Page 169 of The Edge of Darkness

Hellfire cocked his head, eyeing Nivelle’s outstretched hand. He clicked his teeth together as he sniffed the air around her like he was tasting her scent. His long tail flitted side to side, more curious than before. When his mouth opened, I could see the fiery glow at the back of his throat.

Still, Nivelle held her ground. Her voice was soft, yet strong as she said, “Eftuush.”

“What is she saying?” I whispered to anyone nearby who would hear me.

Vanir leaned closer. “Eftuush. It means ‘easy’ or ‘slow.’”

If she knew the word, that meant it was the language the witches must have shared with the Ancient Fae.

To all our disbelief, Hellfire dipped his head and brushed his snout against Nivelle’s hand.

“Uh, is this normal?” Silas murmured.

“About as normal as a fish walking on land,” Vanir answered. “It seems both of them have a way with these creatures.”

Silas gave the highland lord a deadpan stare. “You call Roirdan’s injuries ‘having a way with these creatures’? He looks like he nearly got split open.”

Vanir shrugged. “Trainers can lose a finger or a limb trying to break the more stubborn mounts. Some suffer burns or get impaled by their claws. A few slashes from the tail is nothing.”

Silas’s wings twitched with obvious disapproval.

Remic let out a sigh. “Don’t worry yourself over it. Roirdan won’t let anything happen to her. He’ll cut out the beast’s tongue or carve out its eyes if it so much as snaps at her.”

“Good to know,” Silas muttered.

Across the pen, Roirdan sat atop the Dreki, completely stunned. Nivelle was petting the beast like it was one of the small wights back at her cottage. Slowly, his hand eased off his weapon, and he leaned forward in the saddle. “How are you doing that?” he asked.

Nivelle continued stroking Hellfire’s scaly maw. “I cast a spell, and now he’s under my control.”

Roirdan’s eyes widened. “You . . .”

She let out a short laugh and shook her head. “No. A spell has to be spoken out loud for it to take. I’m simply channeling good energy toward him.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

Hellfire trilled again, puffing smoke onto Nivelle’s palm as she scratched under his chin with her other hand.

“I may not know much about this world—beyond what I’ve seen on the isles—but I like to think that all creatures operate the same way. All they know is what they’re given.”

Roirdan’s expression softened as he watched her. I stood in just as much awe. Not only was Nivelle as fearless as he was, but she was speaking as if she were a gentle caregiver and not a magic-wielding threat to whoever crossed her. It was a side of her that she kept well-hidden, one I hadn’t expected to see.

She gave Hellfire a pat on the snout, then lowered her hand and finally lifted her eyes to Roirdan. He stiffened under her scrutiny as she mapped the bloodied stripes on his torso that were still in the process of healing. She dragged her gaze down his thick, sweat-slickened abdominal muscles next, pausing at the deep grooves that cut into his hips and the line of hair that trailed from his naval and disappeared beneath his pants. He shifted in the saddle, his muscles tensing even more than they already were.

When Hellfire decided he’d had enough of their silence, he huffed and stamped his front paws, dragging his claws through the grass as if to say, Please release me from whatever torture this is.

Roirdan took that as his cue to dismount. He tugged the reins, forcing the Dreki to lower itself, then he swung his leg over the saddle and began to slide down the beast’s side.

Suddenly, his body halted as something he wore snagged against the hardware of the strap that wrapped beneath the Dreki’s abdomen.

He leaned back as much as he could to see what was caught.

The culprit: his belt.

Hellfire growled, shifting his hind end to the side to try and detach Roirdan, but all it did was jostle the commander like a ragdoll.

Roirdan’s legs flailed, trying to find footing against Hellfire’s rounded barrel of a belly. I could hear him mutter something as he reached further up onto the saddle to lift himself an inch or two. With his other hand, he tried to unhook the entanglement, but fumbled. There was too much weight resting on the prong of the saddle strap, and Hellfire wasn’t holding still.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Roirdan said, his voice rising with frustration.