“You flew on a griffin?” Alina gasped against his strangling arms. “That right is supposed to be reserved for the shamans of the highest order… and Hybrid Isle is but a fable. But then… so too were your exploits, at least that was what I thought. What was Hybrid Isle like?”

“Not incredibly welcoming,” Breaker said, keeping a tight grip on the dancer’s lithe body. “Although I did manage to plant my seed in an apprentice’s belly. Some day soon, I will return to Hybrid Isle in order to claim my child. Until then… I have other matters to attend. Such as forging an alliance with you.”

“I suppose I could consider your friendship,” Alina stuttered, her teeth chattering with the cold. “But only if you give me what I desire. What I deserve. A fair fight, and a fair defeat. Do not force the humiliation of a draw upon me.”

“I fear it’s a little late for that.” Breaker said, and suddenly a frigid mist was upon them. It opened the pores on her forehead as wide as her bulging eyes, and then the were flying through the opaque air, separating from the ice floe but staying together because of Breaker’s body bind.

“Is this anything like riding a griffin?” Alina asked breathlessly as they tumbled through the mist.

“A little,” Breaker whispered. “If you close your eyes.”

~*~

Alina opened her eyes in the Citadel’s infirmary. She hadn’t felt the impact on earth or water, or wherever they had landed. She could only presume she had died. And the fall likely would have killed Cronen too, for all his power. So she was stuck with the draw she had so dreaded coming out of her first bout at the Citadel. It hung in the back of her throat, and a vile acrid taste, making her want to spit.

She changed out of the cotton slip she was dressed in and donned her somehow unblemished clothing, noting that her belt knife and spear were waiting by the door. The wonders of the Citadel had not ceased to amaze her, despite her disillusioning opponent. She collected her belongings, sheathing the trusty belt knife and carrying the spear loosely over one shoulder.

In the hallway she nearly ran into a monk with amber eyes and a kind smile. He nodded at her and gestured for her to follow.

“Please,” he said, “I am a friend of Joshua Cronen. He wishes to speak with you.”

Alina hesitated for a long moment. She did not really want to speak with Cronen. Her heart thundered a little when she thought of him. Perhaps she didn’t want to speak with him in fear of what she might feel. She bared her teeth. A warrior of the Mi’Sheteri never backed down before fear. She followed the monk down the hall and into another room in the infirmary.

Joshua Cronen stood near the far fall, facing her. His grin lit up his face, the Y-shaped scars on his cheeks dimpling. He was still wearing those amazing black metal boots, and he still looked like a stalking Karuku-Tal when he moved. Even more so, now that he wasn’t standing on a dangerously tilting ice floe.

Alina stepped into the room and crossed her arms. “Well?” She demanded. “What have you to say?”