Chapter 19 #2
I look over my shoulder, but no glowing phoenixes swoop down the endless corridor. Frowning, I turn back around. I don’t like being here without them.
Somewhat shy, especially without my birds to keep me company, I stay in the doorway as I watch the revelers dance and laugh and tip their goblets to their lips.
There’s a timelessness to the scene. Maybe this is now.
Maybe it’s later, or before, or never. I don’t recognize any of this, and yet it feels achingly familiar.
A big hand clamps down on my mouth, stifling my startled cry as I’m yanked away from the party so fast I fly backward down the long corridor, the light and party and music fading to a pinpoint before snuffing out.
The hand abruptly releases me, and I’m in Glarraden House.
Confused, my heart pounding, I look around.
It takes a moment to shake off the remnants of the party and the sudden fear of being forcibly ripped away.
I’m in my bedroom, the veranda doors wide open and letting in a splash of bright sunshine that I know has warmed the dark patio stones to burning.
I still step outside, letting the heat blaze against the bottoms of my bare feet and the sun crash into my face and eyes.
I cock my head. Why am I here?
Squinting, I look to the right and see Rita and Gerard in the rose garden.
They’re at their usual table and in their usual chairs, an awning shading them.
There have only ever been two chairs at the table where they spend most of their time, season permitting.
She reads and sews. He reads and draws. They play games sometimes.
I can obviously go into the rose garden if I want to, but I don’t have a chair at that table, and the awning only covers the two of them, so I know I don’t belong.
I look to my left across the grounds and into the woods leading to the big pond and the wild marsh beyond. I should go that way. It’s my domain. There’s nothing there. No one.
But the heat and sun are bothering me, too bright, so maybe I should go up into the attic with all the discarded furniture and other forgotten items and play dragon shifters versus vampires.
No one ever hears me crashing around under the eaves, and no one cares if I stab old couches with the sticks I’ve sharpened into knives and swords.
Things that go into the attic never come back down.
Except for me.
I slowly back into my room, escaping the midday heat.
I feel like me—the me I am now—and wonder again where my birds are.
But these memories are old, from when I still grew like a human child, changing every year, and Rita still thought she’d marry me off to some Glarraden well-to-do who’d finally take me off her hands while leaving her the gold.
With a blink, I’m not in my bedroom anymore. I head toward the stairs, ignoring the statues lining the walls. That’s Gerard’s doing. He likes them, but I just see blank eyes that don’t notice me any more than anyone else does.
I’m headed for the attic when abruptly, I’m at school. My stomach plummets with a sickening downward pull. The Drayke School of Fire and Flight should’ve been the best five years of my life. I couldn’t wait to have friends.
My dormitory building gets closer, then sucks me inside with a giant breath.
High up in one of the shared rooms, students surround me.
My pulse races, my insides churning in dread.
One-on-one in the training yards and with the instructors watching, I almost always win.
The other students don’t like that, and sometimes I throw a fight, hoping it might change something when school hours are done.
It never does. Outside the training yard, with no one watching, they gang up on me.
I think I could probably still win, but I don’t want to kill anyone by accident.
This isn’t much of a life, but prison would be worse.
They close in on me, backing me toward the rounded wall. Their individual faces are sharp in my mind. I remember everyone.
The heel of my boot hits stone. Then my shoulder blades.
The wall at my back is cold. Students are hot and angry and jealous in front of me.
Pressed up against the rough stones, I could still land a few punches and kicks, but what good would it do?
They’re going to overpower me, dangle me out the window, and demand their share of gildenfae gold.
I’m suddenly upside down, hanging out the soaring window, the stone courtyard far below. They hold me by the ankles and give me a good shake. A single gold coin falls from my pocket. A greedy hand lets go of my ankle to grab for it, and I wake with a scream.
I struggle up in bed, breathing hard. My shout still rings in my ears. Fyrestar’s eyes are my only light in the dark. Then Rim’s blink open. Then Sol’s. They know my sleep can be agitated, but I don’t usually scream.
