“What in the fae-cursed fuck is going on?” Tove demands as she throws the bathroom door open and storms in.
She takes one look at me, the broken mirror, and then my fist, and her anger quickly dims with understanding. She doesn’t say a word as she grabs a towel off a shelf and hastily wraps it around my hand. She plucks the folded robe off the counter, shakes off the shards of glass, and then drapes it around me. I don’t say anything as she carefully feeds my wrapped limb through a long sleeve that drapes almost to the ground. I slip my uninjured hand through the other arm before Tove belts everything together around my waist.
Glass crunches under her boots as she moves, and something about the sound helps me keep my shit together. It’s as though I don’t want to hear her stepping on the broken shards of my soul the way she’s stepping on the shattered splinters of the mirror, so I keep my fractured pieces right where they are.
Chastain pops into the doorway, concern swimming in his brown eyes. “What happened?”
“Get Jori,” Tove orders instead of answering his question.
“Don’t,” I cut in, and both of their agitated gazes snap to mine. “It’ll stop bleeding soon. It’s no big deal, and what’s a few more scars anyway?” I add, but it comes out less carefree and more despondent than I mean it to.
Tove shakes her head and grumbles something unintelligible as she straightens in front of me, her determined stare demanding my attention. “I understand that help might be a foreign concept to you, but your stubbornness is only going to hurt you here.”
I try to cross my arms in front of my chest, but the towel around my hand makes it awkward, so I abort the move.
“Statements like that only make me want to dig my heels in more,” I tell the female.
“I know, which is why I’m going to do something I don’t normally do, which is explain what you’re up against instead of simply forcing you to comply for your own obstinate good.”
Tove wraps another layer of the towel around my hand when she notices I’m starting to bleed through the one that’s there. She nods at Chastain, who then lifts a fist to his mouth. A small vortex of air forms in the Channeler’s palm, and he talks into it before blowing the tiny tornado off his hand and out of the room, probably in search of Jori.
“You need to understand some things about the world of dragons, Frills,” Tove starts. “A lot changed after the wyvern rebellion. King Tenebrae’s death rocked our foundations and destabilized The Horde more than the outside world knows. King Noctis has done everything he can to bring us back together, to give the illusion that there’s still a united front amongst the dragons, but it hasn’t been easy, and his position isn’t nearly as secure as it should be.
“The minute you step out of this room, you are going to be in the thick of it. You’re not facing off with the nobles just yet, but don’t dismiss any interactions you have from here on out as unimportant. It may only be stylists and seamstresses in that room…”
She gestures to the open door and the quiet murmur of voices that can be heard through it.
“But each of them dresses and serves other kiths, and they won’t hesitate to pass along whatever gossip they can collect about you to enhance their position or someone else’s. If you walk out of this room injured, they’re going to notice that you aren’t healing.
“Your existence alone is going to rattle the powers that be, so don’t let your pride or ignorance become a weakness they can exploit. Don’t paint a larger target on your back than the one that’s already there.”
“Do they know who I am?” I ask, reaching for the charm on the vanity and bending down to re-secure it around my ankle.
“No,” Tove answers evenly. “The king has called a Convocation for next week. I believe he intends to Name you there, but we don’t expect your secret will last that long. We’re not hiding you or what you are, but we’re also not shouting it from the rooftops either.”
“The fact that you’re staying in this room should give the busybodies and spies plenty to scuttle around about for a few days,” Chastain adds before flicking his wrist. All of the broken glass on the ground lifts off the floor and countertop and then rides a gentle breeze into a bin in the corner.
I marvel at the simple show of power, the vanity and floor once again clean and safe to traverse. “Show off,” I mutter, and Chastain chuckles.
“My affinity is good for more than just fart noises andblowjobs. You should see what I can do between your—”
Tove slaps the back of Chastain’s head, cutting off whatever inappropriate thing was about to slip out of his mouth.
“What was that for?” he demands, rubbing the back of his skull.
“Do you have a death wish?” she asks with a glare.
“What? No,” he stammers, once again looking confused.
“I swear, Wind-For-Brains, it’s a good thing you’re pretty and know how to follow orders. How you’ve survived this long in life is truly a mystery,” Tove grumbles, just as Ogdan and Jori strut in through the bathroom door.
Ogdan’s gray eyes sweep the room, landing on my towel-covered hand and the way Chastain is rubbing the back of his head.
“You punch him?” the Burner asks, amused, as he stops just inside the door and lets Jori pass him.
“No, she picked a fight with a mirror and lost,” Tove informs him as she steps back to give Jori access to me.
I glare over at the prickly female. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
