His golden gaze meets mine, compassionate and warm. “Don’t be sad, Idallia. You know humans never last, and Sybil’s life is good and filled with comfort and friends.”
I clamp my mouth tight against the surge of emotion trying to emerge as an anguished sound. Leave it to Fyrestar to know exactly what I’m thinking, and leave it to being recently injured to make my reactions so raw I feel turned inside out and buffeted by rough updrafts beating at my exposed heart.
I already lost Everly to the human rot of age, and she wasn’t even that old. She was a healer, too, and very different from Sybil, much quieter and more maternal. After she died, I avoided humans for a long time, furious at them for their fleetingness. I didn’t talk to any of the sorcerers for years, but then Sybil showed up, young, alone, nervous, and just like me when I was at school—desperately in need of a friend.
I inhale quietly, pulling my emotions back inside.
Sybil inspects the mug, carefully swirling its contents. “Almost cool enough to drink, and you need some food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.” She stares me down and, as usual, she wins.
“Fine. But I hope it’s a vegetable broth and not something with meat.” I usually can’t stomach meat. Luckily, there’s never a shortage of highly carnivorous dragon shifters around to finish what I don’t eat.
“Of course. For now,” she adds ominously. “And without anything that might’ve even remotely touched a turnip.”
“Thank Cealastra,” I murmur. I hate turnips.
Sybil helps me sit up straighter and tucks an extra pillow behind my back. My skin is sore, but I know the discomfort will pass. I still groan, the creaking stiffness in my muscles a mix of healing remnants and having fought so many werebeasts that I lost count somewhere along the way.
Sol barely stirs as Sybil hands me the mug. Rim clicks his beak, making sure I know he’s watching me until I take a sip. Fyrestar surveys us all from the foot of the bed.
I take a few swallows of the thick soup, warm liquid soothing my dry throat. “Satisfied?” I ask the room in general.
Sybil nods but won’t take the mug back when I try to hand it to her.
Fyrestar chuckles. “Nice try.”
“Finish it or I’ll tickle you,” Rim says, placing his beak menacingly close to my armpit.
I instinctively pull my arms in, give him the stink eye, and take another sip.
It takes some effort, especially after my initial thirst is quenched, but I down the entire mug. The soup was dense, but at least there were no chunks. “I deserve a medal for that.” Setting the empty mug on my bedside table, I settle back into my pillows, tucking Sol in close.
Sybil’s exaggerated exhalation speaks to how many times we’ve had this same conversation after I wake up from an injury. “My biggest triumph will be the day I find something you like to eat.”
“I liked my birthday cake.” I made sure both Sybil and Stuart got a piece.
“I’m not talking about fruit or desserts.”
Sighing, I stroke Rim’s feathers, his inner fire warming my fingers. With my other hand, I gently tease the soft plumes of Sol’s little yellow head crest, her small talons lightly twitching against my waist as she sleeps. Fyrestar continues to keep my feet comfortable with his pleasant glow.
I blink heavily, drowsy now that I’m toasty and fed. “Kellan flew me back,” I murmur.
“I know.” Sybil pitches forward, her hazel eyes gleaming with interest. “And? What was that like?”
For some reason, my chest squeezes tight. “He’s big and scaly.”
She laughs. “You used to enjoy riding him.”
“You were young. You don’t remember right.”
One graying eyebrow creeps up. “I arrived here at seventeen years old and remember everything perfectly—including that the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”
I shrug a little painfully. “Things change.”
“Not for him.”