Cold air sweeps over my bare shoulders, the annoying straps of my nightgown halfway down my arms again.
I yank them up as I glance at the window.
It’s blown open, and I really want it closed.
Trembling, I swing my legs out of bed and stand just as Bale bursts through the open window, his horned, black-and-crimson head leading the way before he shifts into skin and stands in my room, shadows spilling from him.
Gasping, I jump the height of Drayke Mountain. “Bloodpit!” My pulse takes off violently, my hand flying to my heart.
Bale sweeps me behind him, looking for threats. “What’s wrong?”
Startled shock mixes with the still-vivid feeling of being shaken out a window. I gape at Bale’s wide back, a few shadow scales continuing to darken his neck between his shirt and hair. “Why would something be wrong?” The fact that I’m shaking like a leaf means nothing. Nothing at all.
“I heard you scream.” He turns to me, his brow drawing low.
I shuffle back, putting more distance between us.
His inner warmth blasts over me, and I don’t hate it.
I fear leaning in. “From the top of the mountain?” I smooth the mess of hair back from my face, my blood still beating like a storm.
“Even if your hearing is that good, how did you get here so fast?”
“I was flying around.” He waves a vague hand toward the chasm outside the window.
I swallow. Flying around outside my room?
Heat pricks me all over. Bale feels like a wash of sparks blowing over me from a bonfire that I can’t brush off my skin.
They just keep burning deeper and deeper.
Short of breath, iced over but somehow burning up, I almost feel as if I’m coming down with something.
Maybe it’s dragonkingitis. Bale is a force. He might also be a disease.
“I didn’t scream.” I glance at Fyrestar, who narrows his eyes. “I mean, I might’ve made a noise…”
I see Bale’s expression darken just from the light of the stars. “You screamed,” he counters bluntly, “so what’s wrong?”
His gruff concern catapults my heart right into my throat. So does the hard edge in his voice. “Nothing. Really. Just a weird dream.” I shuffle toward my bed and grab my robe, knowing he can hear every absurdly loud beat of my pulse.
Fyrestar gets up and ruffles his feathers. “It’s almost dawn. Let’s go stretch our wings and hunt for breakfast.” Rim and Sol immediately stand.
My lips part in shock. Did our conversation during the night mean nothing to him?
I stare in disbelief as he takes off, Rim and Sol hot on his tail feathers.
Judging by the complete absence of sunlight, it’s not close to dawn, and Fyrestar just left me alone with Bale because apparently, he’s a hopeless matchmaker.
Bale watches them fade into the darkness. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the young ones move so fast.”
My voice sours. “They’ll follow Fyrestar anywhere.”
“And you.” He turns back to me.
The echo of my conversation with Fyrestar is louder than ever as I nod.
Shivering again, I decide it’s my room, and I can do what I want.
I hop back into bed, fluff my pillows so I can sit up, and pull the still-warm covers over me.
“Now that you crashed through my window like a falling star only to discover that I’m fine, you can carry on with your flying around. ”
Bale pushes the windows most of the way closed, then follows me to my bedside. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Is it working?”
His eyes like two smoldering coins, he watches me attempt to get comfortable—impossible with him standing there. “What happened? Why the shout?”
“What if there was someone else in here?” I ask in lieu of answering. “Not all shouts are bad.”
His hands curl into fists. The darkness around him deepens, shadows creeping from his skin. “You can admit to having nightmares, Idallia. It’s not the end of the world.”
“And you can admit to having friends. It’s not the end of the world.”
He sits on the side of my bed, making the mattress dip. “We’re not talking about me.” His gaze roams my face. “Are you all right?”
No. The tenderness in his voice makes me want to cry. And no, because the thing I want most right now is to crawl into his arms.
“I’m fine.” I lift my chin. “Nightmares are for children.”
“Nightmares are for anyone.”
“Why? Do you have them?”
Bale shrugs. “Sometimes.”
If even the Dragon King has nightmares, what chance do I have of escaping them?
“It really was just a strange dream,” I finally say. “Things I recognized. Things I didn’t.”
“And the scream?”