CHAPTER 11
“You’re going to lose her,” Patriol said. Tianna’s shining chocolate hair swung behind her as she walked away.
“I’ve lost her already. What choice do I have, considering what my life will be?”
Patriol shook his head, mussing his auburn locks. “Brother, none of us are promised time on Jaeda. For all you know, you could die tomorrow, while Tianna lives on to be one hundred years old.”
There was a truth to his words that threatened to give me hope. But hope was a dangerous thing.
—Recounting from the private diary of Jerris, Dragonbound
SERAE
Midsummer, Jerrmon 1036
Snow fell softly around the bed, but I felt no cold.
A warmth enveloped me, and I knew that soft, delicious heat.
A hard body pressed against me. Strong hands gripped my curves as his body snaked down mine, until his head was between my legs.
He devoured me in a way that made me feel his lust just as vividly as his devotion.
My body was something he wanted to worship, and he showed me with his tongue and lips and teeth.
“Wake.”
No, I need more. He shifted, pulling me over to straddle his face, tongue reaching new depths.
“WAKE. I cannot bear this.”
I jerked and tumbled over the edge, smacking my head, shoulder, and hip against the stone floor.
My bleary eyes opened as pain blossomed along my side.
I’d rolled off my fucking bed. I lay there, tangled in my blanket, the evidence of my dream slick between my legs. I groaned at the ache it left behind.
“Fucking hell.” Crawling atop my small cot, I willed myself back to sleep, ignoring the throbbing that begged for release. With Gerta only a few feet away, mercifully still slumbering, there was no flaming way that would be happening.
OVER THE next week, members of my ranng brought me to more new places in the lower city—some of which refused to serve that Inraen girl, and all with glowing signs.
I saw color-changing garments, a shop for water skins that never emptied, and a stand advertising foolproof fire starters—though I had a feeling that last one was just a scam.
Still, something inside me twisted. Believing my eyes was one thing, but blessings from a dragon?
It had been over a decade since I’d giggled with my siblings, pretending to be magic wielders from the days of old.
There were many Inraen myths about the existence of magic in the wild lands before the Creator sent his devoted to rid the world of evil.
The Nine Martyrs had sacrificed themselves in the name of faith, each dying horrible deaths at the hands of corrupt magic users.
According to the Carmine Order’s teachings, only the Creator’s magic was true and pure.
Yet, seeing such casual displays around me, none of which created harm or panic, opened my eyes to a new kind of magic.
This wasn’t the great magic of old—the kind that could shape a kingdom.
This was the mundane, everyday magic of simple people helping each other get by.
Dane had permitted me to walk freely within the castle grounds, so between trainings, outings, and study, I found time each day to swap out my book for a new one from the small cart near the castle market.
I’d been reading a series of short books, each highlighting the powers and personalities of the Seven Dragons of Jaeda.
Oddly, none of the Dragons had names. They were only known by their colors—green for life, red for fire, orange for earth, blue for water, white for air, purple for spirit, and black for death.
At night, dragons and magic invaded my dreams. Night after night, I dreamt of the cave—of the great power emanating from it, taunting me with swirling colors, whispering voices, and that haunting pair of glowing peridot eyes.
The worst was when I found only myself inside, but not as I was.
This woman was older, regal, and thrumming with power.
Yet I felt myself within her. When her eyes met mine, I woke—shaking and drenched in sweat—with a deep voice rumbling through my mind.
It was the same voice, I realized, I’d been hearing in my head for weeks.
On the twenty-eighth of Jerrmon—the last day of midsummer—I woke with a pit in my stomach that had nothing to do with dragons.
Our birthday. I was now twenty-two. Six weeks had passed since I left home, not that Bale would be there anyway.
I glanced at the sky through the small window—still dark.
Before long, the sun would rise, and it would be just another day to the rest of the Riht.
But not to me. I needed to be anywhere but here.
I needed to be alone. I dressed in silence, taking care not to wake Gerta, still asleep in her bed.
I made my way barefoot down the halls, holding my boots in one hand, toward the Relaxation Room.
