Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
All night long I dreamt of dragons. Nightmares, terrible and relentless. Dragons stalked me along the edge of a cliff, in between a sheer rock wall and a terrible long tumble into the roiling sea. Flames burned me alive from either side.
Jolted awake, I obsessed over how to disappear. If I’d seen the Trials all these years, maybe I’d have had a better idea of when I could slip away. I imagined the halls along the path to the arena might be my chance to escape.
I rose from bed and wrapped myself in a blanket like a cloak. Being exhausted was going to do wonders for my scheming tomorrow, but lying in bed was doing me no favors.
Rees was sleeping in my doorway once again. I bit my lip and stepped over him nervously.
I padded out into the dimly lit common room. A few lanterns lit the room softly, the light turned down to a pinkish glow.
There were several covered platters on the table.
I frowned, wondering if the mortal servants were still coming in to clean, but when I lifted the first lid, it was an untouched tray of fruits, nuts, and cheese.
I stared at it, too tired to make sense of the food, wondering if it was stale.
Well, it was no staler than the sad food I shoved into secret places in my room.
Rees rose to his feet, yawned dramatically, and padded to the door that led beyond. He rose up on his hind legs and pushed it open.
I stared after him. Had I been locked out all this time, but the dog knew how to come and go?
I settled into the soft couch and began to read through my book of Bismyth shifters.
The click of a door closing alerted me that I wasn’t alone. I twisted against the cushions; I wouldn’t be surprised if Rees could close the door too.
Fieran stood there, his hair tousled, his eyes shadowed. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but the fitted black trousers he wore for training; elaborate tattoos decorated his chiseled torso, shoulders, and arms.
It was disquieting, knowing he also lay awake despite all his plotting. Maybe he wasn’t as sure of his schemes as he seemed in the daylight.
“Can’t sleep?” He crossed the room to the bar in the corner, where there were dozens of glasses and crystal bottles.
“Too excited for tomorrow. You?”
“Nightmares?” His broad back—decorated with more ink—rippled with muscle as he fixed himself a drink. He didn’t offer me one.
“No,” I lied, because he would imply it was because of the curse, that the nightmares would fade tomorrow.
If he were right—and that tiny possibility nagged at me—I would burn.
“Good.” He came over to the sofa carrying two glasses. Of course he did, just to make me feel like a jerk. He handed one to me, our fingers briefly brushing. “Drink. It’s good for sleep. You’re hungry?”
I shrugged. He went to the table and perched on the edge of it, as if he were putting distance between us. He took the covers off the trays and set them on the table. When he caught me watching, I jerked my gaze away.
“They like to have a midnight snack.” He nodded toward the hall.
“I didn’t see it out here before.”
“Well, your vision is dismal, even for a mortal,” he said dismissively. But I knew better. He’d ordered the food for my sake. “Do you want one of these apple handpies?”
“Fieran,” I cut him off. Gods, did he have to be thoughtful? It was just another trick, I reminded myself sternly. “I don’t want food.”
“Fine. It’s here any time.”
I nodded, feeling bare before him. When had he noticed my pockets bulging with bread or my hidden hoard in my room? Did everyone else know?
“I have something for you to use tomorrow. The perfect dirty trick.” He sat beside me on the sofa.
His presence—tall, powerful, and far too undressed—was too distracting. He was the perfect dirty trick; I could barely keep up with him at the best of times. “Could you put a shirt on?”
He gave me a cocky, delighted grin, as if he knew just why I asked. He remained shirtless—of course he did—as he twisted his ring off his finger.
“I’m not marrying you.”
“Of course not. You haven’t even asked me yet,” he said reasonably. He held it out to me. “It’s a luck charm.”
“Is it?”
“Mm. Some magic my mother stole long ago, along with the amulet and—” He stopped himself abruptly, restarted. “My mother would’ve kept it from me if she could, but it will be my wedding ring someday, so she can’t. For now, though, it’s merely enchanted gold.”
“Merely gold?” My brows arched. “Spoken like the rich, spoiled prince.”
“It tilts luck.” He took my hand in his and set it in my palm, curling my fingers around it. “Throw dice—or a punch—that could land awry, and it will always land in your favor instead.”
