now. Master Ilya says it’s very powerful.”
“I don’t want it.” Ambris handed it back to Kian. “It just reminds me… anyway, I can’t think what I’d do with it. You keep it, if you think it’s that important. I don’t want to look at it.”
“All right,” Kian said, and went to return it to his cloak pocket. “But it belongs to you, Ambris. I’m only keeping it safe for you. Ask Master Ilya about it. He might have some ideas about what you should do with it.”
“I will,” Ambris said. “And I—”
A knock came at the door, and Kian dove back into bed, just managing to cover himself before the door flew open and Prince Jaire burst in.
“Melli’s sent your dinner up, and there’s someone here who wants to see you, and…” Jaire trailed off, eyes widening as he noted that neither man was wearing anything. Face flaming, he backed out of the room. “Oh. Er. Um. Well. There’s dinner out there. And your friends from Miraen arrived this afternoon. They’d like to see you. Can I show them in?”
“Jorin and Patra?” Ambris asked, and at Jaire’s nod, said, “Of course they may join us. And dine with us, if your Melli has made enough.”
“Oh, she has. I made sure she did.” Jaire was so excited, he was practically beaming. “They seem nice. Hurry up and get dressed! I’ll send for them. Oh… and it’s very nice to meet you, Prince Ambris.”
Jaire closed the door, and Kian and Ambris both burst into laughter.
“I take it he’s a friend of yours,” Ambris said.
“He’s Garrik’s younger brother, Prince Jaire.”
“Ah. You seem very familiar with him.”
“I took my lessons with him and Garrik when I first came here. Garrik’s father never stood on ceremony, and seemed to think noble titles were a waste of everyone’s time. Jaire was always so very lonely, and I’d never been away from my own family. We became friends. He’s a good lad, and I care for him like one of my own brothers.”
“Well, I hope he’ll want to be friends with me, as well, then.”
“You must be joking,” Kian said with a laugh. “You can turn into a dragon. He’ll worship the ground you walk on. Prince Jaire’s got dragons on the brain. I’m certain it was his idea to design that dreadful saddle contraption Garrik used to transport us here. Not that you’ll remember that, but I’m sure he’ll let you have another go if you’re curious.”
Ambris laughed again, and they dressed quickly and went out into the main room, where Jaire was overseeing the setting of the table.
In a pair of richly upholstered armchairs across the room sat Jorin and Patra, both looking more than a little uncomfortable. They broke into relieved smiles when they spied Kian and Ambris. Patra rose to hug both of them.
“That Wytch King of yours is not at all what I expected,” Jorin said quietly to Kian. “He’s offered me a place in the royal guard if I’d like it. And Patra’s been offered a place in the kitchens working with Mistress Melli.”
“Will you be taking it?” Ambris asked.
“Ai, Your Highness. It’s not as if either of us has anywhere else to go. Patra only stayed at Blackfrost to watch over you, and I’d been trying to get myself stationed there with her ever since she left Mir.” He gave Kian a rueful grin. “Took a bit of doing, to come up with an infraction that would get me banished to Blackfrost, but wouldn’t end up with anyone else hurt or dead.”
Ambris’s pale eyebrows rose. “You got yourself exiled to Blackfrost on purpose? For Patra?”
“Ai, I was courting her back in Mir.” He pulled Patra close, and she gave his arm an affectionate pat.
“I’m glad to see you both looking so well,” she said, smiling. “After Malik was finished with you, I was certain you weren’t long for this world, Kian. And then when Master Taretha refused to heal you…” She glanced about and lowered her voice. “I was so angry, if I’d had my kitchen knife with me, I might very well have used it on her right then.”
“I can see you doing it, too, Mistress Patra,” Kian said. “But I’m very glad you didn’t. I’d hate to think what she’d have done to you.”
“Ai, there is that,” she said ruefully, eyes on the serving men as they retreated from the suite. The moment they were gone, she strode purposefully to the table.
While the men watched in amusement, Patra filled two plates high, and set them on the table. “Now, sit, you two,” she said, waving a serving spoon at them. “I want to see all of that gone. Master Ilya says you both need feeding up, so there’ll be no sweets until you’ve eaten that lot.”
Ambris groaned, and Jaire said brightly, “Patra and Melli are going to get along grandly, aren’t they, Kian?”
“Ai, cut from the same cloth, they are,” Kian said with a happy grin.
* * *
Three days later, Ambris rode up the side of the mountain on the Wytch King’s back. They were going to the refurbished watchtower called the Stonehall, where Master Ilya’s school was located. It was time for Ambris to learn whether or not he could truly control his Wytch power.
He and Kian hadn’t spoken of what would happen if he couldn’t, but he suspected Kian already knew. Kian’s lovemaking that morning had been both fierce and desperate, as if he feared he might not see Ambris again.
The farewell kiss Kian had given him had been similarly fierce, and Ambris fancied he could still feel Kian’s mouth bruising his lips.
