Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
EVIE
“ I leave for one day and you’re already dancing with death? ”
My eyes snapped open.
This wasn’t the library and I wasn’t slumped over the mountain of maps I’d fallen asleep on.
My gaze met the same light which had greeted me inside the cavern from my nightmare.
I groaned. I didn’t need this right now.
After tending to Anya and Owyn, Master Sylvannis–the only healer Adara had allowed in the house–had worked on the soles of my feet until the crack of dawn. He went from muttering incantations I shouldn’t have heard and giving me incredulous looks, to mumbling about sacrifices while he stroked his long, thin beard. Creepy, but helpful. I still hadn’t been able to walk properly by the end of it, though. Luckily, Sylvannis had a pair of crutches he agreed to lend me.
As soon as he finished setting my shoulder, I’d thumped and wobbled my way into the library, collapsed into the closest chair and poured over the maps Adara had…procured. I didn’t ask, she didn’t tell, and that’s exactly how we were going to keep it.
The last thing I remembered was studying the different Capital areas.
In my dream, I rolled to my side and rose–but my legs stumbled in layers upon layers of brocade fabric.
What in the–
I wore a gold and blue gown, with the tight corset and huge skirts that were popular in Aquila, the Protectorate citadel. Allie would have worn this dress to perfection. My hair was pinned up on the top of my head in tight curls.
I’d been sleeping on a velvet divan, not the golden altar from before. Instead of the dark cavern, my dream had brought me into a damn ballroom this time.
Before I’d fully gotten my bearings, I was swept onto the dancefloor.
I glided through the ballroom in a spirited waltz, arm in arm with a tall, blond man who wore a silver mask. There was nothing familiar about him except the dance steps, a remnant from before I’d been forced into the solitude of the mountains. Grace was taught young in the Protectorate First Family, and apparently stuck long past those early years. My feet slid on the golden marble effortlessly.
Dozens of couples swirled around us, bound to the same energetic rhythm that made my shoulders sway.
My masked partner twirled me around into another man’s arms. Same gorgeous face, same mask, same indifference as I stared into his dark eyes.
With a start, I realized this was no ordinary ballroom my mind had concocted–it was the Blood Brotherhood throne room, only without its menacing statues or the thrones. I saw my reflection in the polished walls–I wore a golden mask with feathers crafted out of metal and blue jewels.
I didn’t know why my imagination had conjured up a masked ball, like the ones in the old fairy tales, where one night could change fortunes and one missed step could shatter a kingdom, but I wasn’t complaining.
I needed a break and there was something oddly comforting about wearing a beautiful dress and just dancing . Allowing my body to enjoy instead of fighting for survival.
In this dream world, my body didn’t ache.
No lingering soreness in my shoulder or the sting of the burns on my thighs.
I flexed my perfectly unburned toes in my ridiculous shoes. I still had the tip of my big toe intact and could feel my pinkie.
No pain.
No pitying eyes.
No big responsibilities I felt too small to carry.
My mind had created a night of indulgence, like I used to dream about during the coldest nights in the cabin, when I wanted pretty dresses and the attention of cute boys.
In a wide sweep of my dress, I changed partners again. They were all beautiful. Perfect, even, with their chiseled jaws and elegant curve to their big shoulders.
They were also disappointingly silent.
Round and round I went across the dancefloor, but the luster of the fantasy began to wane.
In my daydreams, there was giddiness. Laughter. Whispers and blushing and stolen kisses in dark alcoves.
As I sighed, a shiver raced down my spine.
My gaze darted around, only meeting glittery masks and swaying bodies. My heart stuttered when I noticed the wall of shadows and whispers
Then I saw him .
At least the him my imagination had created–and my imagination was a downright traitor right now.
He no longer looked monstrous, but sleek and elegant. He leaned against a golden pillar, the light casting a harsh slanted shadow across his body, face hidden in the darkness. With one leg carelessly bent, he had his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles on full display. He wore a ceremonial Clan robe, but this one lacked the red that would have given me such a painful echo from the wedding.
