But he ran from me. He stared down at me with such a look of horror in his eyes, then he turned and ran like I’m some kind of a…a…
“Monster,” I whisper.
That’s what I am, after all. And now we both know it. There’s no point trying to deny it anymore, not after tonight.
“Oh gods,” I whisper, burying my face in my pillow. “Oh gods, what am I going to do?” It’s not quite a prayer, but it’s the best I can manage in the moment, wrung straight from my tangled-up heart.
There is no answer. Of course not. I’m as alone as I’ve ever been. No friends, no allies. No one to turn to for help or support. A single, pathetic little entity adrift on the sea of existence without even a guiding star toward which to aim.
I seem to be settling in for a good, solid, pity party. Might as well embrace it…maybe even cry a little. It won’t do any good, but then again, it certainly can’t do any harm. I roll over, cover my face in my hands, and breathe out a long sigh.
Somethingmovesinside my head.
My breath catches. For a moment, I lie frozen, my eyes open, my hands still pressed to my cheeks. What was that? Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it’s just my overwrought emotions, and—
It moves again. A sensation for which I have no words. It’s like nothing in my range of experience. If I had to describe it, I suppose I would say it’s like a door suddenly slammed open, banging against the wall of my mind.
The next instant,awarenessbarrels through that opening. Tumbling, roaring, clawing, tearing…I sit upright in bed, my own mouth dropping open in shock, my throat closing around a strangled scream. I grip my head with both hands, as though I can crush the feeling right out, but it doesn’t go away. It grows and grows, a terrible dissonance, getting louder with every moment.
Voices. That’s what they are. Multiple voices, inarticulate and terrified.
The little side door that leads to Philippa’s personal chamber bursts open, and Philippa leaps into the room, carrying ascintil. She seems to be talking to me, seems to be mouthing, “Princess, what’s wrong?” But I cannot hear her. Apparently I am screaming myself, hollering at the top of my lungs, but I cannot hear my own voice either, for the voices in my head are much too loud.
Philippa grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me roughly. I shut my mouth, trying to stop my own wails, but my throat vibrates with an ongoing scream no matter how hard I try to choke it out. “The voices!” I gasp. Then I fall over sideways on the bed, writhing, clutching my scalp. “Make them stop! Please, make them stop!”
Philippa stares down at me, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping. Then she whirls, launches herself across the room to the armoire, and flings open its glass doors. She returns a moment later witha bottle. Popping the lid, she presses it to my lips. The stink ofholabellaextract burns my nostrils. I’ve never taken it straight before, but I down a gulp now, only to spew most of it across Philippa’s bodice. She forces the bottle to my lips again and, though I shake my head in protest, manages to get another dose down my throat.
The tincture works swiftly. Within a few moments, the voices begin to recede. I fall back on my pillow, panting hard, foam and spittle on my face, sweat dripping from my brow. Blinking a few times, I stare up into Philippa’s worried face as the room around me comes slowly back into focus. “Wh-what happened?”
Philippa shakes her head. “You tell me, Princess. Did you have a nightmare? I woke to you screaming.”
“Screaming,” I whisper, my voice slurred. Theholabellais already beginning to dull my awareness, lulling me toward sleep. I close my eyes. In the very deepest reaches of my mind, I can still just hear those same voices: three of them, each distinct from the others, all howling. But they seem far away now. “I…I’m all right,” I manage, forcing my heavy eyelids open once more, trying to meet Philippa’s gaze. Her face swims before my vision. “It was just a…dream…”
My eyes close again, far too heavy to keep open, and I sink into uneasy sleep.
I’m still sluggishthe next morning when they leave me at the library with Master Gormon for my daily lessons. I suspect Philippa slipped another drop ofholabellainto my breakfast porridge to make certain I don’t have a repeat of last night’s fit. As a result, I’m bleary and exhausted, even less interested than usual in anything my tutor has to say.
But at least there don’t seem to be any voices screaming in my head. That’s got to be good, right? I’d feel a lot better about it if I understood why they were there in the first place. It was not unlike when my perception awakened to Valtar’s presence—only ten times stronger. Is this another sign of my dragon self beginning to rise? If so, who were those three voices? Not my three champions, of that I’m certain. Even inarticulate and screaming, I would have recognized them. These were the voices of strangers. Full of terror and not entirely human.
I drop my head into my hands, groaning as I bow over the book in front of me. Master Gormon drones on, some dull information about shrines and sacred relics. Nothing of interest, nothing of use. Gods spare me, what motivates the man when he sits down to plan his lessons? Can he possibly think to himself,You know what a potential savior of the entire world needs to perform her great act of salvation? A complete and exhaustive list of shrines!
But then he says something that pricks my ears.
“And, of course, we must not forget the Shrine of Lorayarus, which is located in the caverns of Bald Mountain, deep in the heart of Inamaer. Technically, it is not a shrine of our world, but the monks of the mountain are human, and therefore, it is considered one of our own sacred sites.”
Master Gormon carries on with his list, but my attention fixates on that name:Lorayarus. I know it; Alderin told it to me when he related the story of my birth. And what else was it he’d said?
If any fire could be hot enough to hatch a dragon’s egg, it should be phoenix flame.
I stare down at the open pages before me, searching until I find the words:Lorayarus. Bald Mountain. Phoenix.It’s all right there, written in ink plain as day.
“Master Gormon,” I say, sitting up straight for the first time this morning. He looks up from his sheaf of lecturing notes, blinking as though he’d half forgotten I was even in the room. “Master Gormon, what is enshrined at the temple of Lorayarus?”
His brow knots. “Have you been paying no attention, Princess? We have moved on from Lorayarus and are discussing the Shrine of Saint Aliphar and the sacred knucklebone—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I say, channeling what I hope is a delightful smile his way. “And I am most keenly interested in all the enshrined relics, of course. But if you wouldn’t mind just repeating what particular relic the monks on Bald Mountain look after?”
Master Gormon huffs through his mustache. “It is no relic. They guard the Eternal Flame.”
