Hatched: Dragon Speaker (Hatched Series Book 3) by Caren Hahn

Author:Caren Hahn [Hahn, Caren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Seventy-Second Press
Published: 2023-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

48

LIKE A FAUN FINDS ITS WAY HOME

Wynne’s sword bumped against her leg as she descended the steps to the flat beach near the waterfall. The air churning with spray was cool and inviting, a marked contrast to the oppressive heat of the day. The setting sun tipped the top of the trees gold, and the figures down below stood out in the shadows. Charl in her white shirtsleeves, Slip shirtless. His dragonskin coat was draped on a nearby rock.

Slip and Charl were sparring, her movements slow but earnest, his patient and restrained. His commands echoed against the cliff walls, short barks over the deep roar of the pounding water.

Wynne’s heart pounded in her throat and anger cast a sheen over the scene so that the image of the two of them wavered before her. How long had he been using? How fast would it spiral into catastrophe this time?

How long would it be before she learned once and for all that she couldn’t trust him?

Before she reached the bottom of the trail, the sparring stopped. Charl’s laugh drifted on the breeze, Slip’s comment reduced to a murmur and a grin from this distance. Charl turned away and wiped at her forehead, a smile still on her face.

When she caught sight of Wynne, her smile widened.

“Wynne! You’re back!”

She crossed the beach and met Wynne as she stepped off the trail. Slip stayed behind, wiping his blade on his discarded shirt.

“Everything go all right?” Charl asked, her smile fading as she took in Wynne’s expression.

“Fine,” Wynne said tightly. “I need to talk to Slip.”

Charl glanced back at Slip, whose back was to them, almost as if she wanted to issue him a warning.

“Prax is looking for you,” Wynne said curtly.

Charl got the point. “All right. Glad you’re back. Thanks for the lesson, Slip!”

She headed to the trail, disappearing among the ferns and trees.

Slip’s back was to Wynne as he inspected his blade. As Wynne neared, she could see clearly the scars on his naked back. Marks of a profession where even the best died too young. Some of those scars she knew well, having been with him when he received the wounds. Others were strangers to her, stories he kept to himself.

Somehow the sight made her even more angry. Almost desperately so.

He wasn’t using faerie sand now, she was reasonably sure. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken such time inspecting the blade. When he was on faerie sand he never had as much patience for tedious tasks.

“You made it back in one piece,” he said as he started to turn around. “The witch must have—”

Wynne drew her sword and pointed it at his chest. Right above the sternum.

“Where is it?” she demanded, still breathing fast from her hike. Or was it the anger? All she knew is that she felt like the very blood in her veins was smoldering.

Slip didn’t answer right away. He looked at the sword tip and he looked at Wynne. His brow furrowed and his gray eyes darkened like a thundercloud.

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