“Shut up!”

“Still yelling at me.” He shook his head as if it all confused him so. Perhaps it did. He was a dolt, after all. “And who is Glebovicha again?”

“She is head of my tribe and the one who sent me here. The one I need to go through in order to get time with Anne Atli.”

“Again, if you’d told me all that in the beginning—”

“Och!” Elina roared, unwilling to listen to another moment of the dragon’s incessant babbling!

Elina secured her bow to her back and grabbed her quiver of arrows. Then, without even looking at the dragon, she walked on until she reached a clearing with a large herd of wild horses.

“Are you going to break a wild horse?” the dragon asked.

“I cannot believe you are still talking.”

“I didn’t know I had to stop.”

Shaking her head, Elina called over the horse she’d ridden from her homeland. And, as soon as it stopped in front of her, she heard the dragon behind her—laughing.

“What?” she asked him.

“You call that a horse?” he asked around his laughter. “I wouldn’t even eat that, it’s so small. It’s barely a snack.”

“This is a Steppes horse. Its speed, power, and endurance unparalleled. Do not let size fool you, Dolt. You do not have to be big to be strong. To be feared.”

“But it helps.”

“Your shoulders may be wide, but your mind is very small. Like peanut.”

“You don’t even know me yet.”

“I have seen enough.” She moved over to where she’d buried the rest of her things.

After a few minutes, she unearthed her saddle and travel bag, and brought them over to the horse.

“What is its name?” the dragon asked.

“I do not know. He has not told me.”

“He hasn’t told. . . . You speak to animals?”

“No. That is why he has not told me.”

The dragon frowned, his eyes briefly gazing at the sky.

Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you just name him yourself?”

“He is not mine to name. He belongs to the land and the people of the Steppes belong to the land—so we are kin in our hearts. We cannot survive without the land or the horse. We do not own the horse. It allows us to use it. We do not own the land, the gods merely allow us to use it for our survival. Do you understand?”

“I do.” He nodded. “But—”

“No,” Elina cut in, her voice practically begging. “No more questions. Decades could pass with your questions before we get on road.”

“I know. I know. It’s just—”

“No.” She placed her hand against his chest. “No.”

“Can I ask you questions later? Like during a break for food?”

He sounded so hopeful. Did the other dragons not speak to him? Was his curiosity as painful to them as it was to her?

Elina didn’t know. But she did know that her weakness sickened her when she replied, “Yes. I can answer questions then.”

His grin was very wide. He didn’t seem smug so much as simply excited at the prospect of asking even more questions.

By the horse gods, what had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Twelve

They rode for bloody hours. Celyn hadn’t thought any human could go so long without taking any breaks, but he’d been wrong.

Elina kept her horse moving at a brisk pace, not stopping to eat or drink. Instead, she had food in convenient pockets sewn into her deerskin leggings. She had a canister of water tied to the pommel of her saddle, which she sipped from throughout the day.

It wasn’t until Celyn was sure his horse was about to toss him off that he insisted on stopping near a stream.

Elina led her horse to the stream before slipping off the animal’s back and disappearing into some nearby trees. When she returned about ten minutes later, adjusting her leggings and swatting at some annoying flies, she barely looked at him.

“How are you holding up?” Celyn asked, sitting down on the ground.

“What?”

Assuming she didn’t understand him, he repeated his question. “How are you holding up?”

“Holding up?”

“Aye. We’ve been riding hard all day.”

“Do I look weak to you? As if I cannot handle a simple ride?”

“This is a simple ride? Then why is my ass killing me?”

“You need to ride more.”

“I’m a dragon. . . . I normally fly everywhere I need to go.”

“And your wings do not get tired?”

“No.”

She stared at him with that disappointed expression she always seemed to wear before saying, “It must be nice to fly.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. If I could fly, I would live in tree. Stare down at everyone . . . quietly hating them all.”

Afraid he’d laugh or say something to insult her, Celyn instead handed Elina dried beef from the small bag he had tied to his sword belt. She nodded her thanks and sat down. Her horse nuzzled the back of her head, and Elina reached up, stroking the animal’s muzzle.

“So,” she suddenly said, “your family does not trust you to do anything but look pretty and stand near queen?”

Celyn nearly choked on the beef he’d just eaten. “What?” he snapped around his sputtering.

“Is it not true?”