by Cari Z
It took a few seconds of Jason’s worried pushing to break Evan out of his protective stance, and another moment or two to realize what had just happened. Someone had fired on him—on them, on a child—and a fury that Evan had forgotten he could feel flared inside of him like dragonfire. He wheeled toward the location of the shooter, only to see what looked like a boy in his early teens, his expression somewhere between defiant and afraid, holding his bow in front of him like a shield.
Evan waited just long enough to escort Jason back to the firing line, then stalked over to the boy. “Was that you?” he demanded.
“Maybe.” His voice was sullen, his eyes darting around like he was expecting someone to come to his rescue. And someone probably would, but not before Evan got an answer out of him.
“What the hell were you thinking, firing down range while we were still there?”
“It was an accident,” the boy insisted. “I was only practicing my draw, but my hand slipped. And it doesn’t even matter, because the tips are blunt. It’s not like it would have killed you!”
“No?” The boy flinched as Evan reached a hand toward him, but Evan didn’t touch him. He grabbed one of the kid’s arrows instead. “You don’t think so? You don’t think this—” he held the tip right in front of the kid’s face “—could go straight through your eye socket and into your brain? You don’t think it could hit you in the side of your head and cause a concussion, or bleeding? You don’t think if it hit you in the throat that it could fracture your windpipe? Are you an idiot?”
“Leave him alone!” Here came the cavalry, striding as fast as his legs could carry him along the line, and surprise, surprise—it was the hapless Ollie’s father. Things became a little clearer in Evan’s mind. “Don’t talk to my boy, Luckless!”
“Teach your son how to handle himself on a range and I won’t have to,” Evan shot back. He was used to keeping his head down, and if it had just been about himself he might have, but this—it could have hurt Jason. He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t tolerate it.
“My son does just fine—”
“For fuck’s sake, Cliff, Sheldon’s in the wrong on this one.” Finally, the range master arrived, looking irritated. “You don’t fire while there’s anyone down range, especially not when they’re so close to your position.”
“It was an accident,” the boy—Sheldon, apparently—said again. “I just wanted to practice my draw.”
“I don’t care what the hell you’re practicing, you follow the rules of the range or you’re banned. Which, in fact, you are. For one month.”
“What?” Cliff shouted. Everyone on the whole damn range was watching the drama now. Evan clamped his jaws together and did his best to ignore them. “Sheldon makes one mistake and you ban him for an entire month, while this son of a bitch and his little—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Evan said. He could feel Jason pressed close against his back, shivering like he was cold. “Don’t even think about it.”
Cliff raised his hand and pointed a finger at Evan. “Don’t you tell me what to do, you—”
“I’ll ban you too,” the range master interjected. “For six months, if you don’t calm the fuck down. You hear me, Cliff?”
“My boys need training time!”
“Then make sure they keep it by following the damn rules.” The range master looked down the line of shooters. “Where is Ollie, anyway?”
“In our rooms,” his father muttered. “He hasn’t been here since the last big fight, ever since someone said something to him on the wall that broke his nerve.” His glare let everyone know precisely who he was accusing.
“I was trying to help him,” Evan insisted.
“Well he’s all fucked up now, and that’s your doing, I’m sure of it!”
Despite himself, Evan felt a bit of compassion for the man. His son was suffering in the aftermath of a fight he’d been unprepared for, too young and too poorly trained to handle it, and his father obviously didn’t know how to help him, and certainly didn’t want to blame himself. Lashing out at Evan was almost logical, if looked at that way.
Logical or not, it wasn’t right, though. “What’s happening to your son has nothing to do with me or my apprentice.”
“That’s another damn thing. Who would trust their child with you? Who wants to learn from a rider with no dragon?”
Evan narrowed his eyes. This tune was an old one, and getting worn out as far as he was concerned. “Clearly one person did. And we’re done here for today.” He reached back and patted Jason’s shoulder. “Go and grab your equipment.” The boy ran to fetch it, returning breathless and wide-eyed a minute later.
