Chapter 45 Kailin
KAILIN
"The dreamer does not choose the dream. The dream chooses the dreamer, arriving unbidden at the critical hour, speaking truths the waking mind would rather not hear."
—Shaman Kethris, Meditations on Prophecy
The wine was a gift from Commander Ravel, delivered with a note. Congratulations. You've earned this.
Shovia had uncorked it with theatrical flair, and now we sat in a loose circle in the common room, passing the bottle between us.
Elucian wine was expensive, and this particular vintage, a deep red from the southern vineyards, was usually gifted to the bride and groom to celebrate their wedding night.
Ravel was incredibly generous for getting it for us.
"To making it this far," Codric said, raising the bottle before taking a swig.
"To passing the written portion," Morek added when the bottle reached him. "I still can't believe I did it."
Shovia snatched the bottle from his hands. "To finally being done with studying."
The wine made its way to Alar, who held it for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. "To the five of us," he said. "May we all find our perfect bonding partners."
He drank and passed it to me.
I took a sip, letting the rich flavor coat my tongue. It was so good, better than anything I'd tasted before, but I didn't want to drink too much. Tomorrow was the most important day of my life, and I needed to be sharp.
"Drink up," Shovia encouraged. "We are finishing this bottle tonight."
"I want to be alert tomorrow."
"It's just one bottle of wine split five ways. You're not going to get drunk from this tiny amount."
She had a point. I took another sip, slightly larger this time, and passed the bottle back to Shovia to start another round.
"I want a fast dragon," Morek said. "To fit my temperament."
Shovia took a swig and passed the bottle to Codric again. "I hope for a coolheaded one who will balance my impulsiveness."
Codric took the bottle. "I don't care which dragon I bond with as long as it's not the brooding type. I need someone I can talk to."
"Dragons don't brood," I said.
"Some of them do," Codric insisted. "Even Nyxath does it sometimes. She gets this look in her eyes like she's contemplating the futility of existence."
I waved a dismissive hand. "She's ancient. She's probably just thinking about how exhausting we all are."
"Same thing."
Alar laughed at that, but the sound was hollow. I reached over and squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, but I could sense that something was wrong.
I filed that away for later. Tonight was for celebration, not interrogation.
The bottle emptied faster than I expected. Morek claimed the last few drops, tilting it back until every bit of wine was gone.
"We should do this again," he said. "After bonding. Make it a tradition."
"Assuming we all bond," Shovia said.
"We will." Codric's voice was unusually serious. "The prophecy requires it."
"The prophecy requires seven," I reminded him. "We're only five plus Commander Ravel, and it says nothing about us even being riders. Only about the five of us arriving together."
"We'll find the seventh one. But the five of us are meant to be riders. I'm certain of it."
I wished I shared his certainty. The truth was, none of us knew what tomorrow would bring. Dragons chose their riders through some mystical process that even the shaman didn't fully understand. The bond either happened or it didn't.
Codric was right about one thing, though. The prophecy had brought us together, and I had to believe it would see us through in some way.
"We should sleep," I said, rising from my spot on the floor. "We have to be up before dawn again."
Alar followed me into our room, and as he closed the door behind us, I pulled him into my arms. "Are you worried about tomorrow?"
"Of course, I am."
I pressed my cheek to his chest, listening to his heart beating steadily beneath my ear.
"I'm worried too, but I have to believe that everything will turn out fine."
His arms tightened around me. "I believe so, too. We've gotten this far, right?"
Something in his voice didn't quite match his words, and I pulled back to look at his face. "Are you feeling okay? You sound off."
"I'm fine. It's just the stress."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not—" He stopped, exhaled slowly. "It's my father. I'm worried."
Of course he was. "After the bonding, you can request a leave of absence. Saphir knows who you are and why you are here. He might approve it."
Alar sighed. "I can't think about that now. Everything has to wait until after the bonding."
I understood, and I didn't want to add to his stress by pressuring him to talk about a subject that was so painful to him.
We waited until the others were done with the bathroom, and after taking turns there ourselves, we climbed into bed together.
I settled into my usual position with my head on Alar's shoulder. The sleeping draught I'd prepared was waiting for me on the nightstand.
