Aravin heard the soft whisper of breathing. For a moment he didn't know where he was, until he pushed himself up a little and saw the wall of trophies. He turned and caught sight of Fantoom's sleeping form. Golden light spilled through the window, tracing his bare shoulder. The dark red satin sheet hid the rest of his body from view.

Is he wearing anything else under there? He was obviously the type who liked to provoke, but Aravin thought—or at least hoped—that he had some boundaries. He himself wore a shirt and thin night trousers, a little too warm for comfort. Or maybe that was just because of who was lying beside him. At least this time I wasn't dumped somewhere else.

He slid an arm under his head and watched Fantoom for a while. The mask still covered the upper half of his face. Did he really sleep with it on every night, or had he simply expected Aravin would come? He had hardly reacted when Aravin entered his cabin. That had been a relief, after he'd spent long enough weighing whether to accept the invitation and what it might lead to.

So far, it had led nowhere.

Probably for the best, since his head was already in enough chaos. With Mart asleep just one cabin over, even the thought of his feelings leaking through twisted his stomach and drained away all desire.

Besides, I'm stuck with Fantoom for another five years. The last thing I need is more awkward moments.

"There are an awful lot of thoughts running through your head for this early in the morning."

Aravin blinked his vision back into focus. How long had he been staring at the man, unseeing, while Fantoom was already awake? "A lot happened yesterday," he muttered. He sat up and shifted toward the edge of the bed. "It must be about time for breakfast."

Fantoom glanced at the clock on the wall. "Half an hour until the ship's horn. Not the nicest way to wake up, but without it my crew wouldn't leave their bunks." He grinned.

Aravin managed a polite smile, though it didn't quite hide his unease. The last few days he'd struggled enough with the memories of what had happened in this bed, and now he was sitting in it himself.

"You mentioned the Bonewood," Aravin said, reaching for distraction. "Does the Soultaker live there?"

"Yes. I don't exactly stroll through it for fun."

Aravin studied his face. "They say no one who enters ever comes out again."

"I'm living proof that's not true." Fantoom folded an arm under his head and gave him a crooked grin.

Of course. Every mysterious place you can think of, he's been there.

"Our first plan was to un-soul the trees there. They are alive, right?"

"A little. You'd have more luck in the Whisperwood. That lies in the middle of the Bonewood. Strip the souls from those trees and... maybe the Golden Heart would burn for another week?"

Aravin suppressed a sigh. That wouldn't get them anywhere. "So we really do need a dragon." He gave Fantoom a questioning look. "Is that plan even possible? Where are you supposed to find one?"

"Every now and then one roams the Forgotten Plains. That's where this fellow came from." He nodded toward the wall opposite the bed, where the mounted head of a green dragon stared back at them.

A chill ran down Aravin's spine. It was hard to believe it had once been more than a decoration. That it had truly belonged to a living body, that it had really been a dragon.

"Where do they come from?"

"Under the ice. There are fissures that open into the world below, where dragons still live. Sometimes one is cast out. Like that one."

Cast out? Did that mean dragons had some kind of society, that they could communicate with each other? Or were outcasts simply driven away by instinct? He knew little about dragons, only that once they had been revered.

"Why on earth would they choose to live underground their whole lives?"

"In the name of peace. The Last Dragon War took a heavy toll on both sides."

That had been eight hundred years ago. "Hard to imagine. Them hiding underground when they could just burn us to ash with their breath. Especially now that there are no more Soultakers to threaten them."

"Who says life above ground is better than what lies below? We have no idea what it looks like down there."

"Ha. So there is a place you've never been."

A shadow seemed to pass through his crimson eyes. He broke his gaze from Aravin and looked upward. "I didn't see much of it."

Aravin straightened. "So you know an entrance?"

"One entrance. I'm planning to find another."

Aravin could sense the subject was sensitive. Had he lost someone on that mission? It hit him only now that monster hunting was truly dangerous. Had he lost family? Parents? Siblings? A lover? That girl Cami mentioned yesterday? Was that why he sometimes sought comfort in Cami's music? Though they had spoken two evenings last year, they hadn't shared much about their families. As curious as Aravin was, he didn't want to spoil the mood or drag Fantoom into melancholy. Not when they were about to head into the Bonewood.

He glanced at the clock. "Will I be stepping on anyone's toes if I take a bath now?"

"You step on Saxa's toes just by breathing. The rest don't care."

"And if I asked you to join me, that would definitely be a death sentence, wouldn't it?"

"Probably. Sad business, if our passion meant the end of the world." Fantoom sat up, the sheet sliding to his waist and revealing a well-built torso. "But you know I'm addicted to danger."

Flesh-colored scars slashed across his chest—claw marks from some monster. Aravin had vague memories of asking about them once, though he'd been far too distracted to really hear the story. He grinned at the man as he climbed out of bed. "Me—as the dutiful Scion that I am—am not. Before he even realized it, he shot him a wink. “But who knows—maybe if the adrenaline’s still running high after our visit to the Bonewood.”

“Oof. You do like to tease, don’t you?” Fantoom ran his fingers slowly down his chest, letting them trail lower in a way that was anything but innocent. “Guess I’ll just have to entertain myself, then.”

Aravin’s eyes were glued to his fingers. He wanted to see them go lower, to see—

No. Stop.

His face was already burning—no, his entire body was.

Fantoom chuckled at the sight of his inner struggle. “Changing your mind already?”

“N-no,” he stammered, his mouth dry and his voice unconvincing. “Just… towel. Need to grab one. And clothes. And stuff.” He turned around quickly, cursing himself under his breath.

Yesterday he’d declared loud and clear that he had no interest in Fantoom, and now he was saying things that made a liar out of him in the worst possible way.

He hurried into the lounge, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder before heading for the cabin with the washroom. He flicked on the light, locked the door, and started running the steam bath—planning to sink into the searing heat and burn away every indecent thought and restless desire still clinging to him.