“Right, well, unfortunately it’s that time,” she says, gesturing to the fading light beyond the window.
I make my way towards her, determined to do as I’m told, to make them trust me. After what I overheard, I can’t let them know my dream about the Sar Dyeus. We don’t have that kind of time to waste. Not with the increasing deaths. Not with how weak Ninon seems. “Ozias said I passed the stage of savagery. Am I still to be chained?”
“Oh, sorry, no.” Atlanta shakes her head and comes to me. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I simply meant you will shift. And well,” she looks around, “this space isn’t particularly conducive for that.”
Following her gaze, it’s obvious of course that the room wasn’t built for dragon forms. “Ah, right. So then where will I go?”
Atlanta pushes her hair off her shoulder. “Where would you like to go?” she asks as we make our way to the atrium and down out of the Alcazar. “We have the field. That’s where most of us go, but there are other more secluded spots around the Realm.”
I didn’t realize I’d have a choice in the matter. Working my lower lip with my teeth I ask, “Where will Ninon be?”
Atlanta’s mouth purses. “She’s still working past the savagery. She’ll be chained again.”
“I want to be near her.”
“Back at the enclosures?”
I nod, then suppress a shudder that works its way down my spine. “Not chained, but I don’t want to leave her alone.”
Atlanta sighs, thinking it over. “I wouldn’t recommend showing yourself to her. It would only distress her.”
“I’ll keep myself in the enclosure next to hers.”
Silence settles between us, the only sound our footsteps and the distant murmur of energy I’ve grown used to over these days.
“Your loyalty to your friend is inspiring. Are you certain you don’t want to go to the fields? Fly?”
My brow draws tight. Of course I want those things. And I’ll get there one day with her at my side. Besides, if Ozias and Atlanta believe that the Sar Dyeus could pull me deeper into this bond than I’m willing to go, that I’d be willing to risk Ninon, I’ll show them where my heart lies. Always. “Where she goes, I go.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’M NOT UNUSED to Ninon and I learning at different paces. While horse riding came naturally to me, Ninon floundered. Reading the stars and navigating across the wide open Sere was something Ninon picked up easily, as if she’d been doing so her whole life, whereas I would get turned around in the dark. Where I could move silently and swiftly, she lumbered. Where she could sit for hours reading texts, I lost interest the moment there were no illustrations or diagrams.
It’s no surprise that shifting is the same. Still, I was hoping my presence would keep Ninon from turning savage, but as night spills across the sky, I hear her grunts and huffs, the clattering of her chains as she thrashes.
Last night, I was overwhelmed by all the things my dragon eyes could see and my senses could experience. Tonight though, I flex my wings, stretching them tall behindme, testing how far they fan out in the confined space of the enclosure. I examine myself, this body that’s suddenly mine. My scales are the color of the underbelly of a fat cloud over the Rising Sea, a silver gray with the promise of rain. I flick my long tail to coil around my body, the tuft of hair on the end a mossy green. I watch, mesmerized by the tendrils as I flick my tail up and down, over and over.
Incredible as this body is, relishing in the feeling of it being mine and my own means of reaching the sky, I grow bored. I lay my head down. As my eyes drift closed, I remember seeing the Sar Dyeus and they snap back open. I don’t want to see him again. Last night I was thinking deeply of him. Perhaps if I don’t think of him at all, I won’t dream of him again.
Instead, I think of Ninon, wondering when she’ll overcome this stage of her transformation. I think of home, the women we left behind. I wonder if my mother knows, if anyone has bothered to tell her, that I’m not in Dyeus with Alixor – that he’s dead. Maybe they told her I’m dead. My eyes close as I wonder if Kalixta is in Dyeus with Thrace, reunited with her boy child, like he said she would be—she would know then. Would she send word to our mother? Would the Sar Dyeus allow it? I can just imagine his steely expression, the sardonic twist of his mouth, his perfectly placed hair falling out of place, like the way he spoke to me the morning he took Kalixta’s son to the sky. My heart trips on a beat.
I catch my thoughts too late. I look down and my feet are on the smooth polished floors of the castle. I look up and I’m in his rooms once again. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep.Wake up, I urge myself, but nothing happens.
The room is empty. I try to wake myself up again, when I feel a pull; something like a thread tied around my middle, guiding me to the doors that lead to the halls. They open and the Sar Dyeus walks in.
He pauses, eyes on me for a moment, so intense and unyielding that I’m certain he must see me, but then they drift by, glancing around the rest of the room before he ventures all the way in, passing through me like a handthrough smoke. I watch, eyes wide like a saiga stuck in my sights as he moves about the room. He loosens the cuffs at his wrists and neck, setting the links down inside a set of drawers near the bathing chamber. He rolls up his sleeves and moves to the other side of the room, passing me, so close that his shoulder should knock into mine, except it slips through as if I were made of mist. It’s all so mundane; the strangest dream I’ve ever had. It’s almost as if I walked in on him, a spirit watching from another world. My thoughts bounce from this realization to what I overheard earlier in the night. What word did Atlanta say? Something walking? Is this a dream, or is it something more? I know draconem have powers, most I don’t understand. I have to wake up.
I grasp for the thread I sensed earlier, only now it’s gone. “No,” I whisper, twisting around, hoping to feel it again. I press my fingertips into my temples. “No, no, wake up, wakeup. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. It’s all a dream.”
The Sar Dyeus pours water into a kettle and sets it over a flame. He stands there, hands braced on the table, shoulders hunched, his back to me. He stays still as a stone, but I feel I’m flickering like a flame, my form all heat and no substance.
Cautiously, I take a step toward him. His fingers curl deeper into the table. I take another step and he rises to his full height, turning to look out at the night sky.
I approach slowly, angling my body so I can see his face. I swore when he walked in he looked directly at me. Last night in my dream, he told me to get out. That seemed more dreamlike than whatever this is. In fact, if this is a dream, I’m not certain how my thoughts are so clear.
When I draw up to his side, I study the smooth angles of his face for a moment, before I whisper, “Can you see me?” I don’t know how I’m expecting a dream to respond.
He inhales deeply, then turns back to the table and spoons dried tea leaves into a pot.
