Chapter 11 #2
Iker doesn’t answer; instead he studies me as though he’s trying to make sense of something. “They hurt you?” he asks, the question wrapped in a delicate tone I’ve never heard the gruff wyvern use before.
I’m not sure which they he’s referring to, the Tainted or the dragons, but it doesn’t really matter—he’s not going to find the answers he’s looking for either way.
My eyes drop from Iker’s and wander around before settling back on the eastern dune and the ribbons of pink and red now kissing its peak.
“They hurt Ren more,” I offer, the evasion obvious, and I ignore the way Iker’s stare bores into the side of my face when I don’t expand beyond that.
The air between us grows taut, and I can sense him debating for an uncomfortable stretch of time which angle to approach from next. Am I traumatized and that’s why I’m holding back, or is it something else?
“What happened?” he queries wisely, settling on the general question that gives me the illusion of choice.
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t even know,” I admit, the statement barely more than a whisper, like I’m hoping the wind will carry it away before it can reach him.
“We were taken, and at first, they just moved us around. I thought maybe they were evading the authorities, but The Horde had no idea who the Tainted were before I told them, so it couldn’t have been that. ”
Iker nods and adjusts his feet shoulder width apart before putting his hands behind his back.
The at-ease position is almost comical, like I’d believe he’s just some subordinate settling in to listen to his higher-up.
His body language is telling me I’m in control, I have the power, but it feels more like a manipulation than a sign of respect.
“When we got to the last place, Newden, they separated us. I couldn’t see Ren, but I could hear her, and that’s when they started to bleed us.
At first, it was what you’d expect from blood brokers—bleed, feed, and repeat—but then it changed.
I suspect it was when they typed my blood and realized what I was. ”
I wipe the light sheen of sweat off my neck and forehead and pull my hair back up into a ponytail to combat the rising temperature and to stall.
I know Iker has already spoken to Enslee, but I only gave her a clipped rundown of the facts, and she didn’t press for more.
Ren was one of Iker’s wyverns, and I can see he wants specifics, but whether he can handle the truth of what happened—or be trusted with it, given the fact that we have a traitor in our midst—is another matter altogether.
“There was this one Tainted, Wistan something or other,” I tell him, a careful mask of indifference in place.
“He was obsessed with finding out who I was and where I was from. His fixation only got worse when it became obvious that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t heal, I didn’t show evidence of any kind of affinity, I never revealed a dragon?. .?.”
I trail off, needing a second to shake off the flashes of Wistan’s endless questions, his rage, and his glee any time he had the privilege of hurting me.
“They leveraged Ren against me,” I hurry on, and Iker goes still.
Wyverns lack affinities, but if they had them, smoke would be curling out of Iker’s nostrils in warning. My chest grows tight at the pain flickering in his eyes, but there’s a question blazing there too, and as much as I don’t want to answer it, I will.
“It was bad,” I confess softly, as though my tone can lessen the blow.
It doesn’t.
Iker’s eyes close, and a small, strangled snarl slips out of him before he can stifle it. He drops his head, and I fight the emotions swirling through me.
“I didn’t give the fuckers what they wanted, and Ren paid the price,” I finish.
It’s not even close to everything, but it’s enough.
If he compares notes with what I told Enslee, the stories will line up.
I did tell my sister about how the Tainted attacked The Horde to try to get me back, and that I was sure they knew who and what I was long before they ever bled me for the first time, but Iker isn’t going to be privy to that information.
“Ren’s body?” Iker rasps, his features now etched with grief.
Shame washes over me, and I drop my eyes to the ground and study my dusty boots.
“I couldn’t?.?.?.” I pause, shaking my head and running a hand down the length of my ponytail, as though the motion might soothe my mounting anguish.
“I caught one of the blood brokers off guard in my cell, and ran. I wouldn’t have been able to carry her even if I could have gotten to her.
I was hurt and no match against the blood brokers’ magic. I’m sorry?.?.?.”
Iker lifts a hand to stop me. “No, you did the right thing,” he reassures, but I don’t know that I agree.
