She gave up trying to stop Mal and before Scarlet realized what she was doing, Gizelle had darted between the big bars of the cage to face the wyrm.
Scarlet cried out as the wyrm twisted and opened two sets of giant jaws in Gizelle’s direction, tearing from her trees. “Gizelle, no!” She lost her grip on the vines she was controlling and was suddenly... somewhere else.
She was standing in knee-deep grass, brilliantly lit by nothing at all. Above her, the sky was featureless black: no stars, no sun, no color.
Gizelle stood with her back straight, her slim gazelle shivering at her side. Mal was here, too, his golden dragon towering above his human form, both of them looking around in curious wonder.
And the wyrm was with them, fluttering its blue and green feathers in confusion. It had no human self beside it.
Mal gestured, and spoke a few words that Scarlet didn’t catch, but nothing happened. The wyrm opened his mouths as if he would spit his wind at them... but the grass continued to wave peacefully.
Suspiciously, Scarlet reached out with her own power, calling on the grass to grow... and found that nothing answered.
Gizelle was walking fearlessly forward towards it. “You can run here, always,” she said to it, sounding weary and worn down. It thrashed in fury, but despite its great size, it seemed incapable of harm. When it screamed, even the sound seemed powerless.
Gizelle turned her back on it, facing Mal and Scarlet. “No one belongs in a cage,” she repeated. “Not even that. Better that he stay here, forever and never, until the sky goes dark.”
The wyrm suddenly shifted forms and was a human, with silky, rainbow-dark hair, dressed in soft feathers in peacock blues and greens. “Gizelle,” it said coaxingly. “I have always been your friend. Free me and I will make you a queen! We will make the whole world a place to run and you will rule at my side.”
Scarlet made a small noise of anger and dismay and Mal said flatly, “Don’t listen to him, Gizelle. He was never your friend.”
Gizelle turned to regard the wyrm again, ignoring both of them.
“I was Conall’s queen,” she said mournfully.
“I can bring him back,” the wyrm whispered temptingly in a new voice, stepping close to Gizelle. “I brought him down, and I can bring him back, but only if you free me. Let me go from this place and you will be together again.”
Scarlet could see the quiver in Gizelle’s frame, the hesitation. “No...” she whispered.
“He lies,” Mal told Gizelle firmly. “No one can do that.”
Scarlet bit her lip.
Gizelle turned and looked at them each in turn and then faced the wyrm again. “You’ve always spoken nicely to me, and for a long time, I thought that nice meant good. But you would hurt so many people, and cause so much pain. Even Conall isn’t worth that price. I couldn’t be that selfish.” She stepped closer to it, trembling and fearless at once. “I’m sorry for your hatred and your hunger for destruction. I’m sorry for all your time in a cage, awake and angry. I don’t know if you are capable of happiness, but here there will be no time and you will not suffer.”
The wyrm seemed to gather itself and Scarlet took a step forward to protect Gizelle—if she even needed protecting in this place—and saw Mal do the same.
Then they were suddenly outside again, the storm still whipping around them as they faced the monstrous form of the half-caged wyrm.
The creature was weirdly still, every feather frozen in space; it was the only thing not moving in the wind. Even small rocks skidded across the tiles in the gale.
“We will have to close the door completely,” Mal said, looking at Gizelle in awe. “He will find a way out, if we leave even the tiniest crack. You’ll never be able to go back.”
Gizelle’s shoulders drooped, but she nodded. “I knew that,” she said simply. “But I am done running. Nothing matters that much anymore.” The tearless grief in her face was like a great weight and Scarlet hurt for her.
“He is immortal and can never die,” Mal said gravely. “He will be locked in your place forever in that single moment and I will bury his earthly body. Close the door, Gizelle.”
She looked up at him with trusting eyes. “I don’t know how.”
Chapter 31
Mal gazed down at Gizelle. So much of what she did was instinct, in sharp contrast to his own carefully learned, orderly methods. “I think I can help you,” he offered. “I need a physical anchor. Something that means a lot to you would be best, but anything will do.”
Gizelle’s glance flickered up to the bar deck, where Conall’s body lay half-covered in rubble.
“What about this?”
Mal turned to find that Bastian and Saina had climbed from the crumbling pool, and the dragon shifter, looking rather worse for the wear and leaning heavily on his mate, was holding out an ugly, battered piece of metal.