Chapter 18
MEDRA
Florence was back. Florence was home. And so I fell asleep with ease.
In my dreams, the forest outside the castle in Camelot was just as I remembered it.
Sunlight spilled through the tree canopy.
A gentle breeze stirred the aspen trees.
The sound of the wind in the leaves might have been my favorite sound in the world.
In the clearing ahead, Odessa stood waiting, pulling her long, black braided hair up into a heavy knot.
“You’re dawdling.” She wore a gruff expression, but the teasing tone of her voice belied it.
“I was picketing the horses,” I protested. “Someone had to do it, after you stalked off to do your hair.”
I studied my mentor. In some ways, she was the closest thing I had to a mother.
Her features were lovely, even delicate, but the dark skin of her face was lined with countless scars.
Two formidable blades were strapped to her back, hilts wrapped in worn leather.
Now she slid the sword belts off her shoulders, reaching down to pick two wooden practice swords up off the ground.
She grinned. “Catch.”
Moments later, our blades clacked together.The rhythm was familiar and comforting, just like Odessa herself—yet how I’d hated her at first! As a child, I was used to hating everyone, trusting no one.
Duck, twist, spin. Strike!
Odessa was faster, far superior in skill, but I still possessed the surety of youth. I believed I’d catch up someday, perhaps even surpass her. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t nervous. I was just there. Happy.
The forest changed, trees shifting closer together. The canopy overhead suddenly dimmed, no light spilling through the leaves. The colors of the woods melted from warm greens and browns into a palette of black and gray. The colors of death.
Medra.
I froze, my sword halfraised. “Did you hear that?” I asked Odessa.
She blinked. “Hear what?”
The birdsong faded. An unnatural wind rustled through the now-leafless branches.
Medra. The voice came again. Can you hear me, child?
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible.”
But Odessa was suddenly gone. I stared at the place she’d been standing.
You didn’t think you’d be rid of me that easily, did you? The voice chuckled.
I gasped. Mother?
That’s certainly one name for what I am—and the one I’m most fond of, Orcades said dryly.
My knees nearly buckled with shock. But beyond the shock there was joy, painful and aching, but wonderful.
What other names might there be? I asked nervously.
She sighed. I suppose you might call me Scorched, Scaly One. Or Queen of Carrion.
I snorted. Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. I hesitated. So you’re still … inside Molindra, then?
I am. Her soul is shattered. She sleeps now, but her dreams are scattered things.
My heart surged with relief. I thought when you vanished with Marcus and Catherine that you were gone … for good.
Still with those two idiots, not that they know it. Orcades sounded shockingly cheerful for a disembodied voice inhabiting a corrupt dragon raised with necromancy.
I thought I’d failed you. I was so stupid when I used the knife.
Stupid? How were you stupid? You didn’t fail me, she chided. You’re still alive, aren’t you?
Apparently.
And Florence?
She’s still alive, too, I conceded.
Well, then. Orcades sounded satisfied. All is well.
I swallowed. Is it? Where exactly are you?
A forest of some kind. Those two egomaniacal dolts have been calling it the Bonewood.
The name made me shiver. That doesn’t sound pleasant.
It’s certainly not the place I’d have chosen to reside.An utter mess of mist and cobwebs. Not much room for a dragon the size of Molindra between all of the trees either. But apparently it’s the perfect place for this nefarious little project.
The clearing I stood in had become a stone ravine, half-swallowed by mist. I took a few steps forward.
Something vast shifted beyond the haze: a golden, ruined shape, wings webbed with dark veins.
A dragon, massive and decaying—Molindra.
I recoiled, stepping back quickly, twigs snapping beneath my feet.
Is Molindra … alive?
She’s … something. Something more like me, Orcades mused. Old bones, even older rage. She can be difficult. But I think we’ve reached an understanding.
I assume that means she gave up in the face of your stubbornness, I said, half laughing.
I do pride myself on my determined nature.
You should, too, considering you’ve inherited it.
In any case, I’ve been able to get through to her, in a sense.
We’ve spoken—if you can call it that. A pause.
I pity her, really. On some level, the poor old girl knows what’s been done to her.
Orcades was silent for a long moment. Well, on the positive side, she said eventually, Molindra may be mostly dead, but her power is enormous.
Why, her breath can melt stone. That said, one must wonder why our two fearless leaders chose a dragon whose specialty is drawing strength from the sun when they planned to bring her to such a sunless place.
I suppose we should simply thank the gods they are such fools.
Really, it’s difficult to take villains seriously when they make such fundamental mistakes.
I suppose they chose Molindra because she belonged to House Orphos, I said cautiously. It must have had something to do with Lunaya.
Oh, Lunaya, my mother sighed. Don’t get me started on that poor dear girl.
Poor dear girl? My heart sped up. So Lunaya’s alive, then? You’ve seen her? I thought of Lysander. I could tell him. But would he even believe me?
Seen her? My dear child, she’s ridden atop my back. A pause. Not very well, but I suppose it can’t be helped in her condition.
In her condition? What does that mean? What’s happening to her?
Oh, horrid things. The poor girl is not entirely herself, just like the old scaly one here. I could practically picture her patting Molindra’s rotting scales.
You’re a strange trio, I murmured.
Another sigh. Yes, aren’t we? But never fear. I have a plan.
My heart hammered. A plan? Mother, please. Perhaps it would be best if you kept your head down. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. They don’t know you’re even there.
Keep my head down? Oh no. That isn’t my style at all, dear heart.
Orcades gave a tinkling laugh that reminded me she was a fae princess.
My heart clenched. How I wished I could have seen her in all her glory!
If my mother was this vivacious as a disembodied voice, she must have been truly something in the flesh.
I’m going to save her, you know. I’ve absolutely committed myself to that.