I will master it, he told himself. If not for myself, then for Kian.
Garrik — the Wytch King insisted upon the use of his first name, even though Ambris had renounced his ties to Miraen and was no longer his equal — dropped him off on the roof of the Stonehall’s tall watchtower along with a pack containing spare clothing and some lunch. The Wytch King gave his Wytch Master’s snout an affectionate nuzzle before launching himself from the top of the watchtower to glide back down the slope to the castle. Ilya watched him go before shifting back to human form. He extracted a cloak from the pack, and pulled out another one for Ambris.
“Clothing will not shift with you, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered, so you’d best strip off now,” Ilya instructed him. “You can wrap up in this until we’re ready to begin.”
Ambris did as instructed, and when he was ready, he and Master Ilya sat facing one another on the roof of the watchtower, so close that their knees touched.
“I don’t know how much you remember about the shift itself,” Ilya began, “but there is a core of light at your center, which contains the essence of the beast within you. It is that core of light we seek to control.”
“I’ve seen it,” Ambris said. “And I know how to reach it. I can make the shift happen now. What I don’t know is how to find my way back. When I tried before, I got lost, and I could only come back when I was hurt badly enough to force the shift. I don’t much fancy doing a headlong dive into the forest every time I want to shift back.” He raised his eyes to meet the Wytch Master’s. “That last time, though. You forced me to shift back, and you did it without hurting me. I remember your song. Like ice-water, freezing the fire within me.”
“Exactly.” Ilya sounded pleased. “I imposed a pattern upon the beast, and that is what you must learn to do. Once the core of your power is contained within that pattern, you will have complete control over the shift. Now, take hold of my hands, and I will show you how to weave the pattern that will control the beast.”
“I have a pattern already,” he told Ilya. “Master Taretha taught it to me years ago, only I was never able to use it properly.”
“Can you show it to me? Visualize it in your mind.”
Ambris closed his eyes and thought of the pattern he’d struggled with for so long.
There was a long pause, and then Master Ilya said, “Ah, I see the problem. This is not quite what you need… it would allow you to shift, but it would require a great deal of emotional energy to accomplish it. And as for shifting back… no, this is all wrong. Here… this is the pattern you need to build.”
It came to him like a song of ice and shadow. There was a symmetry and a feeling of balance to the pattern that he’d never sensed in the one Taretha had taught him. Ambris listened carefully to the music the Wytch Master made in his mind, and used it to weave the pattern that would cage and control the beast within him.
The shift was a cool, smooth transition, painless and perfect, and in moments, he stood before Master Ilya, blinking as he stared down at himself.
“Very good,” Ilya said. “You are a quick study, Ambris. Now, can you shift back? You have only to focus on the same pattern and wish to return to your human form. Now that you have imposed the correct pattern upon the beast, it will not fight you. It cannot.”
Ambris focused once more. Now that he had the right pattern, the shift back to human form was easy and painless. He couldn’t contain his grin, and Master Ilya looked very pleased to see him standing there in his human skin.
“Excellent! I can already see you are going to be a joy to teach.”
“Is that all there is to it?” Ambris asked.
“It is, indeed.”
“But… but… why would Taretha have given me the wrong pattern?”
Ilya sighed. “That is a very good question, Ambris, and I fear the answer may well have died with Master Taretha. It may be that she simply didn’t know the correct pattern. The Wytch Council has done a very good job of suppressing information about the more dangerous Wytch powers. Or it may be that she gave you the wrong pattern deliberately, so she could take advantage of you.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to have done just that,” Ambris said with a shiver. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Taretha had known exactly what she was doing.
Ilya patted his shoulder. “Shall we fly, then? I know you’re already capable of the basics, but I can show you some tricks that will make the experience far more pleasant.”
“I’d like that very much, Master Ilya.” Ambris pushed the black memories aside for now. Taretha was in the past, and she would never be able to hurt him again. His focus now would be on the future, and making new, happier memories with Kian.
He shifted into dragon form, and followed Ilya to the edge of the watchtower roof. Ilya was very patient, and his instructions were easy to follow. It wasn’t long before Ambris was soaring through the air above the Stonehall, chasing his teacher. They made a great circle about the watchtower and rose high into the air. The fields and forests of Altan spread out below Ambris, and he found himself eager to explore his new home, excited at the prospect of the new life that lay before him.
As he followed the silver-blue dragon down the mountain toward the castle, he caught sight of two figures standing atop one of the watchtowers. One was tall and dark, the other smaller and slender, with white-blond hair. Both were waving and laughing, and as Ambris flew over, the smile of joy and relief on Kian’s face made his heart beat faster.
He landed lightly in front of them and shifted back, then flung his arms around Kian, who hugged him and kissed him soundly. Above them, Ilya circled, waiting for his student. With a final kiss for Kian, Ambris stepped back, shifted smoothly, and launched himself off the tower.