Cassy… unravels.
She whispers to herself constantly, her voice low and sing-song, like the tattered remnants of a nursery rhyme:“Fire burns beneath… The dragon wears his skin like armor… A cursed heart forgets how to beat…”
Sometimes she traces the hollow between her collarbones until her nails leave half-moons of blood. We dress her, brush her hair, coax her to eat—but her gaze drifts further from us with every passing day. It’s as if she’s fading from the inside out.
One evening, when Mariel and I help her into a pale blue gown, we see her bones press against her skin.
“She’s getting worse,” Mariel whispers, gently combing through Cassy’s tangled curls. “I don’t know how much more she can take.”
Neither do I.
That night, I change into the green silk gown Marb lays out for me. A small vial of violet liquid sits beside it, labeled in her delicate hand:To help you sleep.
But I’m not tired, not really. I curl in bed, propped up by a pillow, a book open in my lap, moonlight spilling across the pages.
It’s a tale of dragon riders, of a sisterhood bound by flame and oath, their courage outlasting the empires that fall all around them. As I read, I imagine what it might feel like to be one of them. To ride fire. To survive the final Trial. To write the ending of my own story, even if it costs me blood and bone.
At some point, I must have drifted off, because the next thing I hear is a soft knock at my door.
My eyes snap open. The moon hangs higher in the sky now, silvering the floorboards.
“Come in,” I murmur, my voice hoarse from sleep.
The door creaks open, and Cassy peeks her head through. Her eyes are rimmed red, her blanket clutched around her shoulders like armor. “I… I had another dream.”
I close the book, my heart already sinking. “Was it the dragon again?”
She nods. “He spoke this time. But it wasn’t words. It was fire. It got inside me.” Her voice trembles. “And then I was burning.”
My chest tightens. “Cassy—”
“Can I stay here?” she interrupts softly. “Just for a little while. I used to sleep beside my sister when the nights got bad.”
I lift the covers. “Of course.”
She pads across the room on bare feet and climbs beneath the sheets, curling toward the wall.
The fire crackles softly in the hearth. For a while, we lie there in silence, listening to it breathe.
“You remind me of her,” Cassy murmurs, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Your sister?”
“No. You.”
I blink. “Cassy, I’m r—”
But she’s already asleep.
I let the words die on my tongue, staring into the flames as shadows dance across her face. I reach over and brush a strand of hair from her brow.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
But even as I say it, a cold shiver coils down my spine. Because somewhere in the silence, I swear I hear something else breathing back.
***
I wake to voices in the dark. Low whispers, too close.