“Why are you giving this to me? You’ve told me the Recruits’ Trials would be brief and painful. Why trust me with something so valuable?”
He shrugged.
“You always wear it.” I regretted the words as soon as his lips curled, pleased to know I paid so much attention. I rubbed my thumb over the runes engraved in the side. “What’s this? An enchantment?”
“My sigil. Your mortals don’t do those, right? You just sign your name to contracts, instead of having marks that bind you by magic?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I didn’t want the ring. What if I lost it? The thought filled me with dread.
But I was being too soft. He had brought me here; I should take whatever he would give.
I tried it on my finger; it was too loose, but a heartbeat later, it tightened to fit perfectly.
Panic washed through me. I yanked it off.
He looked at me in amusement. “I’m not trying to trick you into marrying me tonight. You could wear it as a necklace, and it will serve the same purpose. Here. I think I have some string…”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather cord.
I raised my brows. “I know when I’m being led along a path, Fieran. You don’t have to pretend.”
He looked amused, perhaps even pleased, to be caught. “But you’ll wear it?”
“You brought me. You owe me,” I said carelessly.
Desire gleamed in his eyes. “Playing the brat?”
“Playing the woman you don’t deserve.” I gathered my hair up in a knot on top of my head, turning away from him so he could slip the necklace around my throat.
“I don’t think you’re playing,” he said, his lips near my ear, as he slid the necklace around my throat.
The ring hung between my breasts, a solid, strange weight.
I rose to my feet. “I’m going to try to sleep.”
“Good luck,” he told me. He rose to his feet, too, and he crossed to my room.
He disappeared through my doorway.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, crossing after him.
He was alone in there for ten seconds or so—the damned man moved so fast—and when I threw myself inside, he was already walking back out, with Rees trotting at his side. I hadn’t even seen the dog slink into my room.
“My apologies. Rees is ill-trained and getting worse by the day for some reason.” He gave me a knowing look.
“You could ask before you come into my room like you own it,” I warned him.
“You don’t have to ask before you come into mine.” He walked past me, tossing a golden coin in the air and catching it again in a flash, so quick that it could barely be seen except for a golden gleam in the air.
I closed the door behind him. Too hard, as usual. It was hard to pretend I was unprovoked by him.
But maybe the drink worked, because I slept the rest of the night, deep and untroubled.
The next morning as we were walking out to the arena, Dairen rested his hand on my shoulder. I looked at him pointedly, silently implying he was at risk of losing it.
He didn’t seem to care. “You’re going to be all right.”
“Don’t you dare give me a cheerful little speech about how I can overcome the Trials.”
Dairen’s optimism was the worst thing about him.
“Well, I wasn’t going to be cheerful about it. But just remember, pain is only temporary.”
He squeezed my shoulder before he let go. “I know you’re scared, Cara. But you’re tough. Tougher than most of the shifters out there, in your own way.”
I couldn’t stand his encouragement, knowing I was about to miss the Trials. He was going to despise me afterward. They all would.
Kiegan and a bunch of other new recruits stood waiting, away from the clans with their fluttering banners. They looked dwarfed by the immensity of the arena.
I started to join them, but Fieran stopped me. “I’ll be waiting after,” he said, as if his presence should mean something to me. “And we have a healer ready, so you only have to endure—”
I walked away before he could finish.
I wondered if I was the only shifter so squirmy about fighting for the entertainment of the crowds. Would they keep a close eye on us to make sure no one ran? Or was the possibility of being branded a coward—coupled with the vague magical threats—enough to push every dragon-marked into the arena?
“There you are,” Kiegan muttered as I came to his side. The stands were filling with Fae and mortals. “Thought you might miss it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s going to be so fun.”
How the hell did I get out of here? We were already being watched so thoroughly. The faces of Clan Bismyth were a blur from here as they took their seats in the nearest stands; their purple flag streamed in the morning breeze.
“Do we have to get beaten half to death so early?” I muttered.
“Is that your plan?” Kiegan frowned down at me. “Sometimes I think you’re a pessimist.”
The roar of the crowd rolled over us like a tide. A drowning tide.
There were speeches I didn’t listen to, about courage and honor and proving we were worthy of our dragons. How the hell was I going to escape?
“Recruits are randomly assigned to enter through the gates,” the announcer explained.