21. Twenty-One
Days quickly turn to weeks and before I know it, I”ve been living in Tronovia for an entire month and what”s weird is I feel like I should have been here my whole life. Weirder still, and oddly concerning, is we haven”t received word from Midori about my whereabouts. I at least expected my parents to send some kind of demands or threats in assuring my release and safe return, but nothing has arrived. And if I wasn”t so concerned about the silence, the king and his nephews also seem uncharacteristically on edge about it.
I”ve kept to a strict routine to keep myself distracted from the unknown surrounding my family. I attend Professor Riggs” lectures, train with Atlas, and scour through countless books in Calmara researching the history of Dalerin, the Celestials, and gleaning whatever information I can find about the rarity of Tethering.
Atlas seems to be busier these days and I”ve spent very little time with him outside of our lessons. Part of me is worried our encounter in his room has ruined whatever friendship we could have had, but when we train together, there”s a spark of hope within me that whispers that everything will work out in the end.
I”ve wanted to ask him about the encounter, but I”ve kept my mouth shut and ensured topics of conversation between us are strictly professional. And now, three weeks and five days after that awkward rejection, I”m lying awake in my bed, staring up at my ceiling knowing he”s sleeping without a care in the world right above me. Shame burns within my belly once more and instead of lying here any longer, stewing in embarrassment, I flip my covers off, get dressed early for the day, and make my way downstairs.
I hate to admit it, but since Nyx has been helping me learn hand-to-hand combat at the house and having me go for runs with him, I”ve come to enjoy the activity. I know Nyx will have a stroke if I go for a run on my own, but I don”t have school today and I just want to clear my head. I go to the keys hanging on the hooks and look for Nyx”s set, determined to be back before he wakes up, but something catches my eye. At the end of the row of hooks, the sixth one that has remained empty for the entirety of my stay, now has a gold plate with my name on it and a set of house keys dangles below. Hesitantly, I reach out and grab them. I read my name over and over and over again on the plaque, thinking I must be imagining it, but I”m not. Someone had a name plate and set of keys made for me and I”ve never felt so loved and wanted before.
”I hope adding your name to the wall is alright.”
I spin around to find Atlas standing at the bottom of the staircase, dressed casually by his standards in a loose-fitted shirt and sweatpants. His hair is somewhat disheveled, as if he”s just rolled out of bed himself.
I flip the keys in my hand, stunned by the sweet gesture. ”You did this?”
”I thought it was about time you had a set of your own.”
A long silence stretches between us. I should be uncomfortable with the two of us just quietly staring at one another, mentally willing the other to say something, but it”s peaceful. I sometimes feel like I could spend an entire afternoon just sitting with him, not saying a word, and still be heard. My hands begin to glow and for once, I”m not ashamed. Atlas has done something extremely kind and thoughtful. It”s hard not to be happy with him, even if things are weird between us right now.
”Happy or angry?” he asks, a glint of sadness in his eyes.
”I think this is the nicest gift I”ve ever received.”
That seems to take him by surprise. ”Keys?”
”A home.”
”You will always have a place here.”
Another comfortable silence falls over us, but I don”t allow it to last long. ”I was about to go for a run.”
”I”m sure Nyx will love exercising at the crack of dawn on a non-school day,” he smirks.
”Actually,” I take a small, tentative step toward him and whisper, ”I didn”t tell him I was going.”
Atlas laughs softly and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the staircase banister. ”I can”t wait to see the look on his face when he wakes up and you”re gone.”
”Would you like to come with me?” I blurt out before I can think better of it.
His brow arches. ”Where are you running?”
I shrug. ”I don”t know. Wherever I end up, I suppose.”
He takes a moment to contemplate the idea, raking his fingers through his locks, before flicking his eyes to meet my gaze. ”There”s a place I think you”d like to see.”
After debating on whether we should leave Nyx a note letting him know where I”d gone or just let him wake up and panic, we jot a quick note and leave it on the dining room table before slipping out the front door. We jog through the slumbering city, and I enjoy the cool morning breeze whipping through the loose strands of hair that escape my ponytail.
