Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

He glances over and nods. “Well done! You look perfectly human.”

So does he. His human form is skinny and tall, with deep brown skin and a mass of chestnut locs down to his waist, like hundreds of tiny bronze ropes that glitter in the bright sun. He’s standing in the shallows of the cove, watching the water swirl around his toes, apparently fascinated by his own feet.

“You should get dressed,” I remind him.

“Oh, of course!” He hurries back to the beach, pulls on the second pair of pants, and dons a loose shirt. “Now, put on the boots.”

“I’d rather not.” I grimace at the tall leather prisons in which I’m supposed to encase my feet. “You’re going barefoot.”

“Because there are no shoes for me. But humans wear shoes all the time, especially boots, so if you want to blend in, get on with it… my Prince,” he adds, with an apologetic wince. “Respectfully.”

With a muttered curse, I shove my sandy foot into one of the boots. The sensation is horrible—grainy and sticky. I push my other foot into the second boot and attempt to stand.

Hinarax tilts his head. “I think you should switch them. The curved part should be on the inside of each foot.”

“Fuck,” I snarl, and wrestle the boots off before tugging them on again. “I hate these.”

“They can’t be that bad if humans wear them all day.”

“Why don’t you wear them, then?”

“Didn’t your Princess give them to you?”

“She saved them for me in case I wanted them, which I do not. Please take them.”

“Well, if you’re offering…” Hinarax beams as I drag the boots off and hand them over. His smile fades once he puts them on, but he doesn’t complain.

I pick up the remaining items from the bundle—a selection of my favorite jewelry from my private hoard. I sling several of the gold and silver necklaces around my throat and tuck them under my collar, so they’re partly visible through the open neck of my shirt. Then I slip the bracelets and earrings into the pockets of my pants. That’s another thing I appreciate about human clothing—pockets, which are small bags sewn right into the garment.

Hinarax has also brought some pieces from his personal collection. Once he has stowed the treasure in his own pockets and lined his fingers with rings, we trudge out of the cove and down the beach, toward a distant cluster of buildings. A fishing village, by the look of it.

During the trek to the village, Hinarax keeps stumbling on the rounded rocks that litter the beach, but he forges on bravely, determined to conquer the boots. We take a sandy path between grassy dunes and encounter our first humans of the day—tiny ones with round cheeks, who are flying paper dragons attached to strings.

“Greetings, small humans,” I say loudly.

Hinarax elbows me in the ribs and whispers, “Don’t say ‘humans’ like that.”

I nearly correct it to “hatchlings,” but I manage to summon the right word. “Greetings, children. Have you seen any dragons flying today?”

They stare at me with round eyes, then look at their paper dragons.

“Real ones,” I clarify. “Not those frail imitations.”

“I saw a real dragon,” pipes up one of the children.

“What color was it?” asks Hinarax.

“Gray. Big. Like a flying stone. And its wings had marks all over them.”

He’s describing Fortunix. “Which way did the dragon go?” I ask.

The child shrugs.

“That way?” I point north, toward Vohrain. “Or that way?” I swerve my hand west, toward the Capital.

The boy cocks his head, a calculating expression on his chubby face. “What’ll you give me?”

I dig into my pocket. A small piece of information deserves a small reward, so I seize the tiniest earring I can find—a bit of gold with a starry white jewel dangling from it. “You can have this.”