“But I did try to elicit a response from her. I failed. I’m afraid she’s suffering from postascendant psychosis.”
I frown down into the remains of my tea.
“Judging by your expression and lack of questions, I’m guessing you know what that is.”
“Yeah. She told me.”
His brow wrinkles. “Has this happened to her before?”
“Once.”
“Dammit, Seb. This condition comes about from prolonged overuse of gold dust. If she’d had this happen before, she shouldn’t have been using?—”
“Fuck off.”
“Excuse me?”
“We sat around that table in LA and I told you all that I didn’t want to use her, but the entire fucking brotherhood said she was our only hope. Zoe didn’t use because she was an addict. She used to save us, to save dragons. And this last time, she used to save me. We all owe her our lives, not our fucking judgment.”
Morwyn’s back to scratching his jaw again. If he keeps that up, he’s not going to have to shave that side of his face. “I’m not judging, just reassessing my prognosis.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we need to give her time to heal and then pray for the best. Pray she comes out of it. If you can get her to wake up, she’s got a good chance.”
“What do you mean, if?”
“In some cases, witches never come back from this, Seb.”
“She gave me permission to enter her thoughts. I’ll go in and get her out.”
Morwyn shakes his head. “You may want to leave that one as a last resort.”
“Why?”
“Her psychological state is fragile right now. She’s alive, which means she’s likely working hard to heal herself mentally as well. We don’t know what is going on inside her mind, but whatever she’s built so far is crucially important. If you go in and knock down a wall trying to get to her, you could collapse whatever house of cards she’s constructed inside her head. You could end up ruining what recovery she’s been capable of.”
“Are you saying there’s nothing I can do to help her?”
“I’m saying, you need to be patient.”
The empty teacup shatters in my tightening grip.
Morwyn shoves his napkin into my bleeding hand. “You can do this. I know you can.”
Chapter Forty-Two
SEB
I stand at the base of the two massive doors that lead to the Oracle’s sanctuary, with Zoe draped across my arms. After days spent allowing her to heal and then trying to rouse her, I’m frustrated. I’ve heeded Morwyn’s warning and stayed out of her head, but every day that passes, I grow more panicked.
Only one dragon can see all the possible futures and know which direction is the best to take—the Oracle. She has to help me. We can’t go on like this.
I reposition Zoe in my arms and pound on the door. The wood is smooth under my fist, made from a type of tree that no longer exists on earth. Massive and solid, the door seems to absorb my knock, and I wonder if anyone inside can hear it.
But only a few seconds later, one of the two doors opens of its own volition, forcing me to give it room. Once open, an acolyte greets me with a bow on the other side. Dressed, as all acolytes dress, in red robes with a veil that covers their face, this acolyte has no distinctive characteristics to set them apart from any other. “Good evening, Sebastien,” they say in a soft voice.
“I need to see the Oracle.”