Atlas leads me uphill toward Starnborough, but instead of visiting his royal family members, we run past the castle and head downhill to the western part of the kingdom lining the forest. I haven”t been to this side of Tronovia and it looks like an entirely different city. Instead of canals and tall rowhouses, this side has a cozy, cottage feel to it. With the forest as the backdrop instead of the harbor, we continue our descent past the humble, one-to-two story, white stucco homes with dark brown half-timber embellishments. I feel like I stepped into a fairytale and Atlas is leading me straight into an enchanted forest.
He must have noticed the look of wonder on my face because he quickly explains, ”This is the Old Kingdom. It”s what Tronovia started off as before it grew into what it is today. Families who inhabit these homes have passed them down generation to generation since the founding days.”
”It”s beautiful.” I admire the well-maintained gardens and gabled roofs of each home. Smoke wafts up from some of the stone chimneys and I”m suddenly starving. My stomach growls and I hope Atlas doesn”t hear the noise. But alas, I have no such luck when he digs one of Finn”s homemade breakfast bars out of his pocket and extends it to me.
”Here, eat this.”
”Oh, no, I couldn”t take your snack.”
”Don”t be stubborn. You”re hungry. Eat.”
”What about you?” I glance at him as we weave through the old kingdom cobblestone streets toward the tree line. ”Won”t you need something to eat?”
He stops running, forcing me to jog in place, so I don”t have to fight my legs to restart. Reaching into his other pocket, he pulls out a second bar wrapped in a napkin. ”I”m prepared.”
Gratefully, I grab the breakfast bar and return his smile. ”Thank you.”
Munching into the chewy treat, he says, ”You”re welcome,” between bites.
”Is this what you wanted me to see?” I motion around us. ”The Old Kingdom?”
He shakes his head. ”As quaint as this part of the city is, no. Where we”re going is in the forest.”
I bob my head, sinking my teeth into the bar, enjoying the tangy flavor. ”You aren”t luring me to the forest to let some creature I don”t know exists eat me, right?”
”How did you know that was exactly what I intended to do with you?” he returns my teasing tone with one of his own, making me laugh. ”You ready?” He rubs his hands together, brushing whatever crumbs remain off his skin.
I swallow my last morsel and nod. ”Ready.”
We jog to the end of the Old Kingdom and follow the path into the woods. It”s much cooler in here because the trees are packed in tightly and block out direct sunlight, but stars, does it look magical in here. Light streaks through branches and highlights the dew in the grass. The flowers stir, and the birds chirp as they take flight, alerting the rest of the forest of morning”s light. We stumble upon a family of deer and seem to go unnoticed until I step on a twig and snap it, spooking them. I take a deep breath and feel as if the forest is restoring my weary soul.
Atlas slows down, so I do the same, turning my sights in the direction he”s looking. Through a small clearing, and at the top of a humble hill, sits an ancient circular structure composed of stone and wood. Whatever it is, it”s completely deserted and looks like it”s been out of use for decades. The closer we get, I see moss growing up the sides and greenery overtaking the building. Cracks split through some of the stonework but it”s not to the point of structural concern.
We stop at one of the arched entrances that tunnels to the other side. ”Almost there.”
I follow Atlas through the dark hall and when we come out the other end, I am pleasantly surprised to see we”re standing in the bleachers of some kind of stadium. He takes a seat on one of the carved stone benches and I settle down next to him. Seating spans around the coliseum and down at the bottom, in the center of the arena, is some kind of training ground.
”What is this place?”
”This is Draaksten, which roughly translates to Dragon Stone. This is where the Fire Breathers were housed and trained by their riders.”
”Dragons?” My eyes widen in excitement. ”Dragons were here?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up and he nods. ”It used to be flooded with dragons. Every fire wielder would come once a year to see if a dragon would choose them as their trainer and riding companion. It”s a lifelong bond, if a Fire Breather chooses you. The bond is only broken in death.”
”And no one knows what happened to them?”
