“You’re so rude! Cover yourself!”

Rapskal glanced down, snickered, but obediently picked up his shirt and draped it around his waist, clutching it one-handed at his hip. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Your wings, Thymara! If you think Sintara’s wings changed in the hot water, well, you should see your own. Open them up, butterfly girl. Let’s see them all the way.”

Water was streaming down his chest and bare legs. Scales delineated the muscles of his chest and belly, but he seemed to have grown a lot of black hair as well. It was shocking to see him this way, but worse was that her memories of coupling with him shot suddenly through her, filling her body with a different sort of warmth. No. Not him, she reminded herself sternly. I didn’t couple with him. I’ve never mated with anyone! Yet the thought could not negate her knowledge of it, nor cool the lust in her belly. She backed away from him, only a step, but he halted where he stood and his grin grew wider.

“I won’t touch you,” he promised. “I just want to see your wings.”

She turned, her face burning.

“Open them up, then,” he commanded, and she did. Water droplets had been trapped in their folds and slid down when she opened them. They tickled and she shivered. Rapskal laughed. “That’s amazing. The colors flickered. Oh, Thymara. So beautiful. I wish you could see them for yourself. You would never feel shy of them again, never cover them again. Move them, just a little, would you?”

She was tantalizingly aware of him standing behind her. She distracted herself by fanning her wings slightly and was startled at what she felt. Strength. And increased size, as if they had only been waiting to unfold. She fanned them again. Flight. Was it possible now? She stifled the thought. Sintara had told her she would never fly. Why did she torment herself?

Rapskal had come closer. She felt his breath on her back, sensed his closeness. “Please,” he said quietly. “I know I said I wouldn’t touch, but can I please just touch your wings?”

Her wings. What was the harm? “Very well,” she said quietly.

“Open them wide, please.”

She spread them and felt him take hold of the ribbed end of one. It was oddly like holding his hand; the sensation was rather like her fingers. He spoke softly. “I wish you could see this. This line here is all gold.” He traced a line with his finger, and she shivered at the touch. “And behind it is a blue like the sky right before it gives way to night. Here, there is white that gleams almost silver.” He stretched her wing wider and very lightly drew his finger from her shoulder to the very tip. She shivered again, but with heat, not chill.

An odd thought intruded. He was using both hands.

She snapped her wings shut and spun around. His shirt was on the floor. “Oops.” He grinned.

“Not funny!” she objected.

His grin grew wider, and as she turned away, she could not keep an answering smile from her face. It was funny. Rude, but funny. So very Rapskal. But it also made her uncomfortable. She walked away from him.

“Where are you going?”

She didn’t know. “Upstairs. I want to see what else is here.”

“Wait for me!”

“You should stay with the dragons.”

“No reason to. They’re both asleep.”

“At least put on your trousers.”

He laughed again, but she refused to look at him. She didn’t wait but returned to the first chamber they had entered and walked over to the stairs. It was cooler in this room compared to the bathing chamber, and goose bumps popped up on her back under her damp tunic. She was still hungry. She pushed that thought from her mind. Nothing she could do about it tonight.

The stairs wound around a pillar and led to an upper chamber that was sized to humans and not as elaborately decorated. There was a main room with a scatter of collapsed and unidentifiable furniture remains in it. The ceiling glowed softly, illuminating the room evenly. A single window looked out over the Square of the Dragons. Thymara lost a few moments staring out of it. Rapskal was right. Whatever Sintara had done to light this building had spread. The windows of the adjacent buildings gleamed with light, and throughout the city, other random structures seemed to have wakened. Some were outlined with lights even though their windows were dark. Had the Elderlings used light to decorate as some cities used paint or carving? Random buildings had awakened even in the distance, even as far back as the cliffs at the far edge of the city. Lights burned as if there were people there. It was a sight both cheering and unnerving.

“I told you so. This city isn’t dead. It’s waiting for us, for dragons and Elderlings, to wake it and bring it back to life.” He had come up the stairs quietly and stood behind her.