Rowan did not appear entirely convinced, but his shoulders had relaxed somewhat, and Echo could tell from the softening of his expression that he needed only the tiniest of nudges to come around. She laid a hand on his bicep. “You know this is the right thing to do.”
He sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just”—he looked back at the Drakharin—“it’s not going to be easy persuading the council to open their doors to the Drakharin. Even refugees.”
“And that’s why you’re going to win their hearts and minds,” Echo said. “People like you. They respect you. They saw how you stepped up after the attack on the Nest, and they trust you and your judgment.” She gave his arm a little squeeze. “They can’t keep carrying on the way they always have. Somebody has to bridge the divide between the Avicen and the Drakharin. They need you to help show them a better way. The best way to fight hatred is with kindness. Be their example.”
Rowan narrowed his eyes at her, but a soft smile played at the corners of his lips. “That’s a mighty fine pep talk.”
Echo gave his arm a little punch. “I learned from the best.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Rowan said, “but what about Caius? And Dorian and Jasper?”
Echo squared her shoulders. “I’ll go back to the cabin and wait for them. You lead these people to safety.” At Rowan’s dubious expression, she added, “Can’t you handle a pack of Drakharin refugees on your own?”
He sighed. She saw the scales tipping within him. He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But he would. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he was good in a way so few people were. After an interminable moment of Echo projecting a psychic Say yes! at him, Rowan rolled his eyes and said, “Yes. Fine. Go enjoy my stir-fry without me. I’ll bring them to New York.”
“I can’t enjoy the stir-fry,” Echo said. “You burned it, remember?”
Rowan shrugged. “So pick up some shawarma on the way back.”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Rowan stuck his tongue out at her.
Echo rolled her eyes and turned back to the Drakharin, a warm smile on her face. “Pack your bags. This nice man here is taking you to Avalon.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Autumn in Edinburgh was lovely. Or it would have been lovely if not for Jasper’s dour mood. Instead of appreciating the turn of leaves from green to gold, all he saw was decay and the inevitable mess as the leaves fell from the branches to become soggy mulch on the pavement during Scotland’s perpetual rainy season. He tapped one foot impatiently as he waited in line to order something warm to drink. Maybe if he ingested enough sugar, it would grant him a false sense of happiness.
Dorian had been in a rotten mood for weeks—understandably, but still—and it had proven contagious. Their last real conversation in the training yard hadn’t done much to lift either of their spirits.
The café was bright and cheerful, and the girl who took Jasper’s order offered him a wide smile he didn’t bother returning. He tugged his hat down over his ears. He hated hats. It galled him to have to hide his feathers—they were magnificent—and it would be hell to unflatten them later. As he waited for the barista to prepare his and Dorian’s drinks, he considered the patrons in the little café, nestled in a narrow side street in Edinburgh’s Old Town but close enough to the tourist center that the number of people provided Jasper and Dorian a modicum of anonymity. Jasper’s brown skin didn’t stand out quite so much, and no one looked too hard at the concealer caked over Dorian’s scales.
Jasper hoped Dorian’s contact would reach them soon. He wanted this business to be over with. Not only for Caius’s sake—he could admit to himself that he wasn’t nearly that altruistic—but also for his own. Once Dorian was happy, then Jasper could go on being happy. That this was the way of things made him cringe internally.
The barista finished making their drinks, topping Jasper’s with a generous helping of whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate sauce. He might have separated himself from the Avicen by attitude and distance, but he shared the sweet tooth so common among his kind. He paid, tipped the girl well but not too well, as both stinginess and excessive generosity were bound to attract attention, and made his way to the table near the back of the café where Dorian was currently staring a hole into the wall opposite his seat.
“Yoo-hoo, earth to Dorian.”
Jasper waved his elbow in front of Dorian’s face, ripping him from his guilt-ridden reverie. Jasper stood beside the table they’d occupied in the Edinburgh café since that morning. Dorian eyed the two steaming mugs of cocoa in Jasper’s hands with suspicion that lessened only somewhat when Jasper placed the plain one in front of Dorian and kept the sugary monstrosity for himself.
“The Avicen sweet tooth is a great and terrible thing,” Dorian said. He gave his drink a dubious sniff, then crinkled his nose in distaste. “I asked for coffee.” It was petulant, even for Dorian.
Rolling his eyes, Jasper slid into the seat opposite Dorian. He began spooning up the whipped cream and shoveling it into his mouth. He had to eat it before he could get to the liquid. Whipped cream facial hair wasn’t cute past the age of five. “Trust me, Dorian, caffeine is the last thing you need. You’re strung so tightly I’m expecting you to snap like a worn rubber band at any minute.”
“I’ve been awake for the better part of forty-one hours,” Dorian said, scrubbing a hand over his face. He did look tired. Dark smudges had appeared beneath his eyes, and his mouth was carved into a seemingly permanent frown. “And if I don’t ingest something caffeinated soon, I’m likely to pass out, face-first, into this hot cocoa.”
“Drink it,” Jasper said, his tone softening. “The sugar will help keep you awake. And the soul-cleansing embrace of chocolate might make you slightly less gloomy.”
With a grudging sigh, Dorian lifted the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip. Jasper had made sure it wasn’t as excruciatingly sweet as his own. Dorian didn’t appreciate the beauty of sugar the way he did. It probably would have damaged Dorian’s street cred if all that world-weary stoicism enjoyed a doughnut every once in a while. Jasper blew on his own cocoa. It was a touch too hot to drink. But Dorian ignored the way the cocoa must have scalded his tongue. Perhaps his guilt was making him feel self-destructive, as if he deserved the pain.
Jasper’s amber eyes narrowed. “That cocoa is approximately eight million degrees. Let it cool down first.”
Dorian took another sip.
Idiot, Jasper thought.