I fly back to my lair at the top of the mountain without rushing, trying to enjoy the warm autumn day, the colorful trees, and the golden light bouncing off Upper Drayke Lake. I need to clean myself up too. It was a long morning of training, even if it wasn’t as intense as usual.
Swooping through my biggest window, I shift on landing and stride toward the back of my living quarters. Asking the staff to bring hot water all the way up to the peak of Drayke Mountain seemed cruel, so a few centuries ago, I devised a way to tunnel in snowmelt and rainwater, allowing it to fill a deep, natural dip in a secondary chamber far inside the mountain, beyond my study. I created a pool, but it needs regular heating.
Restless tension whips through me as I walk down a stone hallway with a sharp bend, lending privacy to the bathing area. Not that I need it. No one ever comes up here except the occasional staff member or possibly Stuart if I invite him to join me in my study to discuss something.
Once I’m in the large bathing chamber, the cold, clear pool spread out before me, I shift again. Several long firebreaths heat the water to almost boiling. As soon as it’s steaming, I return to my common form, strip down to bare skin, and slip in, the water reaching my shoulders.
My groan sounds like it should come from someone else. It sounds like the groan of a man sinking into a woman, and I haven’t made that kind of guttural noise in so long it feels foreign to my ears.
Heat snaps in my groin. A flash of black hair and ruby lips fills my mind before I brutally shove the thought away.
I dunk underwater. This pool is big enough for two, but I’ve never shared it with anyone. Privacy became a way of life for me a long time ago. It’s less appealing these days.
Moving to the edge of the pool, I perch on an underwater ledge and lean against the smooth stone wall, my head back and my eyes closed. I sit there in the silence, letting the heat soak into my muscles and hoping it’ll relax not only them but the pressure snarling deep inside me as well. As usual, it’s deathly quiet at the top of the mountain, and I wonder when I started missing noise.
Maybe it was around the same time I stopped enjoying solitude so much. As a young, new ruler after my father died and my mother quickly followed him, I chose isolation. Keeping my own council meant no one was whispering viperous ideas in my ears. And keeping my body out of anyone’s bed meant seduction wouldn’t influence politics, and pillow talk couldn’t alter the course of kingdoms.
I didn’t want to make mistakes and learn lessons. I wanted to prevent them.
Five centuries on, I’m fucking lonely and starting to feel half dead even though I’m in my prime.
Idallia flickers through my mind again, and I grimace, worried about how much I single her out. It’s not just her, though. It’s the whole Elite Wing. If I can pinpoint one source of joy in my life, it’s them.
The water starts to cool as clean, cold runoff from outside filters into the heated pool, and my hot water trickles out via another channel. I soap up, rinse, and get out. As soon as I’m dressed, I know where I’m going, even though I should be planning security for the upcoming Ellonrift Council and reading the mountain of scrolls I know must be sitting in the basket outside my door.
I could go straight to check on Idallia, but it’s likely the team is still there and will be for a while. They’re used to my presence during training or on missions, but Idallia is the only one I ever speak to at length in private. If I go now, there won’t be anything private about it.
For now, it’s enough to know she’s awake, and I want a report from Sybil anyway.
Instead of flying out my window and going directly down to the lower levels of the mountain fortress, I use the stairs. It takes me a hundred times longer to get to the infirmary, but part of my job is letting people see me and asking them about their lives and families. I can only guess how the other rulers of Ellonrift act in their own homes, but I know how I want to act, and that’s different from my parents, who were elitist and aloof.
I finally make it to the bright, airy domain of the healers, my throat parched from inquiring after health, hobbies, and children. I know the residents of Drayke Mountain, but they don’t know me. I’m not sure anyone does, except for maybe a handful of people, including the one I’m about to see.
Sybil’s door is open, as always, and I walk straight in. She looks up from her desk, and her eyes brighten with true welcome, making my own responding smile easy and natural.
“Fyrestar told us Idallia’s awake.”
Her brows lift. “Straight to the point, aren’t we?”
I brush off the sharp jolt that darts through me. “Always, but I’m not only here about that.” I step farther into the room, feeling as though all the objects crowding her space are going to topple over and bury me. Sybil has never gotten rid of a single gift from a grateful patient, and part of me can understand. Dragon shifters collect and keep their treasures too. “I’m curious about the new recruits.”
“What should I start with?”
“Idallia. Why did it take her so long to recover?”
Sybil settles back in her chair with a sigh. “You know why. What I could accomplish in a day a few years ago now takes me three. And her natural healing is slower now, too, just like Fyrestar’s. We need an eclipse to blanket Ellonrift in magic. The covering we’ve got is threadbare at this point.”
Her words don’t surprise me, but they amplify the constant dread gnawing at my stomach. “Idallia isn’t healing as well on her own, then?”
“A human would’ve died on the battlefield, but she was still up and talking and made it home. She heals better than a lot of people, but she doesn’t heal like you do, or even your phoenixes. You’re starborn and heal instantly when you change forms. That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt”—her eyes dip to my chest, where my only scar remains—“but the weakening magic can’t impact your healing because it’s physical for you—the shift triggers it. Idallia doesn’t have that.”
Neither do other dragon shifters. Their shift might be physical, but their healing doesn’t work like mine does—a starborn gift from Cealastra herself. For everyone else, a hole in one form leaves a hole in the other, and I’ve seen too many of my soldiers die on the tips of Bloodwold lances and arrows.
“But why didn’t she at least wake up sooner? Even if she wasn’t ready to jump out of bed, she should’ve regained consciousness before now.”
Sybil shakes her head, seeming at a loss. “The same thing happened to a lesser extent the last time she got hurt.”
“It wasn’t five days.” I realize I’m almost growling and modulate my voice. “That’s a long time without food or water.”
