Chapter 19
Stesha
Ispend the whole night on the dragongrounds on my knees in the snow, contemplating my sword.
Unforgivable.
That’s what I am. I should fall on my blade, but I can’t decide what would hurt Zenevieve more, hearing that I am dead, or seeing my face again.
There’s always a sense of unreality during a rut.
It alters your mind and makes you think and do crazy things as time slips past at unpredictable speeds.
The avalanche, the time spent with Zenevieve on the mountains, and then my idiotic surprise when she spoke about us being mated is all tangled up together.
Zenevieve’s scent is all over me. Her blissfully happy, aroused, luscious scent.
The freezing cold bites into my brain, cooling my rut and making me realize what I’ve done. I hurt the woman I swore two oaths to protect. I ripped out her heart. There has never been a more craven Alpha than me.
Just after dawn, someone approaches me across the dusty expanse of the dragongrounds. It’s Sundra, and she asks, “Is Zenevieve feeling better, dragonmaster?”
“Better?” I ask in confusion. I raise my eyes and see that Sundra is standing over me.
“I carried her to the Flame Temple yesterday. I thought you knew she’d fallen ill.”
I get to my feet, sheathing my blade, and set off at a run. Ill, or worse? I should have considered that she’s in so much pain she could hurt herself. Gods, what if she swallowed poison?
I arrive at the temple door, breathing hard, but before I can enter someone within calls out, “The dragonmaster is not permitted to enter the Flame Temple.”
To my shock, a pair of castle guards step in front of me, crossing their weapons in my face and barring my way. Outrage flares through me as I see that Mother Linnea is the one who gave the order, and she’s approaching me with her hands in her sleeves and a stony expression on her face.
“Is Zenevieve here?” I demand, looking past the guards at Mother Linnea.
“She is. Do not do that, dragonmaster,” she adds quickly, seeing that I’m about to shove through the guards and turn the place upside down in search of my former ward.
“The Hratha’len have a sacred right to defend this place and those within.
Entrance here is a privilege, not a right, and your privilege has been revoked. ”
“What has happened to Zenevieve?”
She motions the guards to let her pass out of the temple, and she beckons to me. “Please come this way, dragonmaster. I have questions to ask you.”
I take one last look into the temple, but I see no trace of Zenevieve, and so I follow the Temple Mother to a nearby courtyard. She sits primly on a bench and indicates the one opposite. I glare at it for a moment before dropping heavily onto it.
“What’s wrong with Zenevieve?” I demand.
“Dragonmaster, have you spent a rut with Zenevieve?”
A wave of shame hits me, and I grit my teeth. “Why are you asking?”
“Not for my own pleasure, I assure you. This is to help Zenevieve. How many ruts have you spent with her?”
I thought I was going to talk about this with Zenevieve. I wasn’t prepared for anyone else to be involved. Through clenched teeth, I mutter, “One.”
“Are you are telling me the truth? Your former ward has never spent three or four or more ruts with you?”
“You doubt my word?”
“Please curtail your pride, dragonmaster.” She glares at me until I answer.
“It was one rut. This rut. I’m still fucking in it. We were trapped together on a mountain, but I am not making excuses. I know it was a mistake.”
“You told her it was a mistake?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I offered to take her as my mate because it was the right thing to do.”
Mother Linnea casts her eyes to the heavens as though she is asking the gods for strength. “Does your ward treasure feelings for you? Do you know that you are first in her heart?”
I want to grind the heels of my hands into my eyes. Storm away. Do anything to avoid answering that question. “Yes,” I mutter. “I have long known it.”
“But it was just one rut you spent together?”
“Yes.”
“It’s strange that she should develop lavish sickness after just one rut spent with you.”
“Lavish sickness?” I exclaim, looking up in horror. “That is Zenevieve’s ailment? But that’s impossible. I have not spoken to her in two years. She’s been living in the dragonriders’ barracks.”
“I am puzzled by this as well. Before then, she was living with you when you were rutting?”
“Yes, but I spent my ruts apart from her. Every single time. Always.”
“Lavish sickness is caused by a tender heart and repeated doses of an Alpha’s rutting scent. Does she have much contact with your scent?”
My heart sinks. Scent is all it takes? Not the act itself? “I often scented blankets for her because she couldn’t sleep. Zenevieve lost her parents when she was fifteen, and she needed comfort. She slept in my bed whenever I was away at the ruthouse.”
“And in the past two years?”