Alar sniffed it. "That's not the tea."
"No. It's the sleeping draught. I'm not taking any chances before the Day of Volition."
Relief flooded his features. "Good. I'm glad you are reasonable about this." He kissed my forehead. "I hate watching you suffer through those visions. One night of peace is a gift."
I drank the draught and returned the cup to the nightstand.
"I love you," he murmured against my hair.
"I love you too."
The sleeping draught worked quickly. Within minutes, I felt myself drifting, consciousness loosening its grip.
I let go and fell into what I hoped would be a dreamless sleep.
The dream came anyway, tearing through whatever barriers the draught had built and dragged me under with the force of a tidal wave.
I stood on a mountainside.
No—I floated above it, watching from somewhere outside my body. The terrain was rugged, familiar. The mountains that ringed the Citadel, the ones we'd flown over during numerous training exercises. I recognized the jagged peak to the north, the valley that cut between two ridges.
A dragon appeared.
I didn't know him. The size indicated that it was male, but the color of his scales shifted colors in the light, or maybe my dreaming mind couldn't hold onto the details. He was beautiful, powerful, majestic as he banked through the currents.
Alar was on his back.
He wore full rider gear, the reinforced jacket and the goggles, and possessed the confident posture of someone who belonged in the sky. A rider, bonded and trained, months into his new life. Perhaps even years.
I could sense the bond between them pulsing like a living thing, a golden thread connecting dragon and rider. I felt its warmth, its strength, the profound rightness of two souls intertwined.
It was beautiful.
The wind was gentle. The sky was clear. Nothing about this scene suggested danger.
And then things started to go wrong.
The dragon banked hard and fast as if he was trying to evade a projectile, except no one was shooting at him. The sudden movement made no sense. Alar shifted in the saddle, adjusting his weight, but the angle was wrong.
He was sliding.
I watched his hands scramble for purchase, fingers clawing at straps that slipped through his grip. The dragon tried to correct, banking the other way, but it was too late.
Alar fell.
The scream that tore from my throat had no sound. I was trapped in this vision, forced to watch as he plummeted through empty air, his body growing smaller and smaller against the mountain backdrop.
He hit the rocks.
The impact was silent, but I felt it—felt the snuffing out of that golden thread, felt the bond shatter. One moment, he was there, alive, connected to his dragon and to me and to everything that mattered.
The next moment, nothing.
Terror consumed me. Pure, primal, all-encompassing terror that went beyond anything I'd felt in my previous nightmares. This wasn't a vague sense of doom; it didn't have the nightmarish quality of the attack on the Citadel. This felt real, as if I was watching this horror in real time.
Alar was dead. No one could survive such a fall. Not even a rider who had been given the gift of immortality.
Some fates can't be changed.
The words echoed through the vision, the same words that I'd heard him say to me twice before. But this time, something else followed them.
The scene shifted.
A woman floated above the scene, her deep crimson and gold robes flowing in the wind, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo that required the help of a maid specializing in such tasks.
The fabric was rich and heavy, embroidered with beautiful patterns.
Everything about her spoke of power, of status, of a life lived in palaces and throne rooms.
Of royalty.
I couldn't see her face because she had her back to me. I didn't know who she was or even if she was young or old. Only that she radiated authority, determination, and love for Alar.
Somehow, impossibly, her presence changed everything.
The vision shifted around me, the path that had led to Alar's death bent and redirected. The rocks where he'd fallen became empty. The shattered bond became whole. The terrible silence filled with the sound of his breathing, his heartbeat, his life continuing.
Somehow, she saved him.
I didn't understand how. The vision didn't show me the mechanism, didn't explain what she did or said or changed. But I knew, with the bone-deep certainty that only prophecy could provide, that this woman was the key.
Her presence in his life meant he lived. Her absence meant he died.
The vision released me.
I woke gasping.
The darkness of our room pressed in around me, suffocating. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt.
"Kailin?" Alar's voice was groggy with sleep. "Kailin, what's wrong?"
I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. My throat had closed up, locked tight by the terror still coursing through my veins.
The mattress shifted as Alar sat up and looked at me. "Talk to me, Kailin."