Chapter Twenty-Two
NINON AND I stand together as night comes.
Where my muscles and mind are sore from my training with Ozias earlier today, the pain fades into the recess of my consciousness as we slip into our scales and spread our wings wide.
Out by the fields where we first met in the Realm, we’re surrounded by dozens of other draconem who shift with the change in the sky.
Several vault straight up the second their body’s shift.
Others linger, their bodies swaying with their elegant gaits alongside others—either friends, family, or bonded pairs.
I’ve never asked how many bonded pairs there are here.
I know having them is key once I take Zhoric’s power over Dyēus, but I haven’t asked how prepared we are for this supposed divine duty we must take on.
Ozias say some will refuse to take up the call, and I can understand why.
Though I think I’d like to know what it is to fulfill my purpose.
I think back to when Kalixta was having her babies, how the nursemaid told her this is what her body was made for. I remember thinking that giving birth wasn’t all of it. And as I beat my wings and push off the ground with Ninon at my side, I know. I know I was right.
The wind rushes past me, threading into my mane and twisting the long whiskers on my snout.
Ninon and I fall into a rhythm, banking and diving into the airwaves, keeping our wings out to let us soar, tucking them in and using our clawed feet to push off the air, only to snap our wings out again to beat against the wind, giving us greater lift.
We do not need to learn this.
It’s intuitive. No, intrinsic. These motions are in our very essence and for once, for once, something in this process, is easy, effortless. It makes sense.
Ninon and I catch each other’s eyes. I feel approval rolling off of her and into me.
All too soon, we’ve made our way around the circumference of the Realm’s borders. I haven’t noticed it in my human form, but now I see the net of Ozias’s power, a thin barrier like a layer of oil over water in all the colors of a rainbow, blending and swirling against one another.
We make another circle and then another.
It quickly becomes monotonous. It reminds me of when the farmhands bring fish to Nevoba.
As a little girl, I’d watch the fish swim around and around.
I felt sad for them, then, knowing they had nowhere to go—their space too small, too cramped.
They came from that great wide ocean I’d heard of—then later saw with my own eyes—only to end up in a barrel.
The first time I saw the ocean, I realized just how great their loss was.
Ozias has lived a life like that. Knowing what once was, only to come to this.
Ninon heads back towards the open fields and I follow her lead. She inclines her head towards one of the dragons hovering in the sky, and in my mind, I hear one singular word from Ninon, Issa.
Yellow scales catch the light of the twin moons and a mane of light blue hair clouds around her head.
Her antlers sweep back towards her spine, ridged with a sharp, lethal fan of spikes.
Two long whiskers dance lazily on the breeze, framing her wide mouth—an echo of her savage smiles I’ve seen before.
Hovering in the sky with her, we watch as the draconem organize some sort of dodging game that reminds me of a lot of one we played as children.
We’d run towards someone as fast as we could, and whoever got out of dodge first, lost. I suffered many injuries by being last to back away.
This is similar in that only one dragon stays stationary in the air, while another hurtles towards it.
The difference, of course, is where the draconem can choose to dodge.
I watch them go left, right, down, and up.
Point system based on how you dodge, I hear a voice in my head explain. Left or right is one, up is two, and down is three. Your points zero out if you move sooner than your last dodge. Issa.
Issa doesn’t seem to hear my inner thoughts and so I try my hand at communicating with her directly, as I’ve done with Ninon, Ozias, and Atlanta. I focus on the idea of speaking aloud, then aim the words I speak in my mind in her direction. Do you play? I ask.
She shows me her teeth. Reigning champion for five moon cycles straight, she answers.
A challenge, if I’ve ever heard one, I counter.
Are you joining in? Issa asks Ninon.
I snort in the same moment Ninon says, Certainly not.
Then you get the pleasure of watching me win, Issa says to her, a gleam in her eyes.
I cast a glance over my shoulder to Ninon as I follow Issa down onto the field.
Draconem are limited in how much expression they can show, but if I’m not mistaken, Ninon looks concerned for my well-being or rather, I feel her concern.
I shake my head to dissipate the low buzz of nerves.
Ozias doesn’t intimidate me. Atlanta doesn’t intimidate me, though she does confuse me.
