“You're awake.”
I flinch, barely hiding it. “As are you,” I say, sharp. “Did you even sleep?”
His eyes open, just enough to meet mine. “Some.” The word is quiet, but heavy, like whatever passed for sleep last night was more like endurance.
I look away from him, finding his gaze suddenly uncomfortable, and slide off the saddle. Stepping closer to the edge, I peerdown at the dragons below. In the growing light, I can make out more details: the patterns of their scales, the way they breathe in slow, synchronized rhythms. One of the fire drakes stretches, its wings unfurling to reveal membranes that glow faintly orange, as if lit from within. The sight triggers something, and the full weight of memory crashes over me.
Three days. We have scarcely three days before the tournament begins. Not in the Coliseum, but somewhere secret. Somewhere unexpected.
Zeriel rises to his feet with a swift, fluid motion, as if he hadn't been half-asleep moments before. His face transforms, all business now, the vulnerability I glimpsed earlier gone.
“We should bathe and change,” he says.
I turn from the dragons, my crumpled gown swishing around my ankles. “How do you even expect us to attempt our...thing, when last time I connected with a dragon it got me sent straight down to the processing chamber for scanning?” I ask irritably.
“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he says, already striding toward the passage.
My hand instinctively moves to the hidden pocket in my dress where Selen's vials rest. Relief floods through me as my fingers brush against the small glass containers, still secure in their hiding place. I realize I could tell him now that I might have a solution. At least, a temporary one.
But then I pause, searching myself.
What would even be the point?
What would it mean?
Helping him win? Helpingthemwin? The tournament, the favor, the eyes of the court—none of it feels like enough. Not anymore.
It’s all just movement. Noise dressed as meaning. Just another spectacle of blood and power.
And yet... Selen's words echo in my mind.Awaken his magic.Whatever seed she managed to plant in me burns likea small flame.
I feel suddenly desperate for something more, something beyond mere survival. If that’s even possible.
Something beyond playing my role in this senseless game.
“Okay, I agree,” I call after him. “But only if we pay a visit to Selen right after we bathe. I think she might be able to help us achieve… something that you want.”
Zeriel pauses, turning back with narrowed eyes. “Selen? What could she?—”
“Trust me,” I say, the words feeling strange on my tongue. “She has... resources.”
He studies me for a long moment, suspicion evident in the line of his mouth. But finally, he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But quickly.”
As we make our way back along the winding passage, I remember Selen mentioning that her “lessons” with me and the others were supposed to resume this morning. Obviously, with the tournament's sudden acceleration, everything's been flipped on its head.
But something tugs at me, insistent and undeniable, that this is somehow the right path.
We have barely any time. This might be suicidal. But… gods help me, I can't help myself.
Chapter 33
The walk back to Zeriel’s quarters is brisk and silent. He leaves the saddle behind on the aerial platform, now stripped of imperial dragons. The emptiness unsettles me. I can’t help but wonder where they’ve been taken, what cages they’re in now, what punishments they’re enduring.
In the corridors, we pass a few early-rising recruits who quickly avert their eyes when they see Zeriel's expression. As for myself, between my wrinkled gown and tangled hair, I must look like I've been dragged through the Ironhold backwards.
“Here,” Zeriel says when we reach his door. He unlocks it efficiently, pushing it open. “You can use my bathroom to clean up. I'll go to the men's communal baths. It'll be faster.”
I step inside, grateful for the prospect of hot water.
