Chapter Eight
MY BODY FEELS painfully small back inside my human skin.
I should be glad; it means Ozias was telling the truth, and yet, a small part of me is aching to expand into that beast once more.
Then, I think of the transformation, the pain and revulsion of it seared into my mind.
The rest of the night comes back to me in fragments and shards of multicolored glass, like gazing through a sunbeam.
A slash of white, gritting teeth. Silent screams from a wide open mouth.
A black so deep it has no end. A sky littered with stars fading into nothingness.
Chains slipping against scale covered muscles, a tangled mane tugging and tearing on links, wings heavy and grounded, tongue dripping with blood.
My body is a bruised fruit, my blood like sticky juice leaking from its broken skin.
Twisting my head, my cheek grazes the grit on the cool compact dirt floor.
From between the heavy chain link net, Ozias stares at me.
He’s sitting, leaned against an expansive brown stone wall, forearm draped over one raised knee while his other leg stretches out long in front of him.
His open robe is held together by a single band across his ribs, showing off his clean cut abs and chiseled chest. In contrast, I’m panting, sweat dripping down my temples.
My dress torn and tattered. Exhaustion and the blows I suffered have swollen my eyes, making them difficult to keep open.
I press my mouth shut and squeeze my eyes closed.
When I open them again, Ozias is still there.
The sun must have risen some time ago since it’s bright, even in the pits of what I’ve made out to be some kind of holding chamber.
From my position pinned to the ground, I can’t make out how high the walls are.
I press myself up, but only get so far with the heavy chains holding me down.
I shake first from the effort, and then from some deep-seated, innate response to confinement. My airways constrict.
“Get. Me. Out,” I snarl. My throat is torn to shreds and I hardly recognize my voice. A violent tremor rocks my body.
Ozias tilts his head to the side. “I won’t be the one to do the honors, but someone is coming.”
“No,” I pant, my muscles coiled tight. “I need to get out now. I can’t.” I suck in a deep breath.
“You can. Breathe. Someone is coming.” His calm demeanor only enrages me.
I huff out a harsh exhale. My body is beyond sore and holding myself up beneath the chains is doing nothing to regain my strength, but at least it makes me feel like I’m doing something. “Get Ninon. I don’t want anyone else.”
“I can’t do that.”
I bare my teeth. “Horseshit. As the rogue isn’t this is your Realm? You can do anything.”
His eyes narrow a fraction. “How I wish that were true.” He studies me, watching my chest billow. “She doesn’t want to see you. Not yet, at least.”
I bark a laugh, which spirals into wild hysterics. The fight in my bones leaves me and I wilt down onto the cold, hard ground, letting my cheek rest in the fine scattering of dirt. “That’s the weakest lie I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s no lie,” he says, as gentle as a breeze. “She doesn’t wish to see you now; she will see you when she’s ready.”
A sob teeters on my breath, and any remaining strength I thought I could muster goes with it. Perhaps I imagined Ninon last night. Conjured her in my mind, and this man is torturing me, manipulating me to bide his time like I did with Alixor. “I’m tired. Go get her and be done with this.”
When he doesn’t reply, I tilt my head to see him better.
Rising from his resting place, he comes to me and leans in close so I can see his face more clearly.
As handsome as I remember, but I liked it a little better last night when he helped me than I do now.
“I’m sorry that you came to be here without fully knowing what you were getting into, but I’m glad that you are.
” I can only narrow my eyes at him, though with my swollen eyes, I’m certain the effect is lost.
We both turn our attention towards the walkway, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps at the same time. My hearing has never been as good as a dragon’s and suddenly my mouth dries as panic sets in. “Your help is here.” He rises and steps away.
“No. Wait.”
He keeps moving, his voice echoing back to me, “We’ll speak soon.”
I don’t know who’s coming. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing here.
I hazily recall the words he left Thrace with, his intention to give me a life worth living.
If only I believed words spoken with dragon breath.
