"You're no different, ive'an'virelan. No true dragon would speak in a man's voice."

If she's close enough to touch the obsidian mask that has transformed his face, then she's close enough for Atticus to feel the burn of the magic that is consuming her, leaving her tattered and threadbare like a spool of thread unwinding.

He fixes his eyes on her sunken, furious ones, and smiles. "A true dragon," he replies, "would let you drown."