Dark Skye

FIFTY-EIGHT

“What if there’s an even better place than the demon valley?” Thronos asked, his voice roughened from his many bellows to the proverbial rafters. After Lanthe had healed his old injuries once more, he’d made love to her until well after the sun had gone down. Now they lay within the cocoon of his wings, telling secrets. “What if we were to lead the Vrekeners to something even greater?”

“What do you mean?” She stroked the backs of her fingers over one of his cheeks.

“I keep thinking about one of the paths here: The Long Way. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Then it must mean something,” Lanthe said, excitement filling her. “Let’s go see what awaits us at the end!”

He cupped her face. “Exactly my thoughts.”

After dressing, they set off hand in hand into the night. They stepped upon The Long Way—which was anything but straight and narrow.

Together, they followed its many twists and turns.

With each league away from the fuming lava and the miasma of the swamp, the air grew cleaner. The sun was beginning its long, slow rise when their army of two (soon to be three) arrived at a lush plain. In the center was a colossal gray-stone mountain wreathed in white clouds and moonrakers. A babbling brook meandered around the trunks.

The temperature was cooler here, the morning sun brighter.

The sky was a dazzling violet.

“Oh, my gold,” Lanthe whispered. “It’s so beautiful.”

Gaze still on her, he said, “Beautiful.”

She grinned. “And what do you think about the mountain?”

Thronos turned to take it in, canting his head.

Lanthe saw his chest bow, as if it were filled with too much emotion to be contained.

He tugged her back against his front, draping a possessive arm over her. “It smells like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She sank into him, luxuriating in his warmth. “How’s that?”

Pressing a kiss into her hair, Thronos murmured, “It smells like sky. And home. . . .”