I could almost see her nodding emphatically. My heart soared and sank. I’d heard that tone before—I’d used it myself. When anyone said that, it usually meant someone was going to die.
All right, I sighed. I wish you luck. How can I help?
Help? Ah no, Daughter. It is I who shall be helping you.
How can you help me? I said, a little amused.
By delaying the inevitable, of course. Stalling tactics. Sabotage. Molindra is on board—at least, I think she is.
Of course the dead dragon is in your corner, I muttered. How reassuring.
Well, it should be. Don’t look down on her simply because she’s necrotic, Medra. Someone should have taught you better manners than that.
I rolled my eyes.
Now, you know of the Veil, of course, Orcades went on.
The what?
A pause of disbelief. By the Three, child. Didn’t they teach you anything back in Aercanum?
They taught me a great deal, not that I was there all that long, I said, a little grumpily.
Very well. I shall enlighten you as best I can, she said with a sigh. Now, I do take it you know what a portal is? You may know them as archways?
Of course. I saw them in Camelot. We traveled by them sometimes.
Excellent. Think of the Veil as a portal. But one which connects worlds.
I stiffened. Marcus and Catherine are trying to get to another world?
I don’t believe travel is on their mind, precisely. Think of the Veil as a wall between realms. A pause. Sangratha is a very strange place, you know. Different in so many ways … and yet, familiar in others.
My stomach did a somersault. What do you mean? Familiar how?
I haven’t quite put my finger on it yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do, she said cryptically.
Fine, I said impatiently. And this Veil? Why does it matter what Marcus and Catherine do to it?
Use your head, child, she scolded. It wouldn’t have a guardian if it wasn’t supposed to be locked.
A guardian? This is the first time you’ve mentioned a guardian.
No, I’m sure I mentioned her before, she said, a little peevishly.
I suddenly wondered something: If my mother was in Molindra, was Molindra also in her?
If Molindra was truly, well, dead, then was she also decaying?
How long could Catherine keep the dragon in this inbetween state?
Would she eventually crumble and rot? When that happened, where would Orcades go? What would she be?
Of course you’ve heard of the guardian. Everyone has. Why, they stole her name, the Old One. You’ve visited her temple, for heaven’s sake.
I frowned. Her temple?
The Sanctum, my mother said, impatiently.
I sucked in a breath. Holy shit, Mother, are you saying that the guardian of the Veil is the fucking Bloodmaiden?
Such unnecessarily foul language, Orcades tsked. But yes, the Blood-maiden, precisely. An odd title, but there is no accounting for these vampire tastes.
Have you actually spoken to her? I hissed. She’s supposed to be a goddess.
I don’t know what she is exactly, only that Marcus and Catherine are hammering on her door, and she’s not willing to open.
Well, thank the gods for that, I muttered. Hammering on the fucking door of a goddess? That couldn’t be good.
Regardless, the fools aren’t giving up. And what’s worse, they’re making inroads.
I groaned. Inroads?
Cracks. In the Veil, she continued. These two see themselves as dark prophets, heralding a reclamation.
A reclamation? What do you mean?
They want to bring back part of Sangratha they believe was lost. But none of that matters right now.
I rolled my eyes, finding that hard to believe.
What matters, she went on, are the cracks.
Right. The cracks.
Do not mock me, child, she said, hearing my sardonic tone. I may be mostly dragon, but I am not senile yet.
I’m sorry, I said and meant it. You know, I really have missed you terribly, Mother.
I’ve missed you, too, my love. She sighed.
How I wish sometimes I were still in that silly little knife.
Who would ever have imagined I’d miss it?
Now, listen, something is happening—not just here in the Bonewood, but out in the rest of the world.
Perhaps you’ve noticed things. Signs, warnings.
Tiny cracks. I fear those cracks will build and build.
I tried to think of anything strange, but all I could think of was Viktor and Regan and their new regime of blightborn cruelty. Things are pretty normal here at Bloodwing, I said carefully. All things considered. But I’ll keep an eye out.
Very well. In any case, my mother went on, do what you must to stay alive. Protect Florence.When whatever happens happens, I need you standing. Orcades became hurried. I must go. She’s waking now. We’ll speak again.
A wave of mist swirled around me, and then she was gone.
I realized I was awake—truly awake. I pushed back my blankets.
In the other bed, Florence slept on, her face still and peaceful.
Neville lifted his head lazily from the end of Florence’s bed to glance at me.
He gave a wide yawn, then lowered his head again, tucking his tail over his eyes.
I turned over on my side, watching the two of them sleep.
I wasn’t alone. Not here, not even in my dreams. The thought was comforting.
But I suddenly wished Blake were with me. Not only because I wanted his arms around me, but because of the solid weight of him, the unshakable strength he carried about with him, without even realizing it.
Orcades was still out there. Alive—well, sort of.
That was something to be grateful for. But what she’d told me was strange and terrifying.
She’d given me the pieces of a puzzle. Cracks in a wall, a dreaming dragon, a sleeping goddess.
But I wasn’t sure I’d be able to put the pieces together. Not until I knew more.
Part of me wanted to tell Blake about the dream, the Veil, my mother’s soul riding a halfdead dragon through the Bonewood.
But something held me back. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was holding back, too.
Blake was holding too many secrets of his own.
I wouldn’t add to the weight he carried until I had something we could act on.
Still, I knew one thing: If the cracks split wide and the world fell apart, he’d be beside me.
Once his darkness had frightened me, but I’d seen his rage and reached for him anyway because I’d glimpsed what else lived beneath his skin: loyalty so fierce it scorched.
The desire to do better. He’d seen the shadows in me, too.
He hadn’t turned away. I knew he never would.
Once, I’d thought him dangerous, a monster. But that was our bond. Not clean, not easy. But unbreakable.