He rolls his shoulders back and shakes his head. His eyes are glued to the arena, as if it was a childhood dream of his to ride one of the fiery beasts, and that chance was robbed of him when they disappeared. ”Most Fire Breathers and their riders died in the Great War, but we”re not sure what happened to the survivors or where they would have gone.”
”Would you have tried to be a dragon rider, if they were still around?” I ask cautiously, not wanting to stir up unwanted memories.
Flicking his eyes up to meet mine, he shrugs. ”As a kid, I thought it would have been awesome to ride one, but they disappeared before I could actually understand what that entailed.”
”Maybe they”ll return?” I offer, knowing the chance is slim. ”Maybe you could get your chance to ride one then?”
”Even if they did return, they wouldn”t choose me.”
I furrow my brow. ”Why not? You”re one of the most powerful shadow wielders – ”
”Yes, shadow wielder.” He gently cuts me off, reminding me of his rare magic. ”Dragons do not choose anomalies, Princess. They typically match their fire with fire wielders. Red fire wielders are chosen by red dragons, orange fire wielders are chosen by orange dragons, blue fire wielders are chosen by blue dragons. It”s as simple as that.”
”You said typically match.” I drag my eyes to meet his gaze. ”So, that means if there were still dragons, hypothetically, one of them could choose you.”
He opens his mouth and shuts it just as quickly. ”I guess we”ll never know,” is all he says in response.
A silence hovers above us. I”m not sure what else to say to comfort him that wouldn”t sound like me patronizing him like a small child, so I opt to say nothing at all. I glance around the arena and can almost feel the excitement vibrate through the spectating section. What it must have been like to sit here and watch the dragons with their riders train! I would give anything to see it firsthand.
”Eris thinks Frost Dragons still exist,” I break the temporary silence, expecting him to shoot that silly idea of hers down, but I”m shocked when he says, ”From my understanding, they do exist.”
”What?”
”The Frost Elves refuse to admit it, though,” he shrugs. ”I don”t blame them. Dragons are rare and precious. A lot of them died during the Great War, so I”m not surprised the other kingdoms would keep their few remaining ones safe and hidden.”
”Other kingdoms? The other kingdoms had dragons too?”
He smiles and nods, reclining onto his elbows. ”Hydra had serpentine blue and purple scale sea dragons and if you ask me, I”m sure they still have them. Eris” mother wouldn”t allow one of her greatest sources of protection to die out.”
”So, Tronovia had Fire Breathers, Elowen had Frost Dragons, and Hydra had Sea Dragons?” I reiterate, so I can remember later.
”Right, and the Dwarves of Durne had green and brown cave dwelling dragons with spiked tails. From what I”ve been told, they had just as vicious a disposition as their short-in-stature masters. Bava had tiny dragons not suited for riding. The Pixie Dragons dwelled in the jungle and since they had the ability to turn invisible, they were used to carry messages.”
That accounts for all kingdoms but mine. I know magic is illegal, but what about dragons? Surely, we aren”t the only kingdom not to have the winged beasts. I tear my gaze from the arena grounds I have been absent-mindedly staring at and look over at him. He”s already watching me with a curious twinkle in his green eyes.
”Did the Midorians have dragons once?”
As if he was already aware of what my next question was going to be, he bobs his head and says, ”Sand Dragons. Golden beasts that lived deep in the desert and were the speediest of all dragon kind. Well, except for the rare black ones.”
My heart skips at the undeniable excitement stirring within me. There”s so much to unpack in what he just said, but I focus on the Midorians first. ”Do you think the Sand Dragons are still alive?”
He shrugs. ”I couldn”t say. Midorians are especially private when it comes to sharing information with the other kingdoms. Perhaps, some survived the Great War and remain hidden in the desert. Rumor is the Sand Dragons chose to dwell with the Sand People instead of the Midorians, once Drogon was defeated.”
”Sand People?” I”ve never heard of them before.
”No one knows for certain if they actually exist, because no one has dared to venture through the treacherous sand lands to seek them or their hidden desert city out.”
”Who are they?”