My silent partner left my side and the crowd around me retreated. I was left alone in the middle of the suddenly silent ballroom.
A lone Protectorate blue figure in a sea of Blood Brotherhood gold, facing him .
He kicked himself away from the column in one fluid motion, with a grace no mortal should have, and stepped out of the shadows. I inhaled sharply when that sharp face of his came into the light, carved closer to the bone than it was before the wedding. His sinewy muscles were just as cutting as before, honed through constant training, flexing as he prowled toward me.
The light danced across his golden mask. Metal swirls turned into dragons that weaved from his temples into his hair, as if breathing smoky fire.
The rest of the room faded as he stopped in front of me in all his glory. No, this version of him was somehow even better; the angles of his face were sharper, his hair sleeker. He was somehow even taller, with wider shoulders, and that hazy glow from the previous dream radiated from his body.
While all my other dance partners had felt numb and wrong, heat radiated off him, beckoning me closer.
He inclined his head, right hand extended in an invitation.
Waiting.
I gulped. Last time this figment of my imagination trespassed through my mind, I’d cried my little soul out and he’d fallen to his knees, a heinous legacy of the past.
Now we were all prim and polished, in a farce of what our future could have been.
Screw it.
It was my dream and I could do whatever I wanted.
I tentatively placed my hand in his. His fingers coiled around mine and he righted himself with that same poise. His other hand wrapped around my waist, the small touch heating my skin.
Then he pulled me against him and my heart dropped somewhere near my ridiculous shoes.
The music started again, the violin and drums teasing a deep, sensual tune that I definitely hadn’t heard as a young girl.
He guided me on the dancefloor, our steps falling together in the same maddening rhythm as if on instinct. Our gazes locked and my heart stuttered.
A corner of his lips quirked. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?” I frowned, too focused on his eyes, sparking wickedly behind his mask.
“Why are you dancing with death?”
“It’s none of your concern who I dance with, mortal or not,” I said before twirling out of his reach in a flurry of blue silk.
He caught my arm and spun me back into him, his heat enveloping me again. “Wouldn’t you care if I risked my life?”
“No.”
He grinned and leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Liar.”
My world spun as he dipped me suddenly, my back arching. As he pulled me back up slowly, his mouth lingered dangerously close over my chest. His hot breath on my skin made my eyes roll back in my head.
Damn it. Damn him and his–
I startled as my stare settled on the ceiling.
He followed my gaze. The hold he had on me loosened.
“Why is there a map of the Capital on the ceiling?” he asked, voice surprised and angry.
Instead of graceful nymphs frolicking in a meadow or dragons searing their enemies, great big red lines carved out the map of the city I’d been staring at before I’d dozed off.
“I need to study the Capital prefectures,” I said.
Knowing your surroundings was the first rule of survival.
I knew all the paths and nooks in Phoenix Peak, but the Capital proper was still one great big labyrinth to me, and danger loved to lurk in the Blood Brotherhood Clan.
Right now, I was interested in the Merchants’ Prefecture, located on the East side of the city, beyond the ravine the Obsidian River carved right before spilling into the ocean. The Prefecture was connected to the rest of the Capital through a single road that stretched over the East bridge and spidered through the different quarters, from the Weavers, to the Masons, and the Bakers. The ships in the harbour transported most of the army supplies, while the resources from the Capital came in each day on land.
The map wasn’t the only thing that had followed me into this dream.
Right in the center was the angry red symbol from Owyn’s house. It pulsed like an infected wound.
A wave of fury shook the ballroom, emanating from him .
As soon as it began, the anger rolled back into him.
The music stopped, the couples vanished.
Only he and I remained.
He released a long, harsh breath. “Whoever drew that is playing with fire. Such a mark can be traced back to its origin.”
“Easy for a figment of my imagination to say, but thanks for the boost of confidence.” I huffed a laugh. “And I will find out where it came from.”