“Mr. Luck.” The range master held up a hand to stop him. “I’d . . . appreciate it if you could see your way to overlooking today’s little incident. I had my head turned at a bad time, that’s the only reason it happened on my watch. I swear not to let anyone threaten harm again, accident or no, just . . .”
Evan was confused for a moment. What was the man talking about? People didn’t apologize to him for things, they just— Oh. He had recognized Jason, or at least understood that the boy was someone he should recognize.
“I’d rather not cause trouble for anyone, as long as this doesn’t happen again,” Evan said at length, and the range master nodded briskly.
“Excellent, excellent. And it won’t, of course. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Thank you.” Evan reached down and took Jason’s free hand, and they both walked off the cold, open range and into the nearest hall with matching sighs of relief.
“That was scary,” Jason said, his voice uncharacteristically small.
“It was,” Evan agreed. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Evan pressed his lips together as he thought about how to phrase what he needed to say. “No, it wasn’t, but . . . there are some people here who don’t like me.”
“Because of Juree,” Jason agreed solemnly.
“Because of her, and also because, like with that man and his son, they think I did something that I didn’t do. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them I didn’t do it, they won’t believe me. And because they don’t like me, they won’t like you either, and that could cause some trouble for you.” It already had.
Jason shook his head. “I don’t mind.”
Evan wanted to argue with him, but there really was no arguing with a seven-year-old. He went with changing the subject instead. “I think it’s close enough to quitting time today, don’t you? Let’s go drop you off at your rooms, and I’ll wait for your dad down the hall in the conference—”
“Oh!” Jason’s face lit up. “I forgot! Daddy says you’re invited to dinner in our apartment tonight!”
“Really?” Dinner with the two of them wasn’t exactly a new thing, but Lee had always had it catered to the conference room, never inviting him into the space he shared with his son. Evan understood the need for privacy, and didn’t let it bother him no matter how curious he got sometimes, but now . . . “Are you sure?” This was pretty out of the blue, after all.
“Yeah, because it’s been a whole month and we’re all getting along so well that Daddy says we need to treat you like family, and families eat together in the home.”
Oh. Oh, that was— Almost despite himself, Evan felt a warmth rise up into his cheeks. Family wasn’t something he’d had in a long time, had never thought he’d have again. It wasn’t a word to be thrown around lightly in this dangerous new world either, and to hear it leveled at himself . . . It shocked him, how much he suddenly wanted that experience. “If you’re sure . . .”
“Yes! Come on, Daddy will tell you.” Jason pulled free of his grip and led the way up the stairs. “Hurry up, Evan, I’m hungry!”
So was Evan, but it wasn’t the gnawing, hollow hunger he’d grown accustomed to since moving to Forge. With what Lee paid him for teaching Jason, Evan was able to afford three meals a day—up from two�
�and had bought a locker to save extra in.
Evan shared his room with five other people, and if you couldn’t lock up your things, they were sure to be stolen. Now that he had a secure place to store things, he had decided to indulge. He had newer clothes, a new hammer for smithing, and even—on a whim—a few sheets of paper and a pencil. He had enjoyed drawing as a child, and sketching Juree helped him remember what he’d loved so much about her—her strength, her resilient heat, and her large, vibrant purple eyes. Someday, perhaps, he’d save up enough money to buy the color purple and fill in those eyes.
He almost jumped as he realized they were already at Jason and Lee’s door. Pay attention to your surroundings, he chided himself as Jason heaved on the thick door to open it. They walked inside, and Lee welcomed them both with a smile. He wasn’t wearing his jacket today, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, baring his strong, pale forearms. Evan had to look away—he didn’t need to get caught staring at his employer, no matter how much he wanted to sometimes.
“Come all the way in,” Lee coaxed with a smile, and Evan realized the other man couldn’t shut the door with him in the way. “I promise not to bite.”