Zhoric is complicated, but I can hold my own against him.
Issa though…Issa scares the life out of me.
As we face off, I know the moment I’m in over my head—her speed is incredible, I hardly have time to brace myself when she slams into me full force.
Again and again it happens. By the fourth go, I’ve managed to dodge out of the way to the left. On the fifth I go to the right. On the sixth, I feel bold enough to try dodging down, which ends up being a mistake, her scaled foot knocking into my cheek and sending me careening down onto the ground.
Ninon lands by my side. Please tell me you’ve had enough.
I’m rolling up on my haunches, ready to have another go when Issa lands on my other side. I’m done tormenting her. For tonight at least.
My tongue, long and serpentine, reaches out to lick my wounded cheek as I grumble. I know when not to argue. That’s less of a game and more battle training, I tell Issa.
Ah, she finally gets it, Issa teases.
I let out an indignant humph.
The skies are crowded now and it’s getting late. You two should turn in, she says, her eyes tracking over to Ninon.
Panic grips me. I want to protest, stay awake a little longer, stay away from him a little longer, but I see what Issa sees. Ninon is spent, and after my training today and what Issa put me through tonight, I’m not faring much better.
Issa came at me like she had something to prove, I say once we make it back to the enclosure and get settled down for the night. We no longer need chaining, so coming here was more force of habit than anything else.
Ninon hums, the sound coming out like a soft growl. Perhaps she does.
What do you mean?
Ninon waits a beat, then says, I think she likes me.
I think you’re right, I respond. So beating me up is proving something to you, is it?
Ninon huffs. Maybe more to herself. You’re my closest friend. I think it’s safe to assume you and I could bond.
Ozias with his ability to see bonds hasn’t mentioned that it’s possible with Ninon.
Then again, I never asked. Now that I think of it, everything I’ve read of Atlanta’s work and the few other texts I’ve read about the bond would lead to this conclusion.
The thought makes me incredibly happy. I’ve been so entrenched with the concept of bonding with Zhoric and wrapped up with Ozias and the potential between us, that the possibility of others hasn’t crossed my mind.
The idea that I could pair with Ninon makes sense and with it comes an immense sense of calm.
Not that we will, Ninon says.
My hope drains like a water skein gone dry. I lift my head. Why not?
From what I’ve been told, enacting a bond makes everything you feel stronger. And I love you and we work well together but…I want to have every aspect of every feeling heightened with my bonded. I think Issa and I share more common feelings for one another.
It doesn’t take me long to figure it out. She’s talking of something more than platonic affection like we have for one another. She’s talking of romantic love. I lay my head down and try to dampen my disappointment. I see.
I’m sorry, she says.
You’ve nothing to apologize for, I say earnestly despite my own disappointment. I understand.
Do you?
I think of my sister and Thrace. I think of a bond with someone that’s all-encompassing: mind, body, and soul.
The idea sends a tingle down my spine—is that out there for me?
I don’t know, but I’m glad my sister has it.
I’m over the moons that Ninon, who deserves the world, wants that for herself, too. I do, I say. And you deserve it.
The gentle scuffles of Ninon lying down soothe my ears and calm my mind.
I hear her quiet, Thank you, as my eyes drift shut.
I listen to the whisper of the wind, the buffeting air from the wings of creatures all around me.
Black blends with white, colors swirl, and I fall into my mind, all the way into Zhoric’s chambers.
He’s pacing the floor in front of his suite’s doors when I fully manifest by the opening to the balcony, where I assumed he’d be, which is perhaps why my mind placed me here. I watch him go back and forth across the floor, eyes darting to the door every so often.
“Expecting someone?” I finally ask.
He stops dead in his tracks and raises his gaze to me, eyes roving all over my face, catching on the ends of my hair, on my cheek where Issa hit me.
His stillness deepens, turning him to stone, his voice lowers to a deadly octave. “Who struck you?”
My fingers ghost over my cheeks. “It was a game. I lost, if you couldn’t gather.”
Zhoric’s answer is a soft rolling growl. He goes to his desk, lifts his quill, and begins penning something onto parchment.
I move to his dressing table to look for the beginning of a bruise, but when I try to catch my reflection, I see nothing.