My gaze finds its way to Aeson. He hasn’t moved from the spot by the window. His arms are crossed over his chest, and a muscle jumps angrily in his jaw. My cheeks heat when our scowls connect.
I turn back to Jori.
“No. I haven’t revealed. I can’t,” I answer, doing my best to bottle up the simmering fury I feel with the admission, but some of it leaks out. “Whatever the sorcai did to the Syphons to keep them from shifting was apparently permanent.”
Several drakes around the room fidget or shift their weight in a silent show of surprise and unease. I’m sure the idea that their dragon could be trapped and unable to escape is horrific. A few grumbled swears fill the air, and Aeson steps around the big Thrasher in front of him to move closer. The guard tenses a little as he does, but ultimately doesn’t do anything to stop him.
I watch the strange interaction attentively. Is the Thrasher wary of what the commander will do to me if he gets too close or of what I might do to the scion if given the opportunity?
Over Aeson’s shoulder, the sun is starting to set on this side of the continent, and the colors are slowly painting the room and its occupants in strokes of pale pink and gold.
“If you’ve never revealed, how do you know you’re a Syphon?” Aeson asks, the rough timbre of his voice tickling across my skin and leaving goose bumps in its wake. I tear my eyes from the splashes of color highlighting the distant sky and stare back at the commander.
Lorn’s hands tighten on my hips, and I’m suddenly reminded of exactly where I’m still sitting. I push out of his lap, needing immediate space from both brothers. The movement reawakens all my aches and pains, and despite the pitcher of water I just chugged, my head feels light and untethered.
I wobble, unsure if my feet are going to stay planted firmly on the ground where I need them, but thankfully, Jori steps in before either of the glowering Noctises can. He settles me gently on the velvety bench and thankfully not back into the waiting trap of Lorn’s lap. With the tap of a few buttons on Jori’s com bracelet, two med carts zip toward the Render from somewhere behind me and float to a stop on either side of him.
“If your abilities are damaged and you can’t shift or heal, does dragon magic work on you?” Jori asks contemplatively as he starts opening gauze while unscrewing the cap on a bottle of something I can’t identify.
“Maybe,” I shrug. “Maybe not. I don’t know any dragons to have them try, but the sorcai and shifter healers helped me after I escaped the Tainted. If their magic works, I assume yours might too.”
“And how’d you get away from the blood brokers?” Lorn asks, rising from the bench and moving to stand near two drakes in dark orange scale armor. The stance he adopts—arms folded over his chest, frame taut, and intense stare honed in on me—mirrors Aeson’s, and a twinkle of amusement moves through me.
“I jumped off a cliff.”
A pin could drop and be heard loud and clear in the silence that consumes the room. The drakes stare at me, aghast.
“That explains how the healers got a hold of you in Lairwood,” Ogdan observes, an impressed whistle trilling out of him as he raises his eyebrows and dips his chin.
I don’t know when the redhead Burner and Tove rejoined the party. It must have been sometime in the middle of my breakdown.
“Lucky you survived that fall. I tracked the area where they found you. Were there any other survivors?” a drake with night black skin and blood red armor asks. He’s leaning back against a wall next to Chastain and the drake in purple armor with long light brown hair.
I look around the room and give a derisive snort. “I don’t know aboutlucky,” I dispute. “But, no. I was the only one there.”
I don’t mention Renatta, not wanting to cut that wound open when I’m already triaging so many others.
“Answer my question,” Aeson orders evenly, all eyes bouncing from me to him.
I try to remember what the hell he asked me, but can’t. He seems to realize that, and with only a small dash of irritation, he repeats it.
“If you’ve never revealed, how do you know you’re a Syphon?”
Jori reaches for my face and I automatically flinch away. He holds up some damp gauze in his other hand, silently communicating what he wants to do. I nod after a beat and force myself to stay still when he starts cleaning blood off my neck and jaw.
“I know I’m a Syphon the same way you knew you’d be a Burner before you belched your first flame,” I answer, gesturing to the dragon mark on Aeson’s throat. “Although, if we want to get technical, I’m nothing until I can reveal, which I can’t.”
Jori grabs my chin and tilts my head to get better access to my cheek and temple.
“So you’ve been keeping tabs on us? Watching us?” Aeson accuses. “You clearly know who we are.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Spare. I know you and The Horde well enough to keep my distance, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Oh, that’s right, you think we killed your father.”
“I don’tthink, I know,” I snap.
“Wait. What?” Tove demands, striding closer, Ogdan right on her heels. Both drakes look as though someone just socked them in the stomach.