“Right.” Evan forced a smile in return, pushing back against his nerves. God, he was pathetic sometimes. “I’m a little surprised you’re inviting me in, honestly. Not that I had any expectations that you would. I mean—” Fuck, he was screwing this up royally. Lee seemed to get it, though.
“I understand. I’m sorry if you’ve felt like I’ve been deliberately keeping a distance. It’s just . . . I’m very particular about who I let into my home. Not even Governor Townsend himself can enter without my express permission, which he hasn’t gotten, by the way.” The way he said it made Evan chuckle. “I simply needed to become comfortable with you.”
“You really don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Evan said bemusedly as Lee stepped behind him and helped him out of his coat. Long fingers brushed his shoulders, and he shut his eyes for a moment. “Privacy is important, especially with a kid.”
“So is widening our social circle.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Very well, now that we’ve admitted you.”
God, the blushes, they just didn’t stop when he was around Lee. Casual dinners with the man hadn’t inured Evan to his charms, and long nights spent picturing Lee—his hands, his mobile, slender mouth, his ridiculously beautiful hair, for fuck’s sake—only made Evan’s ill-advised attachment worse.
He didn’t have to give in to it, though. He was an adult, damn it, and he was being welcomed into their home. He could handle himself.
He did handle himself well enough for the first fifteen minutes or so, with Jason placing blue-glazed earthenware dishes on a red tablecloth in the middle of the front room and Lee filling mugs with pure, unclouded water. Their front room was three times the size of the little nook Evan called home, room enough for a table and four chairs, as well as a small kitchen with its own burner hooked up to Forge’s gas pipeline. That was serious luxury, hard to come by. For the millionth time, Evan wondered what Lee did that was so important to the governor. Plenty of people didn’t have to share a room in Forge—the wall encompassed about a mile square around the stadium, with some land not turned into housing dedicated to agriculture—but few of them had more than a single room at their disposal. Certainly nothing like this.
The novelty, warmth, and a bowl of rich stew lulled him into a false sense of security, and Evan forgot completely about the incident at the range until Jason brought it up, excited about it now that the fear was farther away. “It could have gone right through my eyeball,” he said with relish. “But Evan kept me safe.”
Lee was very still—unnaturally still. Evan put down his spoon and cleared his throat. “I talked the incident over with the range master. The boy who did it is barred for a month, and his father was notified.”
“His father was so mad at Evan,” Jason added. “But Evan didn’t even care!”
Lee turned to his son. “Jason, please go to your room for a while. I need to speak to Evan alone.”
This was it, then. The last straw had gone up in flames, just as Evan had landed his first-ever invite into their home. He sighed internally. He’d always known it was too good to last, but he’d hoped to hold on to this—this sense of community, however small it was—for a little longer.
Jason left with a last apprehensive look at the pair of them, and once the door shut behind him, Lee turned his glittering eyes on Evan.
“I’m sorry, I tried to—”
“Is this the first time this has happened to you two?”
“Yes.” Evan shook his head. “I meant to tell you earlier, but I got a little . . . caught up in dinner, I guess.” It was a pathetic excuse and he knew it. “For what it’s worth, I do have the range master’s word that this won’t happen again, but I can’t guarantee anything. The range might be safe, but . . . you have to understand, some people here, they loathe me. They look at me and see someone who hasn’t earned his place here in the city, but was given one instead because of what I can do. What I could do,” Evan corrected bitterly. “Their mischief won’t stop just because Jason is with me. On the contrary—they look at our arrangement as yet another thing I don’t deserve. I’m sorry, I can— We can stop our lessons. I can recommend someone else to you, someone without my baggage.”
“Do you still have the dreams?”
Evan’s breath caught in his throat. “I—” He coughed and tried again. “Yes. Sometimes. But nothing new, of course, nothing like what I shared with Juree. Just our last day together, like it’s happening all over again.” I wake up crying, he didn’t say, but he could see he didn’t have to.
“Riders and their dragons sharing dreams is what really holds their bond together, you know. It isn’t enough to feel another’s emotions—you have to see through their eyes, experience things from their perspective.” Lee’s voice was soft, compassionate. “Neither species would have survived this new reality if we didn’t relive our lives together. What is your dream like?”
