Chapter 11 #2
“It is,” I lie. “Then again, it's hardly a challenge, compared to the daily lives of most people outside of your shiny oasis here.” I plaster on a saccharine smile of my own.
“Glad to hear it.” She lowers her voice as she adds, “Just don't let your guard down, hm? Shiny places can have their share of dangers, too.”
“Thank you for your kind advice, Your Majesty.”
Arlo's attention has shifted back to Blight. He's clutching that same hand to his chest again, his breathing growing slightly labored once more.
Concern darkens his sister's face as she looks him over. She seems to abruptly forget about her displeasure with me, taking Arlo by the arm and escorting him away without another word or backward glance.
Blight makes a low, mournful sound as she watches them leave.
I wander over and sit on the edge of her platform, letting my legs dangle to take some of the pressure off my knee. “That was strange, wasn't it?”
She turns her back to me before flopping down with a huff.
“…So, I've finally managed to offend you enough that you're going to leave me alone, I guess?”
She doesn't give any response.
“Looks like you have a stubborn streak in you, too.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Maybe we are kindred spirits, after all.”
I lean back on my palms, sighing.
Her tail swats toward me, the feathery tip surprisingly painful as it slaps my arm.
“You don't have to be violent about it.”
Her tail lashes even more violently in response. As I stumble down and out of her reach, I notice Commander Gareth making his way toward us.
“I see you two are getting along even better than before,” he says.
“She's grumpy from lack of lunch, I think.” Seeing that he's brought no food back with him, I pointedly add, “We're bonding over that, it would seem.”
Gareth is unmoved by the passive aggressive commentary. “If I'm honest, a part of me was hoping I'd come back to find that she'd eaten you for lunch.”
“Now that you mention it, I think I was secretly hoping for that, too.”
Blight gives a haughty snort, as if she regrets not taking the opportunity to do this.
“So at least we're all in agreement,” I joke.
Gareth remains stone-faced as he takes up a training weapon once more. “You can both eat all the food you like after you manage to do something productive.”
This is the only introduction he gives to part two of our training session—he's charging at me in the next breath, forcing me back into motion before I can even protest.
Battling with him is pure torture on an empty stomach, made even worse because all the aches and bruises I sustained earlier have had time to stiffen and sink in.
Exhaustion makes my movements sloppy, my reactions slow. Spite is the only thing sustaining me at the moment, and even that familiar fuel is running low.
The interaction with Arlo looms heavily on my mind, too, as Gareth and I go through the motions. I've only just met him, but I can't stop thinking about the young prince. His scrawny appearance, his covered hands, the concern in his sister's eyes…
What is wrong with him?
It's the second time something has seemed…off about a member of the royal family—the first being my initial meeting with the king, that moment when his control seemed to slip.
What's next, I wonder?
What are they all hiding?
You won't survive this…unless you truly believe in the bond.
I'm beginning to think that the this Gareth was referring to was more than just whatever training he has in store for me; I'm not going to survive the palace itself unless I find a way to untangle its lies and navigate my way through all of its dangerous, powerful players.
The thought of doing that alone is daunting.
I can't trust anyone here.
Until I get Briar back, the only other creature not tied to this palace, not tangled up in its secrets…is the stupid dragon lounging nearby.
Begrudgingly, I glance her way.
She's already glaring at me, as if she can sense the tiniest crack starting to form in my defenses toward her, and she's smugly waiting for me to let the rest of the wall come crumbling down.
That isn't happening any time soon.
Allies would be far too much of a stretch.
But maybe we don't have to be complete enemies; I have enough of those already, after all.
For several more minutes, I stumble through the drills, trying to work up the resolve to actually try what Gareth has been demanding of me all day.
“We can do this indefinitely, if you insist.” His voice is clipped and cold. His patience is running out, his strikes growing harder with each passing minute. “You won’t outlast me.”
“We’ll see,” I snap.
He aims a particularly vicious blow toward my head. I catch a flash of madness in his grey eyes; I swear he means to knock me unconscious this time. I barely avoid the strike, dancing out of reach and turning back only to find his sword flying toward me again.
I throw my arm up to protect my face, bracing for the inevitable pain.
But it doesn’t come.
I feel the force of the impact—it's enough to send me staggering back, dropping me to one knee. But the expected burst of agony, the radiating shock through my arm…it never arrives.
Commander Gareth freezes. Studies me. The training sword is still raised in his hand, and I expect more insults, more demands.
All he says is, “That's good enough for today, I suppose.”
As he turns away, I lift my arm and look for evidence of the latest bruise I'm certain he's left.
It isn't there.
And I immediately realize why that arm doesn't hurt.
Because a small patch of my skin—right where Gareth's sword struck—is covered and protected by shimmering blue dragon scales.