Chapter 33 #2
Aeson presses my back into a corner and covers me with his body.
I can barely hear him over the snarls and roars, but I think he’s yelling at me about scale armor.
The second I realize what he’s saying, a bright orange dragon releases a stream of ash at another dragon.
The cinders overtake the chamber, frolicking with the fat snowflakes spilling in from the open roof.
A silken gray speck lands on Aeson’s shoulder, and the sight of it unmercifully rips me out of the chaos of the chamber and brutally shoves me back to my father’s rookery sixty-two years ago.
A keening wail overcomes my senses and my heart tries to bury itself deeper into my chest to get away from the sound.
Enslee presses her face deeper into my lap while silently clawing at her ears as though it will keep her from hearing the screams anymore.
I suffocate my own sounds of devastation and horror with a hand pressed painfully hard against my mouth.
A voice calls my name.
A voice that doesn’t belong here.
A voice that’s safe.
I cling to Aeson’s gentle coaxes, climbing each syllable to escape the gulch of my past. I surface with rapid breaths and wide, terror-filled eyes. My hands have a death grip on Aeson’s shirt, and his imploring gaze is level with mine.
“I’m going!” I croak, knowing the telltale signs all too well. This short reprieve from the horror is just that. The past isn’t done with me yet—it may never be.
“What can I do?” Aeson demands, his hands moving to cup my face.
“Protect me,” I whisper, trying to add, Until I’m back , but I’ve already been yanked under the torrent of my trauma.
I’m back in the armoire with my sister, but somehow Aeson’s vow of “ always” has followed me here, and the echo of his voice floats in the air around me.
My father is fighting the drakes that are holding him.
The queen’s arms are being held by two monsters, but she’s dropped to her knees and her forehead is pressed to the stone floor.
The keening wails that escape both of them haunt me to this day.
Pieces of ash float around the room. Ronin vomits from the overwhelming smell, and Novak stares in shock at a streak of blood slowly drying in front of him.
I want to throw up too, but I force it back because if we’re caught?.?.?. My eyes stray to my brother of their own accord and something breaks inside of me, something I know can never be fixed.
Brooks, the boy whose laugh made everything better.
The brother who shouted, I love you right when we first met, making our parents laugh and helping Enslee and me feel less nervous.
That beautiful soul is a pile of smoldering ash.
I can still make out his tormented face and the way his hands and arms tried to protect him from the fire.
The air catches flakes of him and starts to carry them away.
I tell myself it’s invisible fairies, collecting the pieces of my brother so they can put him back together somewhere far away, somewhere safe, somewhere he’ll never suffer again.
The memory releases me, but I come back to myself agonizingly slowly, the smell still trapped in my nose and the holes in my existence where all of my kindred should be, cavernous and searing.
Aeson has pressed my face into his chest, and he’s holding me tightly.
I’m clinging to him like he’s the only handhold stopping me from falling off the edge into the abyss.
“Come back to me, My Soul,” he whispers steadily in my ear. “Let me face the ghosts with you.”
With a whimper, I nuzzle closer to him, inhaling big lungfuls of his scent to chase away the lingering reek of my memories.
“I’m back,” I mumble into his chest.
“I know,” he answers, a large palm caressing my hair from crown to tip.
“How long?” I rasp, my throat tight and my chest aching as I fight back feelings I’m not safe to let loose here.
“Not long,” he assures. “They’re closing the roof now, and those that didn’t reveal are still fighting.”
“Fighting?” I question, not expecting that answer.
Aeson chuckles, and the feel of it does more to ground me than any of the techniques I’ve taught myself along the way. “Yes. Several people are trying to take swipes at Duke Dowzer, since Newden resides in his territory,” he explains, connecting the dots as my mind reboots.
“You said she had a charm or something that covered it all up. Why isn’t she wearing it?” someone demands, and my spine stiffens.
Aeson’s smile is downright virulent as I step back from him. He’s quick to help me smooth my hair, wipe the tears from my face, and adjust my clothing so that everything is once again where it’s supposed to be.
“Why is she walking around like that? It’s dangerous,” the same male shouts, and I peek around Aeson’s shoulders to find Duke Warrik, red-faced and blustering.
“Funny,” I snap, venom filling the word. “Weren’t you the one questioning my marks at your last little meeting?”
I approach the duke and the golden table he was pounding his fist on dramatically. Warrik’s irate flush deepens, and the room grows quiet.