“Send Ninon,” I scream after him. When there’s no response, I shout again, my voice cracking on the words, “Send her!”
I don’t have long to suffer. As promised, someone comes.
I maneuver enough to see up to their hips, but nothing beyond that.
They bend down into view on my far right.
A Nevoban. A woman. Her brown hair falls in wide, loose curls around her beautiful face, her skin a touch lighter than mine.
The chainmail net jangles and there’s a click as the mechanism unlocks.
A few moments later, the weight lifts from my head and shoulders, and after the chains are removed from my lower half, I’m gripped firmly but gently under the arms and pulled up into a kneeling position.
My body feels like it’s floating from the lack of restraints, and I press my fingertips into the ground.
The woman kneels in front of me. Her soft amber brown eyes rove over my face, flitting to every point of pain marring my skin.
Her lips press together firmly as she tucks my hair behind my ears.
“Their true colors are not so beautiful, are they?”
I draw a sharp inhale through my nose. “They are what they are.”
“They are not all like that. We are not all like that,” she assures.
“We?”
She only smiles. “I’m Atlanta.”
I wait for her to explain. When she doesn’t, I offer her my name. “Kaisa.”
Atlanta nods. “Your friend Ninon has spoken of you much since her arrival.”
The world tilts and I allow my hands to take more of my weight. “Is she well?”
“The transformation is an adjustment for all, but she’s handling the shifts well enough now. Even still, the mornings are needed for recovery in these early stages. Can you stand?”
I nod, but she braces me by the elbows all the same, ensuring I’m stable on my feet before guiding us out of the enclosure, a simple three walled square with no ceiling.
We walk down a long, open-air corridor. The wall Ozias had been leaning against stretches long in either direction, its top thick with vines and leaves.
A space wide enough for a dragon to pass separates that wall and running parallel to it is row after row of sectioned off enclosures butted up against another wall at the back.
The rooms are open to the walkway, but at the center of each is the same chain net that held me down last night, affixed to the ground by iron rings that no doubt sink deep into the earth so that a dragon’s strength cannot break it.
The enclosures count nearly a dozen, but most look unused: dried leaves and twigs collect in corners, the chain netting covered in fine layers of dust and grit.
I have no doubt that Ninon didn’t know what was in store for her.
There’s no way she’d ever willfully chain herself—she’s too much like me in that way.
“Ozias said Ninon doesn’t want to see me.”
“She didn’t expect you here. At least not this soon. She will see you after you speak with Ozias, I’m sure.”
There’s a kindness to Atlanta that I choose to accept, at least for now. And, if she won’t bring me to Ninon after I speak with Ozias, I will find her myself. By any means necessary.
Once we’re out of the hall of stark chains and hollow walls, the full glory of the Realm of Rogues stretches out before me.
Where Dyēus is all crisp white stone and carefully cultivated trees, the Realm is a wild aggregation of roots, trees, and foliage twisted into buildings and fortresses, like the earth grew a city from its soil and the sun gave it life.
The morning light streams through the leaves of the canopy, birds singing from one branch to the other, their melodies sweet and peaceful.
Tears spring to my eyes. Ninon has never been close to such greenery and I wonder how she felt seeing it for the first time.
It’s incredible, how something like this could grow in the midst of our desert plains.
Seeing this place and Dyēus are the only things that make me believe the gods truly exist. The mild, misty breeze lifts my sweat soaked hair.
Some dragon here must have magic akin to that of the Sar Dyēus.
That power calls to me and the desire to follow where it goes pains me.
More astonishing than the greenery is the people.
So many people. Mostly younger looking, though I note a few of my mother’s age, even less a bit older than that.
Children run and weave through the roots and pathways, both boys and girls shirtless in the warm sun.
Not a single mark mars the girls’ chests.
And there’s women, so many women. The people we pass don’t say a word to me, but their gazes linger.
The hair along my body begins to rise, anticipation churning under my skin, though I sense no danger.