It’s not right to leave a loved one behind like that. In the end though, it doesn’t matter. Ren is dead, and I let it happen, and that will haunt me for the rest of my life, however short or long it may be.
Iker’s cheeks puff out as he exhales a long, drawn-out breath. He runs his fingers through his ice-gray hair, and his gaze once again finds mine. “You survived. You persevered, and you made it back, that’s what matters.”
He’s trying to be supportive, trying to find the silver lining in a situation that’s murky and dark, but his statement feels like a roundhouse kick to the gut all the same.
“The others need you now, Scioness,” he continues. “They’re looking to you for direction, which means it’s time to put all of this behind you and prepare for what’s coming.”
I’m rendered mute for a moment.
Did he really just say that to me? Like the last four and a half months were nothing more than a failed mission and now I need to get my head back in the game?
I understand what he’s getting at—I’m all too aware of what’s at stake—but I’m not built to just put all of this behind me , and quite frankly, I never want to be.
Iker’s silver gaze searches mine, and my heart clenches when I realize what he’s doing.
I know the look on his face. I haven’t seen it since I was young, but I recognize it.
Iker’s looking for some secret phrase or emotional button he can press that will snap me back to being the dutiful heir.
A weapon forged and wielded for the greater good of the queen and all Syphons, a role I’ve long accepted and stopped questioning?. .?. until now, because what the fuck?
“I’m allowed to process, Iker. I’m allowed to mourn,” I declare defensively.
My affronted tone has his features hardening, and I rush to throw up any and all defenses I let down to facilitate this conversation.
I was stupid to think we’d get anywhere other than him trying to manipulate me.
I should have known the minute he admitted to discussing this with Enslee and still choosing to push me for more that this is where we’d end up.
“Mourn her,” Iker agrees gruffly. “But don’t let her loss be in vain. Don’t hide away, licking your wounds, when there’s work to do, work that honors Ren’s sacrifice and the others’.”
I huff out a hollow laugh at his choice of words.
Licking my wounds?
If he only knew.
Disappointment bleeds into my gaze, but I shutter it behind a mask of indifference.
I know better than to be surprised by his attitude.
Iker and the other wyverns have never excelled at being soft or overly emotional.
I’ve always chalked it up to their roles as guardians and their histories as warriors, but this?. .?. this is too much.
I toss Iker a lazy salute. “Got it. Good talk,” I declare before turning and walking away.
“Scioness,” he calls after me, and I can’t tell if there’s actually a note of contrition in his voice or if I just want there to be. “You need to understand—”
I tune out what he’s saying, uninterested in the bullshit justifications he wants to lob my way. “It’s fine, Iker. I’ll get back to being a good little soldier now. Thank you for reminding me of my place.”
“Ever,” he censures, no doubt shocked and affronted by my disrespect.
Well, he better get used to it. I’m not a little girl anymore, looking up at him with worshipful eyes. I’ve normalized this shit for too long. It’s time to wake all the way up and start seeing things for exactly what they are.
Kathal Noctis is the fucking king of Drameric, and he doesn’t treat his sons like they should be unfeeling robots. In fact the few times I interacted with him, King Noctis was warmer and more understanding than any of the guards from The Wells have ever been.
An earsplitting roar shatters my thoughts.
I spin, prepared to find Iker as a wyvern, ready to attack, but the sound isn’t coming from him.
A massive shadow stretches across the western dune, the shape rippled by the rolling sand.
My gaze snaps upward, and my heart forgets to beat. A colossal teal dragon swoops overhead.
A monster.
A masterpiece.
Both.
My instincts respond of their own accord, and I duck with a gasp as though the teal dragon’s trying to snatch me where I stand. Then I remember I’m inside the wards and the dragon can’t see me, let alone take me.
Alarm stalls my steps, and shock roots me in place as I take in the enormous creature.
Before I can recover, another dragon whizzes by, this one dark purple and carrying two huge boxes.
Shouts sound off all around me, breaking me out of my stunned stupor.
Adrenaline floods my system, and I sprint for the stack, my thoughts reeling.
The Horde is here.
And we are not fucking ready.