”From what I”ve heard from Uncle Soren, during the Great War, your father and one of his generals got into an argument before one of the battles. Your father wanted to fall back and let the other kingdoms take the full brunt of Drogon”s army, but General Naziri disagreed and said that was a coward”s tactic towards war. He then volunteered himself and his dragon riders to head the frontlines.”
My mouth is suddenly dry. The only general I know of is High General Cadmus Tarkin, Bastian”s father. I”ve never heard of General Naziri or the Sand Dragons before and now that I”m coming to understand that my father isn”t the man I believed him to be, I”m terrified the next thing Atlas says is going to break my heart, but I have to know the entire truth.
”What happened after they fought?”
”Declaring General Naziri”s outburst an act of treason, your father ordered for him to be executed. The leaders from the other kingdoms tried to reason with your father. Even Enver Sol voiced his opinion and fought for Naziri”s release.” Atlas eyes me, clearly gauging whether I am alright to keep listening to his tale. When I give a slight tilt of my head, he continues, ”The men loyal to General Naziri broke him out of the camp prison, and with Enver Sol”s blessing, defiantly flew into battle against Drogon, helping to ultimately defeat the Demon King.”
”And then?”
”Naziri and his riders flew into the desert and were never seen or heard from again.”
”Do you think they actually survived and formed their own society in the desert?” I ask, secretly hoping they did after my father”s betrayal.
”Everyone you ask will have a different opinion, but I”m of the belief that they did survive. Out of everyone in Midori, General Naziri and his magic wielders knew the desert better than anyone, and their dragons thrive in those conditions. I wouldn”t be surprised to see they”ve amassed an army of dragons in the last two decades.”
I mull over the story before asking, ”You said there”s a black dragon? What kind of dragon is that?”
A boyish smile slides across his tawny face. ”Ah, the black dragons are more myth than fact. I”m sure you have figured out by now that I have a great fascination with the beasts. While I was growing up, still holding onto the hope that maybe they”d return to our shores, I read every book I could get my hands on, so I was prepared when and if I came face-to-face with one.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, which I”m now starting to recognize is his nervous tell. ”Black dragons haven”t been seen since the first war one thousand years ago when Oryn and Naya fought. The mightiest of them was named Vidarr. He was big, fast and had purple fire.”
”Purple?”
He nods, excitement flashing in his eyes. ”It”s salt based. The black dragons resided in the northern mountains, further than we mortals have tread. Those conditions are far too harsh for us to survive.”
”Tell me more about Vidarr,” I say and when he smirks down at me, I explain, ”I am also a fan of dragon lore.”
”Vidarr was Naya”s dragon. From the ancient accounts, his purple flame would turn his victims into pillars of salt.”
”What happened to him?”
His smile falters. ”When Naya drowned, Vidarr was said to be so brokenhearted that he flew north, and no one has seen or heard of him since. He was the last of his kind.”
A few minutes later, we start our trek back through the forest in silence. Even though the idea of a rare black dragon with purple fire damn near excites every bone in my body, I have so many thoughts and questions running amuck in my head right now and I”m not sure which one to focus on first. Midori used to have magic wielders. Midori used to have sand dragons. Then in the span of one conversation turned argument, it all ceased to exist in our kingdom.
Sadness brews within me. All those years my parents warned me of the evils of magic. All those years they told me repeatedly that dragons were never real, they were merely figments of storytellers” imaginations. All those years of lies upon lies and for what? To discover that magic flows through my veins? To realize the Tronovians aren”t some evil overlords seeking to feast on our bones and drain our bodies of all our blood? To learn dragons were, and might still be, real and had my father not run them out of our kingdom, we might still have them?
My eyes widen when I start connecting some mental dots in my head. I look at Atlas and he meets my confused gaze with a quizzical one of his own.
”So, dragons are the ones who choose their riders?” I ask.
”Most of them,” he bobs his head.
”Do they have to be of royal blood?”
”No. Fire Breathers, Sand Dragons, Sea Dragons, Cave Dragons and Pixie Dragons would choose the wielder they deemed worthy of their partnership. The Frost Elves are the only ones who don”t adhere to this tradition. They give every newborn with a drop of royal blood their own dragon because civilian Frost Elves do not have magical abilities.”
