She smiled again, feeling drunk, limp, gone. “You promise me pleasure?” The words didn’t sound as if they came from her. So different. Liquid and subtle and inviting.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. No one else can hear us, she thought. Despite their combined efforts, she was losing him to the beckoning darkness. Only a few more words made it through the fog. “Yes, Nynn. I promise you pleasure.”

♦   ♦   ♦

Leto nearly slumped with relief when Nynn passed out.

“Never seen that before,” Fam said conversationally. He lounged on one of the padded benches, with his own bottle of golish in his hand. Three empty bottles were lined up at his feet. “You sure she’s one of us? Really?”

With an ache in his legs borne of unfamiliar tension, Leto stood and stared down at Fam. “She is.”

He didn’t wait to see the shorter man’s reaction, instead turning to assess Lamot’s progress. “Nearly finished,” the old man said. “But—” He nodded toward Fam. “That one’s not wrong. I’ve never seen anyone resist that strongly. Most are giggly on drink before the first touch of the needle. I even heard Silence speak.”

The woman visibly flinched, which was the strongest reaction Leto had ever seen in her outside of combat. Hark raised his brows. He wore a wide, teasing smile. Silence’s stiff body language suggested retribution of one kind or another later.

“Really?” Weil sat forward on her knees. “And what did she say?”

Hark’s smile never wavered. “She said, ‘Shut the fuck up, you Reaper shit.’ Oh, no, that was me. Right now. To you.”

“Out!” Leto’s shout reverberated against the far wall. “All of you. Get out.”

“Someone needs more private time with the new champion?” As if he needed more reason to lose temper, Leto turned to find Hellix propped in the doorway to the recreation room. “Seems your dorm would be more appropriate.” He shrugged. “Or hers. I hear tell you would’ve lost without her today.”

Hark had gathered up his gear and his last bottle of drink, with Silence following behind. Even Weil, still red in the face from Hark’s insult, was sensible enough to ready her departure.

“A warrior who fights with a partner wins and loses with that partner,” Leto said. “I want you to leave.”

“I suppose that means you don’t want to be reminded of the obvious. My whip lashes will mark her as surely as any tattoo.”

Leto felt hewn of rock and deep, motionless rivers of ice. Good. Any other reaction would mean crippling Hellix where he stood. He satisfied himself with the image of grabbing Hark’s nighnor, smashing it against Hellix’s skull, and praying to the Dragon that the man woke up so he could do it again. “The subject of permanent marks is not one suited to you. How long did they have to hold the knife against your skin? I hope you were in more pain than you inflicted on Nynn.”

“Unlikely. Your girl screamed loud enough that every man in the complex got hard.”

Yes, Leto would do Hellix permanent damage. One day. But he would do so when Nynn could witness the act with the satisfaction she deserved. “You are twisted.”

“Wait. What is this?” Fam barged past and knocked Lamot back from where he’d been hunched over Nynn’s shoulder. “A dragon? That doesn’t make her an Aster.”

The other warriors returned. Even Silence frowned. She glanced between the tattoo and Leto’s face. Weil cursed quietly under her breath and smoothed her frizzy red hair in that habitual way of hers. Hawk actually yawned, but the reaction didn’t mask his initial flash of surprise.

Fam had taken his usual place at Hellix’s side, which made him appear even weaker. A pantomime warrior. “You’ll answer to the Old Man for this. He’ll have Hellix whip the damn thing off her back. Can’t say that doesn’t have a certain appeal.”

“The Old Man will be no concern of yours.” That icy river still claimed Leto—for the better. “Are you finished, Lamot?”

The older Dragon King turned off his soldering gun and used a cloth to wipe away streaks of blood and ink. For motionless, speechless moments, everyone in the room stared at the tattoo. A perfect depiction of the Dragon. Not the fire-breathing monsters from Pendray myths, and not the snakelike creatures with great heads and lolling tongues, as the Garnis depicted. The Tigony, with their penchant for sidling up to the humans as the source of their long-standing power, had even gone so far as to portray the Dragon as a woman named Medusa.

Each clan had its own interpretation.

This, however . . . the tattoo on Nynn’s shoulder was the Dragon. It contained elements from all of the Five Clans’ mythology, blended into a cohesive creature.

“Now doesn’t that make your hair stand on end.” Hark shook his head. “How did he know?”

“Shut up, Thief,” Weil said. “Or we’ll ask how you’d know. Your kind keeps too many secrets.”

“I’m not a Sath elder, although it would be interesting for a day or two. Imagine all the mysteries I could solve about our people.” He leaned nearer to Weil, who was considerably shorter. “What secrets do the Pendray keep?”

She raised her red brows in challenge. “How to dispose of Dragon King bodies without anyone being the wiser.”

“Go,” Leto said. No shouts now. “Lamot, you, too. Thank you for your work.”

The contentious, infuriating lot filed out. Some did so without fanfare. Leto closed his mind to Fam’s parting question to Hellix. “Think he’ll wait till she wakes up before he fucks her?”

Fists clenched, jaw rigid, Leto stood alone. Only his breathing and Nynn’s very, very quiet respiration filled the heavy quiet. He hadn’t meant to add to her panic. The golish should’ve been a good thing, as Lamot had said. Leto had appreciated its effects more than once. For Nynn, the numbness must’ve chipped away at the barriers Ulia had constructed. Memories of being drugged? The terrors of the labs had returned to her in bits and frightened gulps.

Why do I have scars?

Jack . . .

He’d hoped the drink would blunt her pain and keep those memories from intruding. That assumption had been wrong enough to make him wonder which version of Nynn would awaken. Or if a fractured mind would make her into something altogether new.

He shook his arms until his ligaments and bones and tissue worked in concert. He’d needed to lock down his instincts to keep from mauling Hellix. Carefully, he unfastened the straps that trapped Nynn to the supporting chair. She slumped against his chest.

Only then did he wish he’d taken the time to remove his armor and wash. He would’ve liked to feel her body resting against his. Very little between them had been gentle. No matter how much he desired her, he craved the gentleness he knew she was capable of.

He stroked sweat back from her temple. Eyes closed, her brow was smooth and untroubled. The split bite marks on her bottom lip were already healing. That symbol of her distress and pain accentuated her exotic beauty by plumping her lush mouth. She was too pale, unnaturally pale, and her freckles stood out as constellations across her nose.

He’d never seen constellations, only heard tales from his mother.

Leto of Garnis. Full of ridiculous, fanciful notions. His mind had no place in his body if his body was to survive. Pell would never be safe. He would never fight in another Grievance to help perpetuate their line.

He would never father children of his own.

Why for my sister but not for me?

With motions far rougher than he would’ve liked, he lifted Nynn from the chair. She was still propped against him, in a way that gave him a clear view of her tattoo. Leto had been tempted, as Hark had, to ask Lamot how he’d captured the idea of the Dragon so accurately. It belonged to all of the clans, in a way that made all other portrayals seem purposefully wrong.