Hamasa sat on the small wobbly stool and peered anxiously at Valerius’ pale features. The blood-replenishing potion the local healer had coaxed down the unconscious knight’s throat had already drastically improved his color, but not enough in Hamasa’s opinion. The ice patch had been melted off and a simple, nonmagical stitching had taken its place under fresh white bandages. There was only so much they could afford between a farmer, a dragon fresh from the other realm, and a man who had fallen naked from the sky two weeks ago—almost three now. In other words, they only had the few coins Marya had saved from previous market days. Hamasa had put his foot down when Arash and Marya had suggested going through Valerius’ bags for more coin. Valerius could always pay them back when he woke, but they didn’t have the right to go through his belongings. Hamasa had too many secrets of his own to be unconcerned with anybody else’s privacy.
Hamasa didn’t hear the door, nor the approaching footsteps that came after. Marya set her hand on Hamasa’s shoulder, startling him out of his reverie, more startled than he should have been. What kind of guard did he make that he didn’t even notice Marya walking in?
“He won’t get better any faster with you staring at him. Come down and eat ‘fore you’re the one knocked out on a bed,” Marya suggested. With her gentle tone and kind smile, she looked and sounded so much like Irmen, a part of him quaked. He had never missed a mother—hers, his own—more than in this moment.
Hamasa hesitated, eyes flicking over Valerius’ slack features. He truly looked his age for once, so young and breakable. Hamasa’s hand on the bedspread twitched, aching to reach out and touch his pulse—something he had done too often already. Hamasa was hungry, but in that way where his weak human body needed it while his mind rebelled wordlessly and strongly at the very idea of food. Although, perhaps he rebelled more at leaving this tiny windowless room in the cheap hostal they had found. The door reopened and a familiar chill crept up Hamasa’s spine. He got quickly to his feet, ignoring Marya’s irritated grumble, to tuck the thin blanket more securely around Valerius’ broad shoulders.
“Why haven’t you slunk off to bother someone else?” Marya asked, glaring at Arash as the human-looking dragon walked in.
“Because I don’t plan to,” Arash said, not so much as deigning to look at her when he replied. “Hamasa, we need to speak privately. Now.”
Marya snorted loudly and messily, arms crossed over her chest and dark eyes narrowed. “We appreciate the help with Señor Frowny over there, well, Hamasa does. But whatever you want with Hamasa you can ask in front of me, too. Right, Asa?”
Hamasa couldn’t help but smile, guilty and fond at once. Marya, always his champion, whether or not he deserved it.
“Actually, Marya—”
Marya’s jaw dropped a second before she interrupted, “Really!? Hamasa, this… this dragon called you his lifemate! Do ya really know him?”
“I… I do know him,” Hamasa said, sighing softly. Marya sputtered speechlessly. “But I’m no one’s r-lifemate.”
Arash’s eyes squinted, the bright blue flinty and making Hamasa grimace.
“I don’t… what?” Marya asked.
“Please, stay here with Valerius, won’t you? I’ll return soon and we’ll go downstairs for dinner together,” Hamasa suggested with a wibbly smile. Marya scowled, but flopped onto his vacated seat with a huff.
“What I do for friends, ay,” she muttered, glaring at Valerius.
Hamasa led the way into the hallway, gulping nervously as Arash followed right on his heels. The chill of Arash’s gaze was heavy on the back of his neck all the way down the stairs and through the common room until they finally made it to the moderate privacy of the stables. Hamasa’s tongue flickered, tasting the faint tang of blood on his shredded bottom lip as the smell of hay and horse dung assaulted his nose. He was almost glad he couldn’t smell better—A hand latched around his bicep and spun him around. Arash was right in front of him, walking him back with quick, shuffling steps until he was pressed too hard against the nearest stall.
“There’s no one in here but us. Where is it? Where is your rohh?” Arash asked roughly, one hand spread wide over Hamasa’s wildly and painfully beating heart. “Your human should be keeping it safe!”
“It’s… it’s gone,” Hamasa whispered, shame burning in his stomach. Soon, Arash would know his true weakness, how low he had sunk. Despise him for it.
“How could she let this happen? You never should’ve trusted some mud ape. It doesn’t matter, I’ll get it back and we’ll never come back to this place again. Was it that Beast, the Merciless? Do they have it? I’ll tear them apart,” Arash hissed, teeth sharpening as claws grew from his fingers.
Or not, because of course, his oldest and dearest friend’s first conclusion was one of rage on Hamasa’s behalf rather than assuming the worst of him.
Hamasa quickly shook his head. “No, Arash, calm down,” he said in a language that was smoother than Mekshan, lyrical, and guttural. It flowed from his lips easier than any language he had spoken in years.
Arash’s eyes closed as he inhaled slowly and deeply. On instinct, Arash leaned forward and his forehead pressed to Hamasa’s. The touch was so familiar, so much like home, that Hamasa’s breath left him in a shudder. His whole body shuddered along with it and his eyes slipped shut. Arash’s hands were cool and dry on his arms, tucked up under the edges of the poncho he wore, and the scent of sky intermingled with the taste of ice and snow. Hamasa breathed in quick, gulping breaths, tasting it like mint and cilantro and limón.
“Arash,” he whispered, hands wrapping around Arash’s wrists. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here. As soon as I heard the Merciless was back, in this disgusting wet place, I came,” Arash explained in the same language that had calmed him down.
“It’s not disgusting, Arash,” Hamasa protested, though his lips twitched upwards despite himself. Arash would always be Arash. The White dragon rolled his eyes, scoffing. “You can’t… You can’t go after the Merciless, Arash. You can’t.”
