Chapter 28

28

I knock on Zadyn's door first thing in the morning, still feeling guilty as a grade-A asshole. But he's already gone for the day. Either the king's emissary is a brutally demanding job, or he's avoiding me. Probably both.

I keep quiet during training, trying to make as little eye contact with Jace as possible and limit the banter to a bare minimum. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be in the mood for flirtation after our conversation in the stable.

I push open the door to the towering library, expecting to find Zadyn, but instead, my eyes land on Madame Gnorr. She thumbs through a heavy tome as I silently slip inside.

"Serena Avery."

A sweet smile blooms on her face as she lifts her head to me.

"Madame Gnorr," I greet her. "This is a surprise."

"The king sent your young lord into the city on official business. He asked me to stand in as your tutor for the day. I thought he informed you, my dear," she says, reading my surprise .

I shake my head as she closes the dense volume. "No. He didn't. We're kind of…in a fight," I reveal, sliding into the chair. She takes a seat across from me, her gray robes billowing around her.

"That is rather common with familiars and their bonded." Gnorr chuckles softly.

"Why?"

"With ties so strong, it is natural for there to be a push and pull among the dynamic. Familiars are like twin spirits, an extension of oneself. A part of you lives in him, and he in you."

"I didn't realize it was so complex," I admit. "Zadyn and I fight like family. I took it too far this time." Shame washes over me once again as I remember the look on his face right before he walked away from me. It was as if I'd slapped him.

She pats my hand gently. "It will pass."

"Thank you." I turn my hand over in hers and give it a squeeze. "So, what are we learning today?"

"I thought we might try waking a dragon."

"You—you want me to wake the dragon? Today?" I sputter. "How?"

"We need to establish communication between the two of you. It will make bonding her easier when the time comes."

"Communication?"

"A psychic connection." She taps her temple twice before continuing on. "Prophyria has been asleep for nearly two thousand years. It would be unwise to jar her from her slumber without warning."

"Two thousand years." I blow out a long breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

Gnorr nods. "She has been stirring restlessly beneath that mountain, waiting for you. Those who have tried to rouse her in the past have met an untimely demise."

"If she was asleep, then how did they?—"

"They say never to wake a sleepwalker." Gnorr eyes me knowingly. "It frightens them. Accidents happen. Her consciousness rests outside the bounds of time while her physical form is in a mechanical state to protect against any potential threats."

"She's on autopilot," I mutter to myself. Gnorr tilts her head in confusion. "I think I understand. If I don't make contact with her, she might think I'm a potential threat and barbecue me."

"Essentially," Gnorr assents.

"So how do I make contact?" I ask. She rises to her feet with all the grace of a High Fae and motions for me to follow her toward the brown leather couch in the alcove between the windows. She ushers me to sit as she eases into the high-backed leather chair across from me and folds her hands in her lap.

"We will meditate."

I eye her incredulously. "I have to warn you, I'm not great at sitting still for extended periods of time."

"You will have no trouble." She gestures for me to lie back. With a sigh, I lift my leather-clad legs onto the long couch and rest my head back against the massive, cushioned arm.

"Close your eyes, child," she says softly, her voice soothing and hypnotic.

I obey, folding my hands over my stomach.

We start by counting breaths. Following them in and out. Before I know it, I'm surrounded by silence.

No thoughts. No sounds. Quiet. Peace.

I can hear Gnorr's words like background noise, but I don't comprehend them .

I wake feeling more rested than an eight-hour night of sleep.

Blinking my eyes, I glance over at her as she watches me patiently. I turn my gaze to the window above me and bolt upright. Bright stars line the night sky, casting a soft glow on the snow-capped mountain peaks just beyond the glass.

"How long was I out?" I gasp.

"Six hours," she says proudly. I bound to my feet.

"Six hours!" I choke out. "How?"

"I'm that good." She smiles, her expression self-congratulatory.

"I didn't make contact," I tell her, crestfallen. Six hours and nothing. "I didn't see the dragon."

She rises, her robes pooling around her feet, and says with a knowing smile, "You will."

I dream that night. Fragmented flashes of color and movement.

Dark rock. Water dripping from a cavernous arch.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Deep purple. Reflective scales. A serpentine movement. Something shifts, something slithers.

Rusted metal. Chains. Soft rumbles ripple through the ground—through the walls.

