Chapter 17
Soren
She’s hurt.
Twice in my care, she’s been hurt.
I grit my teeth, clutch her tighter, and push my wings faster.
Why didn’t she say anything before? Why was she so calm? Why would anyone say they’re bleeding so calmly?
“Soren,” I hear her say, along with something about being fine, but I shake my head at her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s obviously delirious.
A few wingbeats more and I spot the traditional blue-tinged flames of a physician’s lamp in the middle of camp.
Never have I been more grateful for my ancestors’ wisdom, for the copper-fueled lamps that have been a familiar beacon to dragons in flight since we first took human form.
Tomorrow, I will have the creator’s descendants found and honored.
I plummet toward the light, cradling the princess with my second form while absorbing the shock of the landing with my first. That same form writhes within me as she screams, but I don’t dare pause to ask her what’s wrong. Charging forward, I storm into the tent.
“Bindley!”
The grizzled old physician startles from the chair he was sitting in, his eyes leaping from me to the princess.
“She’s bleeding,” I say, rushing her to him.
“Bleeding?” But this comes from my sister, who, for whatever reason, is sitting with Rosa, both of them swathed in those ridiculous Ilanthren dresses that take up half the tent, though Rosa’s seem to be missing some layer or other.
“Oh, Tilly,” Serah says from my arms. “Please help.” She’s covered her face with her hands.
My sister leaps to her side. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Serah groans. “It’s only my menses. I tried to tell him.”
Tilly’s mouth drops open, and she looks like she’s winding up for a scolding when Rosa cuts in, tittering and flapping a dismissive hand.
“We have things to manage that back in Ilanthren. Do you not have that in…” She glances at my sister. “Where is she from again?”
Tilly frowns at this. “Vasna, remember?”
“Oh, one of those little islands off the western coast? Father would sometimes point them out to me when we were on holiday.”
Have they all gone mad?
“Did you not hear me that the princess is in danger?” I snarl at Bindley, who seems to be more engrossed in the girls’ conversation than in saving his future queen.
A cool hand touches my arm.
“Soren,” my sister says, “Serah is fine.”
I bare my teeth at her. “How do you know?”
She surprises me by returning the gesture. “You know why.” Her lips ease down as she looks back at me. “Trust me, brother, and put her down. You’re embarrassing her.”
I glance at Serah. She lowers her hands just enough for me to see pleading eyes.
With great reluctance, I set her on her feet, though I keep a firm hold on her arm in case she falls.
“How can one be bleeding and be fine?” I grumble. She’s fully human. Humans are fragile.
Bindley, who finally seems to have snapped out of his stupor, goes to the tent entrance and pulls the flap open. “If I may, Your Majesty, why don’t we step out, and I’ll explain…”
###
Several moments after Bindley’s explanation, I still can’t fathom how such a thing could be possible.
“Every month?” I ask once more.
“Give or take a few days,” Bindley replies.
I stare at him. “And every human woman, you say?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I cross my arms and consider this. I’d always thought human women delicate—in body, at least—but how could they be if they bear such an affliction? And often in secret?
“Warriors,” I say finally. “All of them.”
The physician inclines his head in agreement. “We are fortunate those of dragon blood are unaffected.”
“Fortunate indeed,” I say, my gaze drifting toward Rally keeping watch. My wingmates, along with the princess’s guards, were already stationed around the physician’s tent when Bindley and I stepped outside. I would need to ask Rally how Marta endured this monthly trial.
“Why was my sister there?” I ask. “Is she well?”
“She’s in excellent health, Your Majesty. She was merely accompanying Princess Rosa.”
My brows draw together. “Is Princess Rosa well?” She seemed fine earlier, though I suppose I didn’t look much either.
“I’m told,” Bindley says with an impassive face, “that upon her arrival at the palace, she was complaining of lightheadedness, sire. She insisted on seeing me rather than my assistant, who was nearby.”
“I see. And did you find the cause?”
“I did. It seems her corset was laced too tightly.”
We share a look of quiet exasperation. This isn’t the first time Rosa has inconvenienced my servants. I tolerate her friendship with Tilly in the interest of keeping good relations with Ilanthren, and I only pursue such relations for my sister’s sake. She has ties there that cannot be severed.
I massage the bridge of my nose, retracting my wings as I do so. “Have her escorted back to the palace. If she gives you further trouble, send for me.”
Bindley bows, and it isn’t until after I dismiss him and he disappears into the tent that I realize I didn’t ask when my princess might reemerge. I signal Rally over.
“You didn’t tell me of this monthly curse,” I say when he nears.
His eyes swell. “Oh.”
“Mm.”
“Oh,” he says again, grimacing. “I should have warned you.”
I let out a long, measured breath. “Yes. Now, when do you think she’ll be back out?”
Rally eyes the tent. “It’s hard to say, but for stars’ sake, don’t ask her how long she’ll be. She could bite your head off.”
“She hardly has the teeth for that.”
“She won’t need them.”
Ty glances curiously our way from his position, and when Rally signs monthly curse to him, Ty only winces and turns aside like he’s relieved to escape some terrible fate.
“What am I meant to do then?” I demand.
“Chocolate,” my wingmate says immediately. “Send for chocolate.”
I can hardly argue with that remedy. “I’ll get it myself,” I say, and to her guards, “Escort the princess back if she comes out before I return.”
I start off toward the tents housing the temporary kitchens, and my nostrils are almost immediately invaded with the sting of fresh mint. My lip curls.
Does he bathe in the stuff?
“What is it, Lyken?” I say, not breaking my stride.
The overseer materializes beside me, an obsequious smile already pinned on his face.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he says. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“Do I look startled?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty.”
I briefly consider excuses to drag him to The Pit and thrash him.
“I ask again,” I say with unmerited patience, “what is it?”
He steps chivalrously aside for a pair of servant girls passing by, and they hurry away, giggling to one another.
“I’m afraid I was only on my way to see Princess Rosa.
I was told she was taken to Bindley, and I was concerned, you see.
The Lykens have long been friends to the Ilanthren crown, as I’m sure His Majesty already knows. ”
“Yes,” I say, “just as I know your attentions have little to do with Rosa and more to do with her company.”
“I would never dare to presume—”
“Ah, but you would.”
I stop, forcing Lyken to do the same.
“You’re a schemer, Lyken,” I say, fixing him with a level stare. “I imagine it’s why the other overseers appointed you over the province neighboring the wyverns. It’s certainly why I’ve allowed you to continue in that position. Your eyes are sharp, and your mind even sharper.”
I take one step forward and allow my first form to make it so that the ground trembles between Lyken and me.
“Out of gratitude for protecting my queen,” I say, soft as a whisper, “I’ll warn you this once. No amount of scheming will win you my sister.”
The sycophantic mask he wears melts away, leaving the calculating creature I know lies beneath.
“Perhaps,” he says, “it’s Princess Rosa my sights are set on.”
“Perhaps. But should you not heed my warning, no amount of scheming will save you from me. Do you understand that, Lyken?”
For the briefest of seconds, I think he might smile, and I may have my excuse after all. In the end, though, he only bows.
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
And with that, he fades back into the shadows.