“Not exactly,” the dragon said, stepping off the bed and leaving Gulvane free to move.

  Like lightning, Gulvane flicked the covers back, and cast the most powerful spell that came to mind.

  “Don’t,” the dragon said, raising an arm to shield his face, and pushing out and down with the open palm of his other hand.

  It almost worked. Gulvane saw the dragon’s form shiver, caught a glimpse of the creature beyond—steel-gray, long-limbed, with a powerful body and well-muscled tail. Wings flared, built for speed and maneuverability. Gray eyes looked affronted, then partially amused.

  Gulvane took all this in, before the spell bounced back, slamming him against the bed with such force that the frame cracked and one end embedded part of itself in the wall. The dragon’s form rippled just once before solidifying back into the human form he’d chosen—a red-haired man, with a salt-and-pepper beard, built like a warrior, and heavier in form than his dragon self.

  Before Gulvane could gather his breath, the dragon reached into his head and flicked open the golden-oak door releasing the feeling that had engulfed the elf as he’d fled into the night. The wizard shook as though struck by a fist, and the dragon slammed the door shut, reaching for the bronze-wood door, instead.

  With the snick of a gleaming adamantine claw, the dragon flicked that door open, and pulled the memory of change from it, overwhelming him again.

  This time, Gulvane knelt before a woman dressed head to toe in black.

  “Kill me if you must,” he said, “but my spirit will pursue you through an eternity of hells.”

  The assassin had lifted a miniature crossbow of misted-night and shot him.

  “We’ll let the gods decide,” she said, and watched as he collapsed. “When you find me, your training will begin.”

  The poison spread rapidly. Gulvane had been a caravan guard and warrior-for-hire for a scant seventy-eight years, outliving so many of his brethren that he’d had to move regions lest he be called a curse. That era ended as his vision faded. The last thing he saw was the mist-night crossbow arcing toward him.

  “Find me,” the woman had said.

  The dragon dragged the bronze-wood door closed, and Gulvane reached for another spell—not surprised when the dragon took and crushed it.

  “You are that Gulvane,” it said. “I expected nothing less. Did you know no price was ever laid on your head? That her family was forced to pay the blood price for your disappearance?”

  Whatever Gulvane had been expecting, it had not been that.

  The dragon caught his astonishment, and could not hide a victorious smirk.

  “The tattoos remained on her face, and the altar was covered in the possum’s blood. When her spirit refused to respond, the wizards were called. They reconstructed events so they could be seen. Her mother collapsed. Her father had to be prevented from taking his own life, such was his shame. The Council helped them recover, but the household is yet to regain its place amongst the nobility. Your name was cleared, but you could not be found. How did you learn to run so far and so fast?”

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  Gulvane was lost for words. All those years of rage…when he could have returned home. All those years of cold solitude where he had taken the lives he’d been paid for, and wound himself in a shroud of aloofness to hide the loneliness of his heart. The last three centuries living alone in a tower, when he could have had wives, a family, alliances…a tree bearing his name.

  He thought he’d outgrown that grief, wept all the tears required, and was surprised to find dampness streaking his cheeks as he stared into the dragon’s eyes. Gulvane swallowed, tempering the emotion, tamping it behind the walls of business.

  “You had something you wanted to discuss?”

  The dragon rocked back onto its heels, mild surprise driving it to temporary silence. Gulvane pushed himself upright and disentangled himself from the sheets. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he summoned an over-robe, and pulled it on. Wizard or not, he felt his night shirt left him at a disadvantage.

  He watched the dragon regain its composure.

  “I wanted an elf of my own,” the dragon said, raising a hand to silence Gulvane when he would have interrupted. “I didn’t want just any elf. I wanted a wizard who could fight, but one who understood stealth, and who didn’t need magic to avoid detection. And I wanted an elven wizard who had a heart.”

  “You stalked me.”

  “You attracted my attention.”

  “When?”

  “The day you took the honey possum from the tree.”

  “I…what?”

  “You do recall it, don’t you?”

  “I recall the day,” Gulvane admitted, “but I don’t recall you.”

  “Back then, all I wanted was a honey possum to call my own.”

  “I couldn’t save the others,” Gulvane said. “The storm called me out, and I went as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t reach the tree in time. Jambil was all that survived.”

  “I know. I watched you swimming. Not many would have braved that current.”

  “I didn’t know the lightning had struck so deep.”

  “Your Jambil was outside the nest.”

  “He must have sensed it coming. He always seemed to know…” Gulvane let the words go unsaid.

  How could Jambil have been caught and sacrificed? He thought back to the time he had sent the possum ahead, but recalled nothing in its attitude or gestures to indicate it knew it was going to its doom.

  “She didn’t know she was going to take him, then,” the dragon said. “Not even a seer would have seen it. And he was pre-occupied at the time.”

  Gulvane had known that. Jambil had been unsettled for weeks, but the forester hadn’t been able to work out why. He might have puzzled over it further, but the import of the dragon’s words struck a chord.

  “You were watching me, even then?”

  “You had taken my honey possum,” the dragon said. “Won its heart so it would not leave you. What else was I to do? It had to find a mate, eventually.”

  “You tried to lure him away?” Gulvane was aghast. Jambil had never told him of that encounter.

  “He refused me, so I swore him to secrecy. Have you ever been tail-flicked by a possum?”

  Gulvane had, and more than once. The memory brought a chuckle from his throat. A tail-flick to a possum was like a raised finger in some human cultures—extremely rude. The remembrance was less painful than he’d anticipated, but he changed the subject, anyway.

  “Did you ever find one?”

  “One what?”

  “A possum of your own.”

  The dragon looked away, pausing in silence until Gulvane thought he had struck a nerve. He was about to apologize when the dragon returned his gaze and replied.

  “I raised Jambil’s family.”

  If Gulvane had not already been seated, he’d have collapsed onto the edge of the mattress.

  “I am sorry,” the dragon added.

  Gulvane waved it away, raising a hand and bowing his head until he had his emotions back under control. Jambil had made a family? Well, that explained a lot. Honey possums were notorious for keeping secrets.

  Gulvane wanted to weep, this time for not getting to know creatures he’d never met. Jambil’s children. Again, he changed the subject.

  “I cannot be what you want me to be,” he said, feeling inexplicably weary.

  The dragon leant against the wall near Gulvane’s bed and tilted his head to one side.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Gulvane stared at him.

  “Why not what?”

  “Why can’t you be what I need?”