”But what if the royal doesn”t possess frost magic?” I push a branch out of my path, but keep my eyes fixed on Atlas.
”So far, there hasn”t been anyone born in House Basilius that hasn”t had magic. They are a proud and powerful family and if the Frost King has anything to say about it, he will do everything in his power to keep House Basilius that way.”
”So, the Sand Dragons,” I circle back to the Midorians. ”They only chose those with sand or air magic, correct?”
He bobs his head as we leave the forest and reenter the Old Kingdom, now buzzing to life. ”Correct.”
”So, when General Naziri and his riders escaped, the magic wielders went with him.”
”What are you trying to say?”
”Do you think my father feared General Naziri would try to come back and stage a coup? So, he outlawed magic in Midori?”
He rubs his hand against his jawline before meeting my stare and saying, ”It would make sense. Magic in Midori was only illegalized after the Great War ended.”
An unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I was afraid he was going to confirm my suspicions. When I think of my father, I think of a strong leader and a loving man. He never said one ill word to me, never raised an unkind hand to me, and certainly never treated me as if I wasn”t his own flesh and blood. But hearing of his first years as a young king and how he allowed his fear and prejudice to dictate his actions sours me. I wish I could sit my parents down and just ask them point blank who I am, who they are, and more importantly, why they decided lying to me was the best route in our relationship.
Pressing my hand to my upset stomach, I push onward, not wanting Atlas to see how much all of this is affecting me. The rest of our walk home might be a quiet one, but my mind is as turbulent as a ship out in a storm. Every time I feel like I”m making progress at figuring things out, I take a huge step back when more questions pile on top of me. I have an eerie feeling that when I do know the entire truth about who I am, it might just break me.
I spend the rest of my day off relaxing. I had only intended to go for a light jog around the city, but the adventure Atlas took me on has me aching. It was worth it though, to see the dragon arena. It saddens me to think that magic was illegalized because my father was afraid. Granted, he was young and if I were in his position, I”m sure I”d be overthinking everything. But to order the execution of your general because he disagreed with your war tactics shows a lack of faith and understanding on my father”s part.
I wonder if General Naziri and his magical warriors survived the desert. Even though I know it”s highly possibly they all died, since the sand lands are treacherous, deep down in the pit of my stomach I know they survived. I have no proof and I have no real reason to believe they exist, but if anyone could thrive in those horrid and dangerous conditions, it would be sand dragons and their magic wielders. If I ever make it back to Midori, I would want to seek them out and try to mend the wounds my father is responsible for.
My mind then wanders to the sand and air wielders dwelling in the city at the time my father outlawed magic. Did he have them executed? Did he banish them? Did he march them into the desert and abandon them?
The thought that men, women and children were treated so cruelly by my father makes my skin crawl and ruins my relaxing bubble bath. I quickly hop out and dry myself off before dressing in some comfortable sweatpants and a loose tank. I don”t plan to go anywhere else today and I”m relieved that I”ll have the rowhouse to myself tonight.
With Finn and Eris staying late at the apothecary shop to do inventory, and Nyx being summoned to have dinner with King Soren and Ronan, probably for an update on my progress, and Atlas doing stars knows what, I take advantage of the rare alone time to bake a cake for Finn”s birthday tomorrow. When I haven”t been training with Atlas or sitting through Riggs” history lessons, I”ve spent the last couple of weeks practicing how to create home-baked goods and delectable desserts, and I feel confident enough to take a stab at making this surprise treat on my own.
How delusional.
Nothing has gone according to plan. I”m covered in flour and there are dirty dishes and pans scattered all over the island and overflowing in the sink. But the worst part is finally getting the baked cakes out of the oven and trying to frost them. Finn has an obsession with chocolate, so I attempt to squeeze the freshly whipped dark cocoa frosting out of the bag, but nothing comes out. Gripping the bag tighter, I accidentally send bits of frosting flying across the room, smacking into one of the cabinet doors. I watch in mortifying defeat as it slowly drips down onto the countertop and groan in frustration.
