Chapter 13
“Want to go to the library?” Vanya asked a couple of days later, collecting the books she’d checked out on the early dragon riders.
I turned aside to hide my grimace as I slipped my shoes on.
Vanya was the nicest person I’d met here, and the more time I spent around her, the harder it was to keep the truth from her.
“It’s beautiful out. I want to walk in the woods.
” I feigned a smile, knowing Vanya wouldn’t want to walk in the woods unless it was part of our physical training.
“Is something wrong, Ari? I’ve heard you awake in the night.”
“I’m fine. I…didn’t mean to disturb you. Just bad dreams.” I’d never suffered from them much back home, though Evie often did. It was strange how many bad dreams I’d had this week, but I chalked it up to stress.
Vanya studied my face a little too long, but eventually she shrugged and left me an open invitation to join her later.
Gray clouds hovered over the grounds now tinted with autumn colors.
As I walked back toward the school near midday, a light rain began, turning the bark shiny and the leaves a brighter yellow.
Every day at Cardan Lott felt like sailing into a tempest on a little ship that wasn’t built to withstand high winds.
The truth about Myth and the truth of my birth were like gale-force winds held back by a single door that could be opened at any minute.
The first nip of cold brought chill bumps to my arms as the rain fell.
Evie’s face swam before me, her thin curls matted to her head in fever and her mouth parted and dry.
The pain I’d felt when Mama had pulled me aside and told me to prepare myself for the worst had left a scar in my heart that hadn’t fully healed, even after my sister had.
After that winter, I’d decided I’d work until my fingers bled if it meant getting us out of the gutter where we lived.
But all the work I’d done hadn’t changed the fact that we were bottomsiders.
Myth, in a single moment, had changed everything.
Ride, I told myself. Ride and prove you belong here.
That night, another dream ripped me from a deep sleep.
I sat up, hands clasped at my chest. It felt like someone was poking my very heart. Fear and anger flickered like two sides of a wind-battered banner inside my chest. It was just a dream.
But I’d been having dreams like this for over a week. Not every night, but they were increasing in intensity. After convincing myself it was only the anxiety over Myth’s discovery, I fell back into a light sleep.
When the same dream jolted me awake the next night, I peeled the covers back and rose from bed, drawn toward the window as if a marionette on a string.
Even though I was awake now, my heart still churned within me, and I wondered if Myth was somehow causing these dreams. My muscles ached from a long run yesterday in training, and the cold floor of our dormitory had me hopping back into bed quickly.
I decided to ask Bryce about the dreams tomorrow.
In the morning, we received back our literature essays.
I stared down at the words less than satisfactory scrawled across the top.
“Look at this,” I said, holding it out to Vanya. “I worked for days on this.” I’d lost a lot of sleep over it too, spending late nights in the library.
Vanya pulled it from my hands and shoved hers at me. “Mine says the same thing.”
We exchanged a frown.
I eyed Covington, who was scanning his paper with a disinterested look. I wondered if everyone’s papers said the same thing, a way to push us all to try harder. But Prescott snatched Covington’s paper and shook it at him.
“Excellent? Saints! Are you bad at anything?” Prescott shouted, throwing Covington’s essay back at him in a good-natured way.
At lunch, I was still gloomy about my essay and kept darting glances at the dukeling, who had remained strangely silent about my dragon. Alarmingly silent, actually. I couldn’t figure out what I’d said that had truly convinced him to keep his mouth shut.
Shep moseyed up to the table of first years. “I heard the essays came back today.” At our quiet nods, he added, “They do that every year. The professors are just trying to scare you a little. Make sure you try harder next time.”
“But these grades will mar our records,” whined Mabel, her curls bouncing a little as she slumped against an upraised hand.
Shep shook his head. “It’s the end-of-year grade that counts.” He tapped the back of my chair, where he was standing. “Chin up, ladies. You’ll survive.”
My dismal essay nearly made me forget to ask Bryce about my dreams. But when I’d finished hanging up my saddle after a quick ride around the lair—we still couldn’t fly off over the forest or take off into the city yet—I saw Bryce talking to Professor Indigo and moved toward them.
“I have a question, sir,” I said, hoping I wasn’t interrupting something important.
Bryce turned toward me with his stoic frown. “Go ahead, Miro.”
“I, ah, was wondering if dragon bonds could affect dreams.”
Professor Indigo inhaled but looked to Bryce to answer. He pursed his lips a moment, then said, “Shouldn’t. The emotional pulls and tugs we feel when we’re near them are only possible over short distances.”
Indigo nodded. “Ever notice how you don’t feel Myth once you get back inside the school?”
I nodded. I hadn’t really thought about it until now. “So, I couldn’t be feeling Myth’s emotions while I’m asleep. In the school.”
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Indigo leaned forward and muttered, “The stress of first year can do strange things to a person’s mind.” She offered me a warm smile and patted me on the back.
When the next nightmare woke me, I was certain it wasn’t related to stress.
My chest physically ached, and I couldn’t recall actually having any bad dreams. In fact, not a single nightmare came to mind, only vague feelings of fear and anger, but nothing more concrete than that.
Climbing from bed, I slipped on one shoe, then the other, grabbed the spare wool blanket from the top of my armoire, wrapped it around my shoulders, and tiptoed into the hall.
The grounds were silent and damp, and my heart beat faster with each step. The feeling of fear was growing stronger as I neared the lair.
Myth.
I nearly fell over as a burst of anxiety lanced through me. He was in danger.
Then I was charging through the darkness in my white nightgown like a ghoul haunting the school grounds.
Breathing became difficult as Myth’s tension rose. I sucked in the cool, damp air, feet sticking in the wet earth as I plowed my way up the path, blindly following the sensations pulling me forward.
A dim light shone from beneath the door to Myth’s den. Shadows danced from within.
“Myth!” I heaved the door open.
A curse hissed through the night as the door slid open.
Glass shattered on the stone, and Rushland Covington spun on his heel.