“You’re no coward, Idallia. It’s okay to fear change, but don’t run away from happiness.”
Closing my burning eyes, I wrap an arm around Rim and another around Sol, my toes under Fyrestar’s wing. “All I want is for us to be together until I die. Nothing else will ever matter more than that.”
Fyrestar is quiet for a long time. “I wish I could give you my everlife.”
I squeeze my whole face, stifling a wild sob. “No, Fyrestar. The only reason I can face every day is because I know I can’t lose you.” Except, that might not even be true anymore.
There’s another long pause. “But how am I supposed to face every day? What’s there to come back to if you’re taken from me?”
Hot, fat tears leak from my eyes and roll toward my pillow. I don’t know how long I’ll live. And something or someone might kill me.
“Rim and Sol.” But it’s true. And it’s terrible. Unless magic continues to fade from Ellonrift, the warbirds are eternal, and that’ll be a curse in the end, because they’re as linked to me as I am to them.
“Time heals, but it’ll take a million years, and I don’t want to live that long.” His golden eyes close, snuffing the light from our room.
I turn onto my side, quietly crying. I don’t care how or when, but I know right then what I have to do for Fyrestar, Rim, and Sol. I’ll leave them a child. That will be the safest child in all the world, and my phoenixes will have someone to love utterly again. To burn for, over and over, until that child leaves them another child and so on, because eternity is no gift unless you have someone to love so much, you’d die for them.
A light beckons me in the dark. I know I’m dreaming, so I don’t hesitate to chase the strong glow toward the open door at the end of a long corridor, even though the huge hallway is shrouded in shadows and slightly intimidating. Tall, open windows let in a warm summer breeze that makes the series of long, sheer drapes billow toward me. The dim skyline beyond the openings is gently hilly, with a clear, star-studded sky hanging over the rolling silhouettes of moderate slopes I don’t recognize. They’re not spiny and rugged like the mountains of Torridaig.
I keep moving forward, not aware of my feet touching the ground. The fluttering curtains brush my skin, and their ghostly touch makes me shiver. Music wafts from the room ahead. I think there might be dancing, and I hurry, wanting to join in.
After a strangely long time, I finally reach the end of the corridor and peek into a richly decorated, candlelit room. It’s full of beautifully dressed people, most of them dancing, their jewels flashing as they pass. Others stand off to the side, holding conversations over goblets of red wine.
I smile. It’s beautiful. Festive. The night is dark, but the ballroom is blazing and happy and alive. I stare in wonder. We never have parties like this at Drayke Mountain. Bale is too busy and somber to give this much thought or space to frivolity. That’s why the team and I go into Drayke sometimes, to drink and flirt and sway to music with strangers we can leave behind.
The music calls to me, a little foreign, though not entirely. My heart still wants to dance, but I’m suddenly worried. My birds aren’t here.
I look over my shoulder, but no glowing phoenixes swoop down the endless corridor. Frowning, I turn back around. I don’t like being here without them.
Somewhat shy, especially without my birds to keep me company, I stay in the doorway as I watch the revelers dance and laugh and tip their goblets to their lips. There’s a timelessness to the scene. Maybe this is now. Maybe it’s later, or before, or never. I don’t recognize any of this, and yet it feels achingly familiar.
A big hand clamps down on my mouth, stifling my startled cry as I’m yanked away from the party so fast I fly backward down the long corridor, the light and party and music fading to a pinpoint before snuffing out.
The hand abruptly releases me, and I’m in Glarraden House.
Confused, my heart pounding, I look around. It takes a moment to shake off the remnants of the party and the sudden fear of being forcibly ripped away. I’m in my bedroom, the veranda doors wide open and letting in a splash of bright sunshine that I know has warmed the dark patio stones to burning. I still step outside, letting the heat blaze against the bottoms of my bare feet and the sun crash into my face and eyes.
I cock my head. Why am I here?
Squinting, I look to the right and see Rita and Gerard in the rose garden. They’re at their usual table and in their usual chairs, an awning shading them. There have only ever been two chairs at the table where they spend most of their time, season permitting. She reads and sews. He reads and draws. They play games sometimes.
I can obviously go into the rose garden if I want to, but I don’t have a chair at that table, and the awning only covers the two of them, so I know I don’t belong.
I look to my left across the grounds and into the woods leading to the big pond and the wild marsh beyond. I should go that way. It’s my domain. There’s nothing there. No one.
But the heat and sun are bothering me, too bright, so maybe I should go up into the attic with all the discarded furniture and other forgotten items and play dragon shifters versus vampires. No one ever hears me crashing around under the eaves, and no one cares if I stab old couches with the sticks I’ve sharpened into knives and swords. Things that go into the attic never come back down.
Except for me.
I slowly back into my room, escaping the midday heat. I feel like me—the me I am now—and wonder again where my birds are. But these memories are old, from when I still grew like a human child, changing every year, and Rita still thought she’d marry me off to some Glarraden well-to-do who’d finally take me off her hands while leaving her the gold.
With a blink, I’m not in my bedroom anymore. I head toward the stairs, ignoring the statues lining the walls. That’s Gerard’s doing. He likes them, but I just see blank eyes that don’t notice me any more than anyone else does.
I’m headed for the attic when abruptly, I’m at school. My stomach plummets with a sickening downward pull. The Drayke School of Fire and Flight should’ve been the best five years of my life. I couldn’t wait to have friends.
My dormitory building gets closer, then sucks me inside with a giant breath. High up in one of the shared rooms, students surround me. My pulse races, my insides churning in dread. One-on-one in the training yards and with the instructors watching, I almost always win. The other students don’t like that, and sometimes I throw a fight, hoping it might change something when school hours are done. It never does. Outside the training yard, with no one watching, they gang up on me. I think I could probably still win, but I don’t want to kill anyone by accident. This isn’t much of a life, but prison would be worse.
They close in on me, backing me toward the rounded wall. Their individual faces are sharp in my mind. I remember everyone.
