Page 85 of Fire to the Stars

My stare follows the length of her dragon-claw scar, then drops to the brand-new skirt that hides her thigh. The thigh that nearly took a direct hit from a bolt.

“I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” I say, and follow her to the carriage that will transport us to the inn. During the whole ride back, I do my damnedest to ignore the rapid beat of my heart.

It feels new, returning from a hunt to a bare-bones room.

No gold, no candelabras, no chandeliers, no family portraits or verdigris statues passed down from my ancestors. No oppressive weight of expectations, no “How was your day?” from parents who weren’t asking for my feelings but for the number of soleils that my bounty would contribute to the family estate.

“Is something wrong?” Claire asks, shutting the door behindus.

Claire—she doesn’t see a professional slayer with a large income but a man who hates his job. She’s a thief who somehow seesmebefore she sees my bounty.

I look away. “I’m fine. Tired.”

What are you trying to do, knock out a dragon?

The ground beneath my feet has been too stable. Too secure. I don’t trust it.

“Did you deliver my incident report to the Gendarmerie?” Iask.

“I gave it to Marshal Bard himself. He’ll save it for the slayerarchives once we’re sure it’s safe.” Claire hangs my coat in the closet, then sheds her own. She’s quick about it—not bothering to brush off the light dusting of snow before she pats a whining Lucy. “Anything else we need to take care of?”

“No. Our work is done.”

Hopefully Marshal Bard can motivate the prisoner to shed some light on where he came from. My job as a slayer won’t be easy to continue until then.

“I had the housekeeping staff bring more pillows so you can sleep sitting up.” She busies herself with arranging them. “You should relax. I’ll go find us something for lunch.”

I linger near the foot of the bed. My equipment—all of it—rests neatly beside the roaring fire. The whole room is replenished: a full stack of firewood, fresh candles, clean towels, and a pitcher of water next to my bag of medicines.

A welcome home for a slayer. From Claire. From the girl who somehow survived a dragon attack, who stockpiles sleep powder, and who emerges from every dangerous encounter she meets without a scratch.

“Order lunch from the inn’s kitchens,” I say. “Most of the assassins escaped. You’re too recognizable now that they’ve seen your scar in daylight.”

“I’ll ask a gendarme to escort me. I’ll be fine.”

She might be reckless, but she isn’t stupid. Which means she’snotin her right mind.

“Are you avoiding me again?” I ask.

She organizes the contents of the dresser but doesn’t turn around. That’s confirmation enough.

“Is it because of what I said at the hospital?” I guess.

“Yes,” she admits.

Relief hits me with the weight of a dragon’s tail. Avoidance is a perfectly natural reaction to my unprofessional comments. It has nothing to do with Diu’s curse. She’snota dragon. This is a problem I can fix.

“I crossed the line.” I stare at the stretch of floor between us. “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable. You seemed hard on yourself, so I just…wanted you to know what I saw.”

Her fingers press into the dresser’s edge. “I’m not a good person.”

“You are to me.” I step toward her. “You’ve faced decisions no one should have to make. No one can fault you for wanting to survive.”

She doesn’t move, not even to indulge Lucy, who paws at her ankles.

I continue. “I don’t expect anything. Just know that you’re worth more than your crimes. I want you to live a good life again.”

At that, she turns. Her stare holds mine.