Chapter 2 #2
"For twenty years, at least. The ledgers went back that far—detailed records of abductions, test subjects, failed rituals.
They killed dozens before they perfected the extraction process.
And the architectural plans . . ." I swallowed hard, remembering those terrifying drawings.
"The ritual chamber is built above a natural fissure that goes down into the earth itself.
They called it a prison. The Unnamed is down there, has been down there since before the dragons, maybe before humans.
They're going to use all that stored bonding magic to break the prison. "
Caelus turned to face me fully, and his eyes had gone the pale blue of winter ice. Through the bond, I felt his emotions in layers—rage like thunderheads building, fear sharp as glass, and underneath both, a protective instinct so fierce it made my knees weak.
"They wrote that the Dragon Lords believe themselves gods but are merely inheritors of a broken world," I finished. "When The Unnamed rises, all bonds will break, and the world will return to what they called its 'proper state of beautiful darkness.'"
Silence stretched between us, heavy with implications. Finally, Caelus moved to the window, pressing his palm flat against the glass. Where he touched, frost patterns spread in fractals.
"The other bonded lords need to hear this directly," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll arrange a meeting. Davoren won't like being summoned, but he'll come. They all will." He turned back to me, and for a moment the formal mask slipped. "You might have saved all our territories."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I was just trying to save myself."
"And yet." The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Heroes rarely set out to be heroic. They just refuse to let darkness win."
A knock interrupted whatever he might have said next. Meredith entered with a tray that smelled like heaven—some kind of broth that made my stomach clench with need, soft bread still warm from the ovens, mild white cheese, sliced fruit I didn't recognize.
"Eat slowly," she instructed, setting the tray on a small table by the window. "Your stomach won't thank you if you rush." She looked at Caelus, still hovering by the window, and her expression shifted to fond exasperation. "You're hovering, my lord."
"I'm not—"
"You are, and it's making the poor girl nervous. She needs food and rest, not you looming about like a mother dragon with her first clutch." She made shooing motions toward the door. "Go contact your fellow lords. I'll see she's settled."
Through the bond, I felt his reluctance to leave war with his ingrained obedience to Meredith's maternal authority. It was absurdly endearing, this ancient being deferring to his head of household.
He moved toward the door, paused, turned back. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. The bond thrummed with things he wanted to say but couldn't quite form into words.
"I'll check on you later," he finally managed. "If you need anything—"
"She'll ask," Meredith interrupted. "Go on now."
He slipped out with one last look, and I felt his presence retreat through the bond—not gone, never gone, but giving me space to breathe. Meredith settled into the chair across from me, her brown eyes warm with understanding.
"Eat," she said gently. "Everything else can wait."
So I ate, and tried not to cry at the simple kindness of warm food and soft voices and the steady presence of a dragon lord through our bond, standing guard even from a distance.
Sunlight woke me, streaming through those impossible windows in colors I'd never seen morning make. For three heartbeats, I forgot where I was—the bed too soft, the air too warm, the absence of stone under my spine wrong in every way. Then memory crashed back: the escape, the fall, the dragon.
The bond.
I could feel him approaching before the knock came, his presence in my mind like distant thunder. When I called for him to enter, Caelus stood in the doorway holding a tray, looking oddly uncertain for someone who commanded storms.
"I brought breakfast," he said, then seemed to realize how obvious that was. "I mean, I thought you might prefer to eat before—that is, if you're feeling well enough—"
"I'm starving," I admitted, and his shoulders relaxed.
He'd dressed down from yesterday's formal robes, wearing simple gray trousers and a white shirt that made his silver hair look like moonlight. As he set the tray on the table by the window, I noticed his hands shaking slightly.
"Are you nervous?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
A laugh escaped him, short and surprised. "I've lived forever, commanded armies, negotiated treaties with beings that predate human civilization. But yes, I'm nervous about having breakfast with you."
The honesty of it made something warm bloom in my chest. I joined him at the table, trying not to fall on the food like the half-starved creature I was. Porridge with honey and cream, fresh berries, bread that steamed when I broke it open, tea that smelled of jasmine and rain.