I had traveled back and forth from the training rooms so many times now that it was second nature.
Halfway down the stairs, I paused. Soft thuds echoed from below.
It was too early for Teke to be taking advantage of the acoustics.
Plus, there was no singing. One door to the large room had been propped ajar, and a dim light shone from within.
I snuck the rest of the way down the stairs, keeping to the far right side, still carrying my boots. When I reached the bottom, I peered around the closed door, allowing it to block most of my body from view.
It was Wep, awake at this unreasonable hour and running through some form of practice.
Whether it was a dowsa or another drill, I couldn’t tell.
I had never seen anything like it. Between slow, sweeping movements, his body snapped—legs whipping through the air.
He spun. He flipped. Sometimes his hands touched the ground, and other times they didn’t.
I had seen juggling acrobatics before, and this was as similar to that as cats were to dragons.
I watched for several minutes until his body stilled, his back to me.
I turned to sneak away, but Wep called out, “Come in.”
Stepping into the doorway to reveal myself was a small type of agony.
I tried not to look at him, instead examining the lit braziers that bathed the room in a soft, eerie glow.
Weapons glinted in the firelight, sharper and more ominous than they ever looked in the light of day.
Wep stood there, now facing me, drawing me in with his unnatural stillness.
His copper hair was up in a knot, and he wore a simple sleeveless shirt and loose pants, both black.
I’d never seen him sleeveless before. My eyes caught on the tattoos snaking down his right shoulder—and refused to let go.
I couldn’t tell what they were, but they suited him way too fucking well.
“An old injury,” he dismissed with a shrug.
My eyes dropped to the red mottled scarring down his forearm, barely visible in the dim light. “You look good in black.” Fuck me, did I really just say that?
“Do I?”
Laughter filled my mind. I turned on the spot, but we were alone. I whirled back around and straight into Wep’s chest. I squeaked and darted to the side. How in the Creator’s balls had he moved so fast?
He glowered into the dark stairwell, every muscle in his body taut.
“Why are you here?” he asked, turning to me with a frown and blocking the doorway.
I shrugged. He stared at me, his favorite pastime, so I stared back, leaning my weight against the wall.
“No shoes?” he asked, stepping toward me.
My traitorous body responded to him on instinct.
He was one giant storm cloud wrapped up in a package designed by the Creator himself to bring me to my knees.
The image of warm brown eyes danced through my head, and guilt settled low in my belly.
Tam. I pushed off the wall and took a few steps into the room, distancing us.
I needed to find some release soon, or I might do something I’d regret.
I wiggled the arm holding my boots. “Too early,” I said.
He leaned his back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. The muscles in his arms flexed. He had no business looking that good before sunrise. “Did you need something?”
I shook my head. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Why are you up?”
He raised an eyebrow at me in response, letting the silence stretch, making me twitch. “Why are you here?”
“Does it sound juvenile if I say bad dreams?” It wasn’t the exact truth, but how could I explain what this day had meant to me—and what I had lost?
His face cracked into a wry grin.
I adjusted my glasses, annoyed at how blurry they were.
“Training will help. That was a good thought.”
“No, I came for the Relaxation Room.”
“Come again?”
“The room with all the pillows.”
He pushed off the wall, making it look like a thing of grace instead of a common, everyday action, and strode toward me.
There was a heat in his eyes that scared me a bit.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he growled. He turned away and crossed the room, back toward his million weapon racks.
Martyrs, even the back of this man’s body, with his broad shoulders and muscled back, was a sight to behold. Not to mention his—
All at once, his words and tone caught up with me. Was he mad at me? For wanting to sit in a fucking room before the sun was up instead of training with him? “Life is more than weapons training, you know.”
He turned back with a scowl. I’d struck a nerve. I could practically see his hackles rise. “Training is a tool. It’s a part of our station and responsibilities. Life is all the moments in between.”
“Not everyone has a life.”
“That’s what’s keeping you awake? Life in the Riht not exciting enough for you?” He stalked back toward me with the same lethality as the mountain cats native to this region.