Promise the Sky

Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Kiara

 

 

 

For a second after I wake, I can't work out what's going on. Everything feels too warm, too snug after all that time spent sleeping under the stars. A thick layer of material is settled over my midsection, something I quickly realise to be Geraint's cloak as I identify him as the body at my side. He looks happier as he sleeps, younger. It doesn't hit me properly until I roll over, discovering that the enveloping dragon heat belongs to a slightly amused-looking Ella.

Drake did not return in the night.

And for a second, I considered killing one of my only friends.

"Good, you're awake," Geraint murmurs, stirring in his sleep. I'm not quite used to him using Ella's eyes while she doesn't have her head on his shoulder, and his awareness makes me jump. "It's late, we need to go."

In an instant he's fully roused, striding across the room. I blink, bleary eyed, and reach out for the stolen heat of his cloak. Ella's amusement, in my mind, almost feels exactly like a chuckle. She's much more human than Drake is.

With a grunt, Ella stands, shifting me gently from her side and onto the cold floor. I shiver, upset that I have been given no choice in the sudden wakefulness the icy surface provides.

"Where are we going?" I ask the impatient Geraint. I think, in terms of last night, I am forgiven, or even that he doesn't blame me at all. He certainly doesn't seem any different.

But Drake is different, Drake is angry, and he still hasn't returned. Part of me just wants to mope around here all day in the hope that he'll come back and I can redeem myself.

Geraint's having none of it though. He has slept beyond the dawn, and it is time to go.

"Kill Geraint and save the world?" he says, "that sounds like too blatant a lie not to relate to something truthful. We're giving that dagger back to its owner, Kia, makes me sick just looking at it, and if I've got to wave it around first to get some answers, then I will."

"Geraint," I say, stifling a yawn, "I'm sorry about last night."

"Not your fault."

If Geraint keeps waving off my marginally attempted murder like it was nothing, I might begin to actually believe him.

"I tried to kill you," I remind him as we turn out onto the street and wonder why I'm so desperate for him to hate me all of a sudden.

"You're not the first."

He isn't joking.

"Your friends sound lovely," I mutter, dusting down my coat. I can't remember the last time I changed my clothes, or had a shower, and I'm starting to look just as travel-worn and dirty as he does. The only difference is that, somehow, he manages to look fearsome, and I just look homeless.

"I don't really do friendship remember," he grumbles, "or at least other people don't do friendship with me."

"You keep saying that," I say, "but one of your friends has given us a home, for an indeterminable amount of time, just like that. Ella would practically die for you, Drake idolises you, and I..."