Maybe they would leave soon. Perhaps they were just resting for the night to see if anything was happening here. It was beginning to drive Dev crazy that he couldn’t figure out what was the purpose of their visit, if not to go after him. But here he was, stuck halfway between them, hidden from sight by fog, and there was nothing he could do about them tracking his scent. Heck, he could smell them well enough, and he was only part dragon. But they weren’t even looking at him or flaring their nostrils his way.

A light flashed from the onion-bulb top of the center tower, catching Dev’s eye, and he gasped again. Was someone up there? The light had come through the south window, which was surrounded by bookshelves. Dev often looked out that window and dreamed about chopping down the overgrowth he was currently nestled in. Who was in his sacred place? It couldn’t be the Revinir—there was no way she could fit without destroying the entrance and the stairwell. It couldn’t be the fox he’d seen darting into the door a while ago. So was it a human? Was someone here with the dragons?

The light stayed on, and a person-shaped shadow crossed the glass. Dev strained to see, but whoever it was didn’t come close enough for Dev to make out any features. Who was invading his home? He went from scared to furious in the span of a minute. An intruder! Touching his things!

And then he remembered the painting of the girl in the orchard, which he’d slipped into a book on the desk. The images from the ancestor broth flashed before his eyes as he worried about it. He didn’t know why he was so worried, but he knew he didn’t want anyone taking that painting. The scales on his arms and legs, which were already on alert, strained against the grain, making his skin hurt. He wanted to charge back to his home and defend it and its contents. Who was this invader? What was he doing there?

Dev’s lungs froze as the image in his mind landed on the gray man. Could it possibly be… him? His grandfather Ashguard? Long thought dead, returning home? It could happen—Astrid the ghost dragon had thought Maiven Taveer was dead. Perhaps Ashguard had been mistaken for dead too. After all, a few of the ancient books in the library had been used and left open not long before Dev had arrived—they’d had no dust on them. Was it Ashguard who’d been up there? If so, where had he disappeared to for all this time?