“I can’t without you at my side,” he agreed. His nose brushed over Hamasa’s and he stepped away. A part of Hamasa was abruptly bereft, wanting to bring back the familiar affection he’d missed. But the words struck and his pupils dilated.
“No, Arash. Not with me at your side,” Hamasa said, shoulders lifting to his ears as his gaze dropped to the vividly colorful weave of his poncho. “My rohh is gone because I couldn’t…”
Arash started, one foot stepping back, and his eyes widened. “They did come after you. I wasn’t sure—You got away, you lived, Hamasa!”
Hamasa squeaked in shock as Arash pulled him forward, his arms clutching tight around Hamasa’s frame. There was no gentle, icy brush of wings, the embrace only half of what it could be, but enough. Hamasa blinked rapidly, gradually relaxing into Arash’s hold, eyes closing when he felt Arash shudder. It was more than enough. His forehead thumped to Arash’s collarbone.
“I couldn’t sense you, Hamasa, or your soul. I was so scared I was too late, that you were already dead. What have you done, my heart? Why did you come here?”
Hamasa felt guilt knot itself in his throat. “A-Arash, I…”
The dragon pulled away and shook his head briskly. His hands cupped Hamasa’s face and his glassy blue eyes met wide brown. “I meant it twenty years ago and I’m offering it again. Come home and Fly with me.”
Hamasa’s tongue felt too heavy in his mouth and stuck behind his teeth. He could only shake his head. In his mind, a picture of Marya upstairs, arms crossed and heavy brows tight and low, glaring at Valerius. Trusting him to come back. The golden eyes of the páhalebra as it waited for Hamasa to break his inaction, to save them. The prick of sharp teeth at his throat in thanks, the scrape of his nails over vulnerable, soft blue scales. Most ridiculously, all but wildly, he pictured the unconscious Lance on the tiny bed in the hostal. He remembered that bravery he had held in his heart so fiercely for one glorious moment. He had saved someone’s life, more than once, in this pathetic, weak body. He had never gone back, had never chosen to fight over running. This time he had. Was it Marya’s brazenness, or Valerius’ faith? What had they given him that had inspired him to be, and do, so much?
How could he leave them?
“I can’t, Arash. I…I’m sorry,” Hamasa said hoarsely. He looked anywhere but the dragon in front of him. As if the sight of dirty hay and indifferent, shaggy-furred horses were significant.
“You’re making a mistake,” Arash replied just as hoarse and quiet, disappointment in every strangely lyrical word he spoke in Mekshan. “This isn’t where you belong. You’re lying to them, even to that filthy monkey who thinks she knows you. You belong with me. You belong with your mother. Don’t you miss us?”
Hamasa pushed Arash back, breathing heavily. “That’s not fair! You can’t tark ab-bout my m-mother, Arash!”
Arash smirked thinly, but there was a tightness around his eyes and mouth. “You were doing so well. Now you can’t even get your own mouth to behave. What makes you think you belong in that body? In this world? I can protect you so much better than these apes.”
Hamasa shook his head, arms clutching around his body. “I don’t w-want to b-be… I don’t want to be protected. I just want to be reft arone. Left alone,” he spat out the words angrily, rubbing at his cheeks furiously. Why were they wet again?
Arash sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “You can’t be left alone if an entire country is on your tail, Hamasa. Too many people already know who you are—”
“Róntraih Porto. Just help me get to Róntraih Porto Cuidat. Don’t tell Marya or… or Valerius,” he whispered the name despite himself, and his hands twisted around the hem of his tunic out of sight. “I can get away in Róntraih Porto Cuidat if you help me.”
“You want me to keep your identity a secret, despite the fact everyone knows except for that moronic female,” Hamasa’s mouth wrenched open to protest, but Arash rolled right over it, “and you want me to distract a trained knight with Riyukezan blood, so you can escape in a crowded city to, what? Go hide in a hole like a scared rat? Without a rohh and two different countries and a beast hunting you?” Arash asked, incredulously.
“Yes,” Hamasa hissed, lurching forward to clasp the front of Arash’s tunic. “Please, I know I’ve disappointed you, and it’s asking too much, but I can’t go back to Riyushu.”
“And you won’t come back home. You don’t…” Arash’s eyes closed, some pained emotion drawing his features tight. “You don’t have to Fly at the solstice, Hamasa. I would never force you. I’ll take you where it’s safe and never ask again, I swear.”
Hamasa flushed brightly and looked away. “I… I couldn’t face my mother. Not any of them. Not as I am. But thank you.”
Arash extracted Hamasa’s tight grasp on his clothing. Hamasa started forward, desperate, but swiftly held himself back and let Arash go. It was his right to say no. It was asking too much of him after everything Hamasa had done to hurt him. He watched, hands twisting in the hem of his tunic again, as Arash began to pace. Arash hissed between his teeth, hands flexing and tensing at his side. The horses joined in watching him, snorting, heads turning to follow him as he paced a line through the hay and dust. Abruptly, he stopped in the middle of the stables, and finally groaned out loud and stared upwards.
“Fine!” Arash spat. Hamasa jumped in place. “I will accompany you to this Róntraih place, but once there I won’t help you get away. If you get caught again, that’s it. You’re coming back home with me. With or without your rohh, deal?”
Hamasa licked his lips, but nodded gratefully. He could prepare, maybe use a bit of human magic again when they got to Róntraih Porto. He would definitely be able to get away. From everyone he had ever disappointed.
“Thank you, Arash. Thank you.”
“Don’t.” Arash broke off with a rough scoff. “Don’t thank me, Hamasa. I’m doing this despite all logic and reason. I’m going to help you leave me again. So don’t thank me.”
He turned on his heel and left the stables.
Hamasa watched his back and the shame burned like acid in his stomach. It was fast becoming a familiar feeling.