I hesitate. I knew Zenevieve was stealing my clothes and returning them. I didn’t want to confront her about it. I liked knowing that even though she didn’t wish to speak to me, I was with her still. “She stole my clothes. Cloaks. Shirts. I didn’t stop her.”
My rutting scent must have been all over many of them.
Mother Linnea looks at me as if I’m a worm she’s uncovered in her dinner. “Well, it seems we have our answer. You’ve been very stupid, dragonmaster.”
I pass a hand over my face with a groan. Lavish sickness, one of the worst illnesses known to Maledinni, and I’ve given it to Zenevieve. I knew how Zenevieve felt about me, and I didn’t do enough to keep my distance from her. I’m no better than Dandro, leading her on and then rejecting her.
“Will she be all right?”
“How am I meant to answer that? Zenevieve’s lungs are threatening to drown her from the inside. She’s exhausted, and she’s coughing up a great deal of blood. She’s coughing so hard that I am having trouble getting the medication into her to keep her alive.”
Her lungs are drowning her from the inside in blood. I did that to Zenevieve. Me, who was so disparaging about Alphas who caused harm to Betas. I lean forward, my head in my hands. I can feel Mother Linnea’s eyes on me, judging me for my self-pity and weakness.
“Over the years, I have cared for dozens of lavishes who’ve suffered after callous and heartless Alphas used them and walked away.
As a Temple Mother, it is my duty to care for the sick and pass no judgment.
And I don’t, on the Betas, but I have a short list of Alphas that I hold in the very lowest regard.
I never imagined I would add you to that list, dragonmaster. ”
“I never meant to—”
She holds up a hand. “Of course you didn’t mean to. I’ll go and tell Zenevieve that as she coughs up blood.”
I swallow hard. “May I please see her?”
Mother Linnea gets to her feet. “No, you may not. You’ve done enough to that poor girl. Do not come to the Flame Temple, or you may kill her. Betas who suffer lavish sickness have little reason to want to get better.”
“Can I do anything?” I ask desperately. “Replenish ingredients for her medications. Pay for supplies. Please let me help her.”
“You can stay away from Zenevieve and allow her to heal.”
“For how long?”
“If you want her to live? Forever.” She walks away from me, heading for the temple.
The weight of the skies is on my back as I leave the castle and walk back to the dragongrounds.
Minta is on the dragon bridge, gazing in the direction of the Flame Temple and uttering cries of distress.
I gaze at her helplessly, adrift in a sea of guilt and worry.
I have never felt worse in my life, and I deserve every drop of this misery.
Three times a day, I go to the corridor outside the Flame Temple and ask after Zenevieve.
I don’t try to enter, but a Temple Maiden comes out and tells me how she fares.
For weeks, Zenevieve coughs up blood as Mother Linnea coaxes her to drink potions and drafts to replenish it.
They dare not give her anything that will suppress her coughing, or she will choke and die.
Several times, the maids warn me that Zenevieve is near death, and they have little hope for her recovery.
On those days I remain outside the temple, praying on my knees long into the night.
I make stupid, pointless bargains that fall on the deaf ears of the gods.
If Zenevieve lives, I’ll devote my life to her from afar.
I will live with no comforts. I will work with no respite.
I will serve the dragons that Zenevieve loves.
I expected Mother Linnea to tell me when Zenevieve was strong enough to leave the Flame Temple, which is why it comes as a shock several weeks later to see Zenevieve at the dragongrounds with Minta.
I approach her, feeling as though I’m in a dream.
I can’t believe it’s really her. There are dark circles beneath Zenevieve’s eyes.
Her face is chalk white, and even her lips are bloodless.
There are painful-looking sores around her mouth.
She’s so thin that her cheekbones stand out starkly in her face, the thin flesh stretched over her skull.
She moves as though everything is painful, and her breathing is labored.
I did this to her. I turned her into walking death.
I swore to her dying father that I’d protect her, and then I swore an oath of my own that no harm would come to her, but I’m the one who’s nearly killed her.
A sword through the guts is what I deserve.
She wears the shift of an invalid beneath her open cloak.
A horrible thought occurs to me, that she has left the temple only so that she may see Minta one last time before she dies.
I take a step toward her. “Zen…”
When she sees me, loathing fills her green eyes. “Did you enjoy our moments together?” she rasps, steadying herself with one hand on her dragon. Minta glares at me. “Was it fun for you up on that mountain?”
I swallow hard, not knowing what to say.