When she finally stopped on the edge of the square, she turned her back to her friends and pressed a fist to her chest. Only her shoulders slumped before she tightened her spine and her expression.
Her lower lip quivered.
The rest of her stayed perfectly still, like if she allowed herself to show any hint of vulnerability, she’d break.
When the shard released me, I staggered back, rising to my feet again.
“Not one of them checked on you.” My raw voice brokethrough the empty air. “You were bleeding, shaking, and like that woman, they walked away.”
I turned in a slow circle, taking in the fractured landscape around me. “How many times did you stand alone like that, counting bodies while your own wounds went ignored?”
I ground my teeth together. “They saw you bleed and expected you to clean your blade and march on. As if you weren't…” I swallowed hard. “As if you weren't worth checking on.”
The realization hit like a punch to the gut. “That's why you flinch when someone reaches for you. Why you always say you're fine even when I can see the pain in your eyes.” My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You learned that showing weakness meant being abandoned.”
I stared at the shard in my palm, seeing her face again, one so carefully controlled, so strong. “That’s why you looked so surprised the first time I asked how you were feeling after training. When I held you just to hold you, not because you'd earned it by bleeding.”
My voice cracked. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”
Another mirror flashed to my right, telling me we weren’t through with this lesson I now had to learn.
I strode over and lifted the shard.
In this one, Reyla worked in an open-air, fenced-in training ring with a young sky-blue dragon still growing into its wings. She crouched beside it, lifting one claw and coating it with oil, rubbing gently at the joints. The dragon shifted, its nostrils flaring. It gave a low, warning growl and jerked, one wing flaring.
Reyla didn’t flinch. She pressed a steady palm to its shoulder and whispered something too soft to hear. The tension in thedragon bled away. It blinked slowly, almost sleepy now, and let her finish her work.
She moved with quiet skill, methodical and careful. This wasn’t a performance. There was no audience. It was her and the creature. A regular day for her at the fortress she grew up in. When she talked about dragons, I assumed it was a casual thing. But my love had bonded with them. Not in the magical sense but in friendship.
Tempest was her best friend, but I suspected she only ever fully trusted dragons.
She tapped its front leg, and it dropped to its belly. She clambered up its foreleg with the saddle slung over her shoulder that she gently placed on its spine. On the ground again, she secured the straps before returning to the dragon’s back and dropping into the leather.
Wings snapping open, the dragon exploded from the ground, slicing upward toward the net spread over the arena. Reyla leaned into the motion, guiding it with her body. But when the dragon twisted, she slipped.
And fell.
Her body hit the sand-strewn ground with a sound I felt in my teeth. A sick thud. I cursed under my breath, but no one in the shard moved. Except one man, standing at the edge of the pen with his arms crossed on his chest and a blank face. He watched her fall and turned, striding away without first ensuring she wasn’t hurt.
Reyla rolled to her side, pressed one palm to the ground, and pushed herself up. Her right leg gave a little, but she breathed through it.
After brushing herself off and running a hand over her ribs, she checked the straps securing the saddle and limped to thedragon’s side, where she stroked its snout, reassuringitthat things were fine.
That fall could not have been the first. I saw it now in the way her movements were too practiced, the way she covered any bruises with a shaky smile. She wasn’t afraid to slam on the ground.
But she’d stopped expecting anyone to catch her. Lift her to her feet. Hold her.
I pressed my palms against my temples, the weight of understanding crashing down on me. “Dragons,” I breathed, staring at the fractured ground beneath my feet. “Of course you trust them more than people. I see why.”
Tipping my head back, I looked up at the bleeding sky. “They stayed when you fell. That dragon didn't walk away like that bastard did.” I kicked a rock, sending it skittering across the glass-strewn earth. “Animals don't lie about caring. They don't pretend to give a damn and then abandon you when it matters.”
I sank to my knees, my chest spasming. “How many times have I asked you to trust me?” The question tore from my throat. “And here you are, believing that if you're not perfect, I'll leave too. But I'm not them, love. I won't turn my back when you fall.” I lifted my head, speaking to the fractured world that held her memories. “I'll be the one who stays. Who asks if you're hurt. Who doesn't walk away.”
The wind whistled through the broken landscape, carrying the echo of my promise.
She didn’t need to roar to be strong.
She only needed someone to see her when no one else cared enough to look.
