Dragon glanced back over his shoulder, causing Lia and Ja’al to freeze in position, faces less than an inch apart. The Dragons vanished over the rim of the Island above.
Ja’al coughed awkwardly. “You weren’t supposed to kiss me … quite so …”
“Fervently?” Hualiama squeezed her eyes shut, breathing raggedly. “I’m so sorry, Ja’al. That was the Orange, the one who attacked me before, on Ha’athior Island. I panicked.”
“The one you told me about?”
“Aye.”
“Well, Princess. You are not forgiven.”
“What?” Her eyes sprang open.
Treacherous monk. His face was still so close, she saw every detail of the very fine wrinkles edging his smile. He waggled an eyebrow suggestively at her, causing Lia to splutter, “Ja’al of Ya’arriol, if I’ve caused you to break … your beliefs are you. Slay me now. I could not live, nor could I ever forgive–”
“You misunderstand.” His eyes, oh, his beautiful, swimmable eyes, so depthless that they took her breath away, crinkled as his smile broadened. “O Princess, I’m being obtuse. Forgive me. Holding you in my arms has only convinced me more than ever–despite that this was my first kiss, and undoubtedly the sweetest kiss in the history of the Island-World–”
“Unforgettable, indeed.”
“–that I must take my vows.”
Hualiama gaped at Ja’al. By the innermost fires of Fra’anior, she lacked the power to change this monk’s convictions? Was this a fundamental insult to her femininity, or an even deeper relief? His hand moved to stroke her cheek hesitantly, a touch devoid of the passion she expected. Something had changed between them. A forever change. There was sadness, a sense of farewell.
Delicately, Ja’al said, “Occasionally, it is given to me to penetrate the veil of the future, Lia. It’s a dangerous power, for it is easy to say too much. Know this. Our paths will diverge from this moment. I will take my vows, and–”
“–become the next leader of this monastery after Master Jo’el,” Lia interjected.
Rather wild of eye, he breathed, “You never fail to astonish. Are you quite certain you have no magic?”
She replied, “I will find the Nameless Man, and he will name my destiny.”
“Aye.”
A simple word, and Lia knew there was more. Their gazes met, sparred, sparked. Why press him? Let the future care for itself, for knowing the future must certainly change it, or change the person who held that knowledge. What a burden to carry. What a noble vessel to carry that burden–Islands’ sakes, and would her heart not stop asserting that for reason of being incorruptible, Ja’al was therefore infinitely the more appealing?
On an impulse, Hualiama tilted her chin upward to press her lips to his cheek. “I know my opinion doesn’t count for a great deal in this Island-World, Ja’al, but I want you to know that I think you’re categorically and amazingly awesome.”
He looked to the horizon, swallowing audibly.
“Now,” she said, “we should return before your brother hatches any ideas.”
As the monk rose, helping Lia to her feet, her eyes traversed the newly scarred cliff-side. Surely no Dragon could survive a mountain being dropped on his head? She had witnessed the death of a Dragon, a heart-wound which could know no stanching.
Ja’al dropped her hands with a soft exclamation. “Hua’gon.”
Barefoot, Ja’al’s brother sprinted away as though the Orange Dragon hunted him. He must have come right up to the boulder, spying on them.
Lia said, “You don’t suppose he–”
“There’s no doubt Master Jo’el’s about to receive an earful. There’ll be no stopping him now.” Ja’al sighed, rubbing his bald pate with a long-suffering air. “My sneaky brother. Do you have any siblings as delightful as Hua’gon?”
“Implausible as it might seem, yes,” said Lia. “Shall we swap notes?”
Would that her heart could be a strongbox, for she would lock and bolt it and throw away the key, rather than suffer this pain.
* * * *
Four hours before dawn the morning following Lia’s inadvertent witness of the Tourmaline Dragon’s destruction, eighty monks filed underground to the great storage caverns a quarter mile beneath the monastery. Four Dragonships lay at anchor there, gently bobbing in the cool breeze that trickled through the cavern mouth.
Master Jo’el crooked a finger at Lia. “You. Get your sorry hide over here.”
Somewhere amidst the cloaked, hooded mass of monks, Hua’gon would be smirking. Lia dragged herself over to the Master, fixing her eyes on a point near her toes.
“Hualiama,” he said.
She blurted out, “I’m awfully, awfully sorry, Master.”
“Sorry? You should be, and worse,” he growled. “A highly unusual strategy to encourage a young monk to take his vows.” His long