I keep my eyes on his as I cup the unrelenting angles of his face, then trace the scar that bisects a brow. “Challenge?” “Sgaeyl.” He shrugs. “Threshing.” “Most dragons scar their riders, but Tairn and Andarna have never hurt me,” I say absent-mindedly, my hand slipping down his neck. “Or maybe they knew you already carried a scar.” He trails his fingers down the long silver scar on my arm from Tynan’s blade.