"Would you like to see the monastery?" he asked as I ate. "You should know your way around, and the servants are eager to meet you properly. They've been insufferable since yesterday—Tam has planned three different feast menus, and Lyssa's already designing garden spaces for you."
“You seem to get on well with your servants . . . it surprises me.”
“It wasn’t always like this,” he admitted. “But recently, I’ve softened a little. Ever since my brothers started to bond . . . humans have changed in my eyes.”
As he spoke, I could sense the truth in his words through the bond.
Memories of cruelty and feelings of superiority bubbled up in him.
But it had all changed when one of his servants, Mira, had bonded to another dragon Lord, Sereis.
When she’d left, there had been a great change in him, and unfolding of empathy and understanding.
It was humbling to feel.
"So,” I said, overwhelmed by the depth of his emotion, “they're planning gardens for someone they just met?"
"You're my mate." He said it simply, like that explained everything. Through the bond, I felt the fierce possessive pride that came with those words. "To them, that makes you family. They've been waiting for you as long as I have."
The tour started in the kitchens, a massive space carved from white stone with windows that caught morning light and threw it across copper pots and marble counters. Tam, the head cook, was a young man with flour in his dark beard and laugh lines carved deep around his eyes.
"Finally!" He clapped Caelus on the shoulder hard enough that a normal person would have staggered. "Do you know how impossible he is to cook for? Never eats enough at formal dinners, forgets meals entirely when he's working, lives on air and stubbornness."
"Tam—"
"Don't you 'Tam' me, my lord." He turned to me with conspiratorial warmth. "You'll help me, won't you? Make sure he actually eats what I send up?"
Caelus's ears went pink. Through the bond, I felt his embarrassment mixing with deep affection for this man who worried about him like a mother hen.
There was also shame. There had been a time when he’d treated Tam badly. I felt wonder at the way this eternal dragon had changed, improved himself.
The gardens were next, a series of terraced spaces that shouldn't have been possible at this altitude.
Plants that belonged in tropical jungles grew next to arctic flowers, desert cacti flourished beside water lilies.
Lyssa, the head gardener, was explaining the magical microenvironments when she let slip, "Lord Caelus spends hours out here when he can't sleep.
Talks to them like they're children, tells them about wind patterns and storm formations. "
"Lyssa," Caelus protested, but she just smiled.
"They grow better when you do. The moonflowers especially—they've been blooming non-stop since yesterday."
The libraries took up three full floors, connected by floating platforms that moved at a gesture. Ancient texts in languages I didn't recognize, scroll cases that hummed with preserved magic, books so new the ink still smelled fresh.
"My teacher wrote this," Caelus said, pulling out a volume that looked older than the mountain. "Three thousand years ago, she taught me that freedom and responsibility aren't opposites—they're partners. You can't have one without the other."
Throughout the tour, servants approached us constantly, with genuine warmth.
An older woman scolded Caelus for working too late—"Those crystals were singing until dawn, my lord.
You need rest too." A pair of young men asked his opinion on their debate about wind patterns.
A little girl with ribbons in her hair ran up and tugged on his sleeve.
"Lord Caelus, can you make it rain? Just a little? Please?"
Without hesitation, he knelt to her level and cupped his hands. A tiny cloud formed between his palms, perfect and impossible, dropping miniature raindrops that made her squeal with delight. She ran off to show her friends, and through the bond I felt his simple joy at her happiness.
We ended up on a covered bridge connecting two towers, open on both sides to show the sea of clouds below. The afternoon sun painted everything gold, and for a moment we just stood there, aware of each other in a way that had nothing to do with words.
"I have a reputation," he said suddenly. "For being cruel. There's truth in that, especially in the past. I used to keep walls between myself and others. I've been called cold, calculating, indifferent to human suffering."
"But not here."
"No. Not here." He leaned against the railing, wind playing with his hair.
"Here, with those who depend on me, I can be what I'm supposed to be.
Guardian. Protector. Caretaker." A bitter smile touched his lips.
"It's easier with them. They need me to be strong, stable, safe. It's a role I understand."
"And with others?"