So we spend two weeks on etiquette lessons, history, political landscapes, and the study of elemental dragons. During a lesson, I found myself remembering exactly why I knew that collected blood wasn’t dragonblood.
Because I’m from Kilamber. The land’s biggest forge of dragonblades. And though it was closed long before I was born, we were taught about the history of the city. That dragonblades were created in only one way: through the blood and bone of dragons. Dragonblades were a category of dragonfused objects—items that had been imbued with a dragon’s magic. They tended to carry a certain air about them if you knew what you were looking for.
Then I remembered the first time I saw a dragon. Alive and breathing,with its rider on the back. Flying over Kilamber with a roar that shook the buildings. And since then, I was terrified. They filled my every nightmare. Every shadow. And despite my mother trying to calm my terror by singing me a lullaby every night, when she’d leave, they’d come crawling back. That is, until I created my own lullaby. It was the only thing to calm my nerves. That, and walking about the gardens.
That’s all I’ve been able to gather about my past in the last two weeks. Every time I try to press harder into the block in my mind, to shove it back enough for some information to slip, it only slams back harder in defiance. Roiling my stomach until I’m sick, pounding in my skull like a trapped thunder.
Two weeks, and I still haven’t reported Marcella—the more days that pass, the more it feels impossible to share. Because what would my excuse be for reporting it so late? Why such a delay?
I don’t have a sound reason. I’ve trapped myself.
And I still haven’t had a single moment with Cyrus other than the first night we were here and I bowed before him. Perhaps he’ll dismiss me before the trials start tomorrow. Or at least it’s my hope. We haven’t been briefed on what the trials will be. Only that we must have a good night’s rest and come prepared in the morning.
I’m not the only one nervous. Everyone at the table around me settles into an anxious buzz as we ready ourselves for dinner.
“Lyra Goldbrook,” a voice calls out over the dull conversations.
We all pause and turn to the stair landing where Devin is. His golden armor shines in the candlelight chandeliers. When our eyes connect, I dip my head and push out of my chair.
Aelia tosses me a friendly wink, and Marcella just takes a sip of wine. I gather my skirts and make my way to Devin. Once he gets me out into the hallway and closes the door, I blurt, “Am I being sent home?”
When he turns his scruffy chin to me, he chuckles. “What? Of course not. Why? Is there something wrong?”
“Oh, umm…no. I just…umm…” I fumble with my skirts.
“You’re nervous. That’s okay. You’ve been called for tonight’s private dinner. I promise King Cyrus doesn’t bite.” He gestures down the hallway.
I fall into step beside him. Taking a small breath, I whisper, “If he doesn’t fancy me, will I be sent home before the trial tomorrow?”
Devin pauses, turning to me. “Of course he’ll fancy you. All of youwere picked for very specific reasons. Don’t think you’re here only because of sheer luck, Lyra. Is this about the trial tomorrow?”
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Yes. Perhaps it is. It’s been on my mind every waking moment.”
“It’s normal to be nervous.” He ushers me forward down the hall. “Have all of your memories returned yet? Do you remember why you’ve been sent here?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I know I’m here because I believed I might have a chance at a relationship with the king. But if I’m being honest…” I slide a timid glance at him. “I don’t know how much of a chance I’ll have at discovering one when tonight will be the only night I can explore it if I fail tomorrow’s trial.”
“You won’t fail.”
I focus back on the hallway we walk down. “And what makes you say that?”
“Because I know every detail about all the contestants here. And you give me no worries. I’m fairly confident you’ll pass.”
Despite his assurance, I still can’t shake the fear of whatever unknown tomorrow holds. But before I can answer, he stops at a door and stretches for the handle. Giving me one last look.
“Just be yourself, alright?” he whispers.
I nod. Though, the statement is almost humorous. How can I be myself, when I’m just rediscovering who she is?
Then he opens the door.
It’s another lavish dining room. Beautiful chandeliers line the grand space, though their flames are not lit. The only light flickering in the space is from golden candelabras lining the table, and the few sconces adhered to the walls. A wash of blue leaks in from the windows facing the outside gardens. I had been meaning to revisit them but hadn’t had much of a chance. Besides, most of the women were too nervous to spend extra time outside of our structured schedule in preparation for the trial that starts tomorrow.
But that fear could be paid no mind. Because at the end of the long, ornate table, are a pair of eyes. Luminous in the darkness and looking at me.
The hairs on my arms raise, my skin pebbling. Something about that molten gaze steals my breath, even from across the space. Devin clears histhroat, dispelling whatever has me rooted to the spot. I step into the room, dip my head, and curtsy to the King.
Devin escorts me to the head of the table closest to us. Opposite the King, I’m separated by at least fifteen seats on either side of the table. Devin pulls out the chair, and I shuffle in awkwardly. After I’ve taken a seat and Devin leaves, my heart pounds in the long distance between me and those white eyes.