Evan spoke haltingly, almost as desperate not to say anything as he was to finally share his own personal horror. “I can see through her—Juree’s—eyes. It’s our final battle, and I feel the weight of my own body on her neck. I’m heavier than usual, because she’s wounded, but it isn’t slowing her down. She’s keeping her body between me and the manticore, catching its quills as they fly. Anything to keep me safe. I’m her . . .”
Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, but Evan kept going. “I’m her heart, her family. She loves me, she’s too concerned for me. Too concerned to watch out for herself, and she gets too low. The manticore stings her with its tail, right under her jaw, and she’s dizzy. She can’t coordinate her wings anymore, and she feels me grip her with both arms as she starts to tilt. We’re going to crash. She knows it, and she pulls me from her neck and cradles me in her claws as we fall.
“We hit the ground hard, and I’m knocked out, my arm broken, but okay apart from that. She sees the manticore coming, and she puts me down, cuts my harness line, and runs at it. It’s taller than she is, but she gets it by the throat and digs in deep. It stings her over and over, but she doesn’t let go. She manages to kill it before it can kill her. She tries to come back to me, but she’s . . . The poison is too much. She dies thirty feet from the city wall, alone, staring at me.” Evan wiped a hand over his cheeks. “Fuck. I’ve never told anyone this before. Fuck.”
“I asked,” Lee reminded him. “I wanted to know, and I’m honored by your confidence.” He handed Evan a clean napkin, which Evan took gratefully and covered his face with as he fought for control. “Do you ever get the good ones?”
Evan took a shuddering breath. “No. Not anymore. Just that one. It was the last moment I ever shared from her perspective, and I can’t seem to escape it. I’m not even sure I should, to be honest. It proves to me that at least once upon a time, someone loved me. She lo
ved me maybe too much, but that was her choice, not mine.”
“That’s an important thing to remember. It was her choice. I’m sure you’re worthy of it.”
“Really?” Evan raised his eyebrows. “Even after I put your son in danger?”
“You didn’t do anything of the kind; that idiot child and his father did. You took care of it. Jason is safe with you, and I’m serious when I say that I want him to know the way of the rider from your perspective. My own dreams, they . . .” Lee shrugged apologetically. “It can be hard to share them with my child, when he has his own memories of the people involved. And I’m not saying you need to share this with him. Just giving him access to someone similar is enough.”
“I’d tell him if he asked,” Evan volunteered, surprising himself a little. “Maybe not so much detail, but . . . I would.” Feeling daring, maybe because it was surprisingly nice to share the memory of Juree’s last day, he asked, “Do you still have them?”
Lee nodded. “I do. They come in greater variety, though. I do dream of her death, but not only that. I can’t say I wouldn’t go mad, otherwise.” He sipped his water, his handsome face pensive. “They can be hard, but I wouldn’t give them up for the world. To know I had that connection—that perhaps I might have it again someday—is worth the pain to me.”
Evan sighed. “I wish I felt like I could. That I deserved it.”
Lee reached over and took his hand. Evan was so surprised by the gesture that he didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch. Lee’s touch was warm, as warm as his home and his food and his company. “You do deserve it,” he said intensely. “You deserve every bit of goodness this world has to offer you, even if they’re hard to come by. Eat dinner with us tomorrow night.”
Evan wasn’t even fazed by the non sequitur. This, at least, he could happily accept. “All right.”
“Eat dinner with us every night.”
Evan smiled. “All right.”
Chapter Five
For the first time in five years, Evan had a different dream that night. It was still one of Juree’s memories, but one so distant that he’d almost forgotten it: his first solo flight. He could feel himself, nervous and clinging without his dad’s steadying arms around him. Juree crooned a gentle song to relax him as she lifted off the ground as carefully as she could. This one had just been an egg not so long ago, and she would have to be cautious with him, have to be—