Heavy air.

Congested. Confined. Claustrophobic.

Something stirs. Restless. Hungry. Rubble clatters to a cave floor.

Suddenly a fist tightens around my heart and squeezes gently. I am unable to breathe, to move. Then in the darkness, a glowing green eye cracks open .

And looks right at me.

I sit up, gasping for air.

Someone is shaking me. Calling my name.

"Serena!" Zadyn's voice sounds far away. As if we stand on opposite ends of a tunnel. He grips my arms in his hands. I suck in a deep breath and force my eyes to open.

"She's awake," I choke up at him. "The dragon is awake. She saw me."

"I just got home, and I felt something…off. I came to check on you." Zadyn explains, walking a cup of tea over to me. He takes a seat across from me. "You were convulsing. What happened?"

I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and blow on the steaming cup in my hands.

"This afternoon," I start, "Gnorr guided me into a meditation. We were trying to establish a psychic connection to the dragon. I meditated for six hours straight, but I didn't see anything."

"Six hours?" He gapes, his arms resting on his knees. I nod. "You can barely sit still for five minutes."

"I thought I was dreaming just now. But then her eyes—" I recall that piercing green, flecked with colors like I've never seen, never knew existed. "She opened her eyes, and she looked at me. I could feel it. I could feel the cold, the dampness of that cave. I smelled the rust on her chains. It was like we shared a mind for a moment."

"Gnorr helped open up a channel between the two of you." Zadyn sits back in his chair.? *

I sip my tea quietly and slowly lift my gaze to him. He stares off into the fire, one side of his handsome face shadowed and the other warmed by the flickering oranges, blues, and purples. I wonder what he searches for in those flames. His father? His mother? A better friend than me?

"I am cruel," I whisper. His warm, whiskey brown eyes slide to me.

"I never thought that about myself. I thought I was a good person. I thought I couldn't hurt anyone. I thought I wouldn't . But it turns out I can. I can do it with such ease, it actually terrifies me. I lie. I'm a liar now. I—" I shake my head, a sad laugh cracking my chest.

"I lie to everyone. I lie to myself, to you. And I think that if I can just work hard enough to believe my own bullshit, that will make it true. You're right about me. You see me. All of me, and it is not pretty. You deserve better. You deserve good. I can be nice when I want to be. But that doesn't make me good. All I am is cold."

My confession hangs in the air, settling around us like a layer of fog. Zadyn silently gets to his feet. I watch as he lowers himself to his knees before me.

"You are not cold." Taking my face in his hands, he forces me to look at him. "You're scared. There's a difference."

"Why don't you yell at me?" I shake my head, bewildered. "Why don't you tell me I'm a shit person, that I'm selfish and spoiled? Why don't you tell me that I'm a terrible friend? Why are you so understanding?"

"Because I know you don't mean it," he says simply, brown eyes searching mine. His thumb skims up and down my cheek in the tenderest way.

In a way I don't deserve.

"You should hate me," I whisper, tears rolling down my face and onto his fingers. "I've hurt you so many times. I've said things I should never say. I...I'm the reason your parents are dead." My voice cracks as the guilt grips me violently.

"I could never hate you." He lifts off his heels, bringing his eyes level with mine. "Not even if you hurt me every day for the next thousand years. You could drive a dagger straight through my heart, and I will still be here—I will still love you."

The world seems to shift beneath my feet at the mention of that word. Love. It cracks something in my chest, thaws something hard in me.

His hands continue to sweep over my wet cheeks as my fingers glide over his wrists. I throw my arms around his neck and sob, soaking his shirt with my tears. He pulls me into his lap and gently rocks me, smoothing one hand over my back and cradling my head in the other as the tears gush from my eyes.

I eventually still against him, drained of energy and water. He gets to his feet, with me still in his arms, and carries me over to the bed, softly laying me down and pulling the covers over me. When he starts toward the door, I catch him by the sleeve.

"Stay."

I know it's selfish of me to ask. And yet, I can't stop the word from escaping my lips. His gaze slides between me and the waiting door. Then, as if ending some unspoken debate, he runs his hand over my hair and shifts before my eyes. The small white cat standing in his place leaps onto the bed with ease. I curl up on my side with him nestled in the crook of my arm. My hand smooths down the length of his soft coat until I fall asleep.

* ? Cue: I love you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams