Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

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M Y BODY JOLTS FORWARD LIKE I'VE AWOKEN FROM A nightmare. The amulet is ripped off my neck and thrown across the room. My vision is peppery, and my heart beats like I ran to Imirath and back. Cayden's arms are wrapped around me as he kneels beside me, and I rest my head against his chest, unable to stay upright.

"I saw them," I whisper, staring at the amulet. My mind can't fully grasp what just happened.

"Who exactly did you see?" Saskia asks softly, kneeling on my other side along with Ryder.

"My dragons," I tentatively say, forcing the words to pierce my veil of confusion. Everything rushes at me like an avalanche: the dungeon, the dragons, the chains. I press a hand to my chest expecting to feel shards from where my heart was ripped out, but the hollowness is locked away. "The amulet took me to the Imirath castle."

"You're positive?" Finnian gasps.

I shakily push away from Cayden. "Did I say anything while I was in the vision?"

"No," Saskia says. "Cayden tried to take the amulet off you, but when it burned his hands, we concluded it may harm you if we disturbed whatever magic it was forged from."

"Your eyes turning gold was the only sign of life." Cayden's words are emphasized by his glare. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but he shakes his head as if sensing it.

"Even so, you can speak freely in here. We have runes set in place for privacy," Ryder informs me.

"Runes!" I shriek while scrambling to my feet.

"You saw runes?" Saskia asks.

"Yes, the snakes led me there."

"Of course," Ryder mumbles. "I love those trusty snakes."

"They were friendly, slightly pushy, though."

"I shall behead them on your behalf," Cayden mutters.

"Stop talking! They might hear you."

Cayden and Ryder exchange a brief glance before slowly nodding.

I grab a quill and paper from the desk and begin to draw. I've never been an artist, but I think it looks okay. Saskia leans over my shoulder to check what I've created. "I saw them branded into the dragons' door before I passed through it."

She holds the paper closer to her. "These are a mixture of silencing and strength runes, most likely to reinforce the door."

"The blood key will get us through the door despite the runes," Cayden says, silencing my worries before they can fully form. "Can you re-create the path you took?"

Saskia walks over to a trunk in the corner and pulls out several maps after I nod, carrying them over to the dining table to cross-reference. The details flow from me with ease. My despair can't do anything for us in this moment, but my memory can. Ryder and Finnian jot down every word while Saskia and Cayden hover over the maps, pointing and dragging their fingers along the drawings.

The tent falls into quiet murmurs once I finish. Finnian and Ryder compare notes before handing them off to Cayden and Saskia. In this moment, it feels like we're a team, but I'm drowning. I try to share in the electric energy coursing through the discussion, but all I can think about are my dragons. My eyes grow misty when I think of Basilius nudging empty air in hopes of finding me. Their wails are echoes in my soul, but I don't want to escape their pain while they're shackled to it.

"This is brilliant, Elowen!" Saskia smiles at me, and I do my best to return one. "I've been piecing a route through the castle based on spy reports, but this is what we've been missing. Will you be able to plan a route from the back gate to the dragon chamber? I feel that may be your best option."

"The back gate?" I slowly ask, and Finnian shifts uncomfortably.

"It will give you the most coverage, and I'll know the guard rotations in time for the heist."

She looks at me expectantly, and I hate to be the one to crush her hope. "I can't create a route from anywhere other than the dungeon." Finnian knows this, but it doesn't stop him from ducking his head. Understanding and remorse wash over Saskia's and Ryder's features, and Cayden looks like he's cursed with all the wrath in Ravaryn.

"I'll draw up some maps and go over them with you tonight if you'd like," Saskia offers. I'm thankful she moved on quickly. Sympathy is one of the reasons I don't disclose much about my life in Imirath.

"That's perfect." I pluck my necklace from Cayden's fingers when he holds it out to me and ignore the gaze that sees right through my smile. "The amulet drained me, so I'll be in my room until I'm needed."

I close my eyes and sigh once I'm alone, trying to dispel some emotions while I put my necklace on and fiddle with the pendant. I've gotten myself through all these years, I can get myself through a few more weeks.

Just because I'm cracked doesn't mean I'm broken.

My room is a mixture of soft and dramatic tones, flowers and darkness. It's as if Cayden stepped into my mind and didn't miss a single detail. White lace is canopied over the four-poster bed covered by a sage-green comforter embroidered with gold flowers. Pillows with equally beautiful detailing line the couches and chairs of the seating area, and at the center is a fresh bouquet of starsnaps and books stacked around the vase.

I smile when I imagine Cayden frowning at fabric samples and smother my giggles with my hands when I pull a stack of colorful books toward me and note that they are all romances. Knowing him, I'm sure he found me the raunchiest novels. The other stack consists of gardening books, a few on herbal healing remedies, and several titles on dragons.

A tea cart in the corner is topped with a delicately painted set of porcelain, and the yellow and pink tin Saskia picked up from the shop in Ladislava. I crack the lid open and inhale the sweet scent of lavender and chamomile that soothes anxiety.

I spin at the center of the room, reveling in the first place in this world that's felt like me. Cayden shouldn't be the one to gift me this, and yet he is. It makes me wonder at all the details that have spilled from my lips, or have been revealed by my eyes, and remained insignificant and invisible to anyone but him.

I sink onto a couch that feels more like a cloud and prop a pink clothbound book on my lap. Words have given me wings when I've needed an escape. Books breathe life into the mundane and have brightened the darkest of days for me with merely some pretty prose and hope. Some of my favorite nights were when my candlestick melted and dawn chased away the night while I was lost in a maze of words and wonder.