”Holy stars, I”m terrible at this.” I toss the bag on the cluttered island and wipe strands of rebellious hair from my face, only to smear frosting I didn”t know was on my hand across my forehead.
”Aren”t you a sight.”
Atlas” deep voice startles me, and I flash him a dirty look as he lurks in the doorway. ”How long have you been standing there?” I hiss, feeling my cheeks heat.
After our run this morning, he returned to the house and showered before slipping out again. I was unaware until this moment that he”d returned and what”s worse, he”s been watching me, and I never noticed.
The corners of his mouth twitch. ”Long enough.”
”And do you intend to keep standing there gawking like a pigeon?”
He shrugs one shoulder. ”I like the view.”
I despise that my stomach flips at his flirtatious tone and shoot him a narrow-eyed glare instead. ”Help me or leave.”
”Are those my only options?”
I motion toward the sink filled to the brim with dishes. ”You could always clean.”
He glances around the kitchen, taking in the mess I managed to accumulate, and slowly rolls his black sleeves up to his elbows. ”Seeing as I know nothing about baking, I”ll clean.”
I scoff, eyeing my abysmal birthday cake. ”Apparently, I don”t know much about baking either.”
”That”s not true.” He saunters to the sink and flips the water on. ”Finn says you”re getting better.”
”Well, Finn is a kind-hearted liar.”
”How long have you been learning to bake?” he asks, turning his back to me and picking up the first dirty dish to rinse.
”A few weeks.” I manage to get the frosting to ooze out of the pastry bag and squeeze some on top of the now-sinking-in-the-middle cake.
”Finn has been practicing since he was ten years old, and he still makes mistakes. Give yourself a little grace. You won”t be good at something overnight. It takes time to master a craft.”
I stop spreading the frosting and stare daggers at the back of his head as he quietly cleans. ”I feel like this is about more than just baking.”
Atlas is silent a moment longer before he turns the water off, throws the dish rag over his shoulder, and faces me. Pressing his backside against the counter, he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me work. Aware he”s staring, I put the spatula down and take a few steps back until I bump into the counter on the other side of the kitchen, mirroring his posture. Slowly, he approaches the butcher block island between us and plants his palms on the counter.
”I truly believe you could be the most powerful magic wielder of our age,” he says softly, ”but you have to stop getting in your own way.”
I lower my arms from my chest, and in a way, I lower my guard. ”It”s hard,” I whisper.
”Of course, it is. It took me years -”
”No,” I interrupt him, and his eyes widen at my tone. ”I mean it”s hard being around you while training.”
Taking a moment before responding, he straightens and asks, ”What do you mean?”
”You”re insufferable and half the time I find myself wanting to shove you over a cliff –”
”That”s nice.”
”But I can”t seem to escape you. This draw I have to you.”
”Why are you trying to escape me?” Curiosity laces his words and I have to tread carefully, lest I give away all my thoughts.
”I find you… distracting.”
His eyes brighten, ”Is that so?”
”Don”t get too excited.” I backpedal. ”This magical connection we share can be confusing.”
I see the hope flicker in his gaze before he bobs his head. ”If it makes you feel any better, I”m also confused by our connection.”
”Really?”
He nods and looks like he”s about to say something but changes his mind. There”s a storminess in those eyes of his and I take a step toward him, ready to ask him to tell me what he was about to say, but he smiles and asks, ”Are you hungry?”
He”s deflecting. The spoiled princess in me wants to stomp my foot and demand he tell me what he”s refusing to say, but I don”t. If he wanted to tell me, he would have, so I leave the issue alone.
”Starving,” I say, returning his small smile with one of my own.
”I won”t pretend I know anything about cooking,” he drags the towel from his shoulder and places it on the countertop, ”so it looks like we”ll be dining out this evening.”
”Just you and me?”
”Unless you”d like to take a stab at cooking?” He gestures to the mess I”ve made, and I untie the flour covered apron and set it on the island.
”What did you have in mind?”