When she looked into his eyes, she swore his warm brown irises turned to amber, the round pupils to slits.
"Your dragon," she whispered.
"She's hallucinating," Gavril said. "Tyrus, get back."
"I'm not in your way," Tyrus snapped. Then he turned to her. "Tell me about the dragon, Moria. Keep talking. Focus on me."
"She does not have the strength--" Gavril began.
"He's keeping her calm." The snap in Ashyn's voice startled Moria. It also shut Gavril up.
"Tell me about the dragon, Moria," Tyrus said.
She smiled up at him and watched his eyes shift from human to dragon and back again. She saw images, like memories, real and solid, and when she spoke, it was as if she heard words not her own.
"I see dragons and I see empires," she said. "I see you and I see your dragon and I see your empire. I see blood and I see fire and I see peace. I see you on the imperial throne and I see a dragon at your gate, a huge and beautiful snow dragon."
"And you?"
When she didn't answer, he bent forward, blocking her view of the dragon, his eyes right above hers, still flickering from human to dragon, both forms dark with worry.
"Moria, tell me that you see yourself. That you are there. With me."
She smiled. "Of course. I'll always be there for you. You will have an empire, and you will have dragons."
"And I will have you."
Before she could reply, she went still, pressing Tyrus's hand against the dragon whelp. His eyes widened, and she smiled. "I'm not hallucinating, am I?"
"The dragon," Tyrus breathed. "Moria's blood."
Hands together, they pressed the dragon whelp's side as it heaved with slow heartbeats and slower breaths. One foreleg twitched. Then the clawed foot clenched and unclenched.
"It wakes!" Gavril said. "Tyrus, get back now!"
The whelp opened one eye. Tyrus turned, and that was the first thing the dragon saw: his face.
As it should be.
Moria smiled, that floating feeling washing through her now, liquid warmth that made her head swim. She saw Tyrus, and she saw the dragon, and she saw them reflected in each other's gaze.
"Tyrus, move away now." Gavril's voice was low with warning. Tension and fear clouded his face, and he held his sword raised. Seeing that made a little of the euphoria fall away as the world became brighter, clearer.
Moria blinked. The dragon caught the movement and looked at her, and she met its gaze and looked into its eyes. For a moment, she fell back into those strange visions, those images. Blood and fire and then victory and peace.
Not now, a voice seemed to whisper in her ear. That is not now.
Of course it was not, because the Tyrus she saw in the images was no boy, nor the dragon a whelp.
And where was she in that vision? That's what Tyrus had asked, and the truth was that she did not see her place. She knew only that she was there. For him. Always.
"Tyrus," Gavril said. "I'm going to ask you again. Back up. Moria? Move slowly toward me. If that beast so much as opens its jaws, I will--"
"No, you will not," she said. "It will not, and so you will not."
Gavril's mouth worked, but something in her eyes made him lower his gaze. His sword stayed up, though.
"I'm going to ask you, Keeper, please . . ."