I'm deep within the pages of a tale about star-crossed lovers when Cayden opens the curtain separating our rooms and leans against the post, crossing his exposed forearms littered with red and white scars and hooking one boot over the other. "Do you want to talk about what you saw?"

I tuck a pressed flower between the pages and close my book. Sometimes I feel like I've kept things bottled inside me for so long that I don't know how to take off the lid. "May I bandage your knuckles?" Now that the dried blood is washed off, it's easy to see how mangled and bruised they are. I should've done it last night, but touching him in even the most innocent way could've led to something more. "I need to do something with my hands," I add when he glances down at them.

He kicks off the post and grabs my healing supplies, placing the satchel beside me and taking a seat on the table, resting his arms on his knees. I tug his hands forward and place them on my lap while I dig for the gauze and ointment. I've always found peace in healing others because I don't have the first clue on how to heal myself. I pop the tin open, and the beloved scent of rosemary hits me as I dip my fingers in. He destroyed his knuckles . . . for me, and the burns on his palms only add to the carnage. The thought makes me glance up at him, but my eyes linger. Cayden is so handsome, it's impossible to look away.

"They're in chains." I continue lightly spreading the ointment. "I assumed they would be, but it was different to see it for myself. They were put in cages when my father separated us, but I always prayed they were given free rein in a tall chamber. I've been filled with a fool's hope, and the vision at the prison didn't show anything but their faces so I didn't see the shackles then."

He sighs. "You're not a fool to have hope."

I shake my head, brushing off his comfort. "I wish we could leave today, but I have too many people relying on me to sign this treaty and it's . . ."

"Suffocating?"

I nod. Sometimes I wish Ailliard had named himself king so I could focus on my dragons, but I think that's exactly why he made me queen. Bestowing that responsibility on me forced me to split my attention.

"You're going to sign the treaty by the end of the week," he says with certainty.

"The alliance ball isn't until the end of the month, and that's when Eagor—"

"I'll move it up."

"But the invitations have already been sent."

"Elowen." He squeezes my hand when I tie off the bandage. "Why are you arguing with me?"

"I don't want to be let down, and I think it's my default when it comes to you." I shrug. "Do you have that kind of pull in court?"

"Well, if they refuse, I'll start torching their precious manors until they agree." He sounds like he's speaking from experience; he probably is. I continue working on his other hand with shaky fingers, trying my best to quell the anticipation surging through me. Basilius's tortured cry rings in my ears again, and my heart thumps in my chest. Cayden tilts my face to his when I finish tying off the second bandage. "You will sign the treaty in five days."

"You truly mean that?" My voice is so thin he could snap it in half with an ounce of doubt.

"I do."

I throw my arms around him before sense catches up to me, and he stiffens when our bodies collide. It's a quick embrace, one that I don't let his mind register before I pull away and kiss his scarred cheek. The confusion in his eyes has me pressing my lips together to keep from laughing. "Thank you."

"Right." He clears his throat. "You can repay me by telling me how you snuck out of the castle."

"I seduced my guards." He growls a curse while unsheathing his sword and standing from the table. "I'm joking, demon." He halts in place, already halfway to the door, but remains tense and prepped for an execution. "I jumped across my balcony to yours."

He drops his head and groans while sheathing his blade. "So the consequence of poor communication is you jumping off a balcony?"

"I jumped across a balcony."

"If I weren't so annoyed with you, I'd actually be impressed." He turns back to me and moves too quickly for me to stop him. "Excellent choice of literature, love."

"Give it back!" I spring from the couch and toss a pillow, but it doesn't faze him.

"What part were you up to? I recall this one being particularly sinful."

"Was she blushing when you walked in there?" Finnian shouts from the other room.

"No."

"Then she wasn't reading anything raunchy or romantic. She always blushes, squeals, or kicks her feet," Finnian says. When did those two become so damn chummy?

"Finnian is an idiot," I huff.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to test his theory." Cayden holds the book out of my reach while flipping through the pages. He shoves my legs away when I try to hook them around his waist to gain leverage.

"I'm not above biting you!"

"Don't tease me with empty promises, angel," he purrs. I pull on his face, trying to divert his eyes away from the lusty paragraph he managed to find in record time and continues reading aloud. "What an interesting position the author has described! Do you want to try it? I think we could make it work."

"I would sacrifice my firstborn child to be in an alliance with absolutely anyone else." I jump onto his back and the book is nearly in my grasp, but still too far. For the love of the gods, I wish he had normal-sized limbs. I alter my technique and cover his eyes with my hands.

"But I just got to my favorite part." His laughter vibrates my stomach. "She refers to herself as a cream-filled pastry. I bought you this one because you love pastries!"

Finnian howls from the other room, and I slide down Cayden's back. He turns to face me, and I begin pushing him into his room after grabbing the book and tossing it on the couch.

"I read them all so we could discuss our favorite bits together," he manages to say through his boisterous laughter, glancing toward his bed. "If you want to get under my sheets, you only have to ask nicely."

"Absolutely not," I respond, hating the fluttering feeling in my chest when I look at his damn dimples. His laughter is hoarse, deep, and rich; it's like the sound must make its way through rusty pipes after years of neglect. I've seen many expressions on him, but there's something so beautiful about catching a genuine smile from someone who rarely deals them out. Happiness is my favorite thing he's ever worn.

It doesn't hit me until later that night that Cayden was the person to make my burden feel lighter, and to make me laugh when hopelessness surrounded me.