Find the symbol, use it against the slimy hands which had darkened Owyn’s threshold with it.
Time was ticking.
I detangled myself from his warm embrace with a sigh. Even in my dreams, I couldn’t fully indulge in the future I would never have, dancing and enjoying his smiles and whispers.
I stared up at the map, fingers tracing the air over the narrow streets and creating escape routes in my mind.
“Are there any surroundings you can’t adapt to?” he muttered from behind me, a hint of awe coating the words that ghosted over the nape of my neck.
I moved further away. “Shhh, I need to concentrate.”
“People usually like compliments.”
“ Right , because imagined compliments can fix what the real you did. To think I was afraid of you once.” I scoffed and tilted my head to look at him.
Even with the lost weight, he was as gorgeous as the day I’d met him, when he’d twirled me around the tree, out of harm’s way.
A lifetime ago.
“You were never afraid of me,” he said with a hint of a sad smile. “You were ready to attack me with that little blade of yours.”
“You were my greatest fear growing up. The monster who would destroy me,” I said, the memories tumbling out of me. “Then I actually met you. And I became afraid of wanting to spend more time with you. To hear you breathe next to me during the night. To make you laugh.”
His eyes widened behind his mask. “You never told me that.”
He would’ve had to cut these words out of me in real life. “Some truths are much better left unsaid.”
“Truth for truth?”
I huffed a laugh. Such a strange memory to cling to, from back when the two of us had tried for a truce. “Sure.”
He stepped closer, a pulse of darkness growing around us. “I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
“You.”
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “You’re the Crown Prince of the most feared Clan in Malhaven, one of the best warriors on the continent, who can move faster than sight. They call you The Dragon.”
“Yes,” he said without a hint of hesitation. Why deny the obvious. “And, yet, you make me fear.”
Another step. Slower. More hesitant this time.
Dream or not, the soft hairs on my arms rose.
“My life is so wickedly tangled with yours,” he said, voice low and captivating. “The rhythm of you decides my fate. I can’t sleep without you by my side. When you’re hurt, I ache. When you cry, I fall to my knees. When you curse my name, I want to die. You don’t even have to utter the words and I am swayed by them. Nobody has ever had such control over me. I’m used to my ways. People mold themselves to me and my decisions. Xamor, they compete for the chance to do so. That is the life of a ruler and I have lived it for most of my existence. Then you’re suddenly thrust into my life, you run away from me in that bloody wedding dress, threaten to cut me, avoid me for weeks, then make me feel emotions I’d always avoided. To know I can only feel fulfilled if you are is debilitating. So yes, my dear menace, I am terrified. Of you. Congratulations, you have tamed The Dragon.”
The shadows encroached on the ballroom further, until there was only one beam of light shining on us. Always the two of us.
I released a long, uneven breath. Not even the hectic kiss from the Arena had made my heart beat this fast.
“It’s not fair,” I whispered.
He took another step. This one felt dangerous. “What isn’t?”
“That I’ll never hear those words from you. The real you.”
The light pouring from above trembled as he raised his arm toward me. Time, unreal and immaterial as it was here, froze as his fingers reached for my cheek. His warmth had barely grazed my skin when he disappeared.
I flinched awake, the glittering gold replaced with the dimness of the library.
I breathed heavily, fists clenched as if trying to hold a weapon against an invisible attacker.
Only the sting in the soles of my feet made me aware I’d jumped out of the chair.
With a shuddering gasp, I realized these reflexes weren’t mine.
He was charging.
He was fighting.
And he was enraged.
Before I could think, I tugged on my scabbed end of our bond and sent a wave of reassurance his way. It was pure instinct, brought on by shock.
I closed my side of the bond before he could reply.
I pressed a hand to my chest and muttered a prayer to whatever gods were listening. Blue light shone from my fingers, bathing me in a warm glow.
Protect him. Bring him back alive and victorious.
Not for my sake, but for the Clan’s.
If The Dragon fell, we all would.