Chapter 7

7

I 'm shown to the kitchens where bustling bodies rush around shouting friendly orders back and forth. Next, we visit the washrooms where the laundresses are dipping garments into large vats of water and hanging them to dry on lines of string stretched across the room. As we make our way down the hall, Jack barely answers any of my questions with more than one word.

"When can I see the king?" I ask. The question has burned me since I saw his face in the crystalline throne room. Jack doesn't deign to answer me.

"Where does my—" I cut off abruptly, clearing my throat. Smooth. "Where does the princess reside?"

He peers down at me, his face a mask of disgust as I sidle up to him.

"That's none of your concern, witch."

"Oh, come on," I whine.

"What business would a servant have with the princess?" he asks condescendingly.

"I never thought I'd see the day where you talk down to me." The words slip past my defenses as I shake my head in dismay. Then Zadyn's warning flashes in my mind—not to mistake these strangers for the people I knew.

He stops short, slowly turning to me.

"I'm sorry, what makes you think you've earned my respect?" he spits.

"Everyone deserves respect and you know it." I lift my chin, holding my ground. "I'm still waiting for an apology for the knife you stuck in my leg, by the way."

"Listen, witch." He stalks up to me menacingly, and for the first time, nothing of the man I loved remains in that hardened face. "I brought you before the king solely out of protocol. But I do not take kindly to outsiders under the same roof as my king and my princess until they have proved themselves to be of no threat. Everything about you is screaming suspicion. And my gut is never wrong. You're lucky a knife in your leg was all I gave you for your silence. You make one wrong move—" He holds up his pointer finger in my face as he glowers down at me. "Just one, and I'll have your head in a basket. Blackblood bitch or no."

Without another word, he turns and stalks away. I can't get my legs to move. I can't follow him. And he doesn't turn back as I watch him disappear around a corner.

I find my way back to my room, guided by Zadyn's uncanny sense of direction. It must be late now, well past midnight. Or maybe it's morning. Who knows? My mind is too scrambled to care.

I collapse face-first into the bed, not expecting it to be cushy, but also not expecting it to be hard as a rock. I groan as the impact reverberates through my aching body .

Zadyn curls up in a little ball on the floor beside by bed. I debate asking him to shift. I know I should be demanding answers right now, but I don't have the strength to talk. To think. My mind is overloaded, my body exhausted. The second my eyes close, sleep drags me under.

Three brisk knocks jar me from my heavy slumber, sending my heart into a thundering sprint. My entire body tenses as I jolt upright.

"Rise and shine, missy!" a cheery voice calls from the hall. I remain frozen. Three more knocks jostle my door.

"Open up, missy, or I'll have to come in there."

The melodic lilt is unthreatening, but I make my way to the door and crack it open to find a tall, freckled redhead with a sweet, round face and teal eyes staring back at me.

"How do you do this morning, miss?" She tilts her head, her gaze skipping from my ratty hair to the unlaced bodice twisted around my torso. "Oh, dear, now this won't do. We've got to make haste, or we'll be late for morning chores!"

She pushes into the room and swiftly moves behind me, righting my bodice and lacing it so tightly I think I've lost two inches around the waist. She makes quick work of braiding my hair before tossing me the gray slippers from yesterday. My hands shoot out reflexively, snatching them from the air.

"Oh good, you are awake." She smirks, holding the door open. "Now, come along."

I blink and follow her, still unable to find words.

"Cute kitty." Her voice brightens further as she glances down at Zadyn's feline form. I fall into step beside her, noticing the tiny arched ears beneath her own thick braid.

"I'm Igrid." She smiles warmly as we walk toward the kitchens. "I've been assigned to show you the ropes around here. I hope we'll be good friends. It's been so long since we've had anyone new at the castle. I've grown bored of all these dull faces."

I stifle a laugh. Because every face I've seen so far in this strange world is uniquely beautiful. Some may be non-conventional, but each one is captivating in its own ethereal way. Even Madame Gnorr, in her old age, had an odd beauty to her.

"Well, are you going to tell me your name, miss?" Igrid's eyebrows raise expectantly. Her button nose scrunches up as she gasps. "Oh, dear gods, are you mute? Don't mind me—I'm a proper idiot!"

"No," I finally find my voice. "No, I'm not mute. I just think I'm still in shock."

"From what, may I ask?" Her teal eyes assess me curiously.

"It's a long story. One I'm even having trouble believing."

We reach the kitchens and Igrid directs me to pick up one of the polished silver serving trays, heavy with a variety of fruits, nuts, and cheeses. My stomach begins to rumble immediately, and I realize that I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday before I fell into another world. Before I learned that I'm of witch heritage and that I've been glamoured since birth.

I still don't quite believe it or understand it.

I follow Igrid up through the castle, into an ornate yet cozy dining room. A rich cherry wood table for eight takes center stage among the intricately woven carpets scattered around the floor. The far wall is made completely of glass, overlooking a terrifying drop into an unseen abyss.

We set our trays down on the table as more servants filter in with teas and cookies and all kinds of delicious smelling breads. As we line up along the wall, I take in the splendor of the uncut diamond light fixtures overhead, suspended in the air with no strings, no wires. They must be held in place by magic.

A hush settles over the space as the striking woman from the throne room, Queen Ilspeth, breezes through the door, her glittering gold skirts flapping gently behind her. I'm oddly fascinated by the way she moves. I always thought queens moved with slow, elegant grace. But her movements are feline, prowling, and sharp. A coiled snake ready to strike at any moment. She acknowledges no one as she sits at the head of the table at the far side of the room.

A moment later, my sister is ushered in by three pretty young women, who I can only assume are her ladies-in-waiting. They curtsy to the queen before taking their places near the princess.

Sam is dressed in a simple but lovely dove gray gown with fitted gossamer sleeves and a belt of opal around her waist. Her hair, an enviable shade of light brown, falls in gentle waves past her chest. I want to shout her name—make her acknowledge me. But I know that even one outburst—one wrong move here—could get me killed. The captain as much as said so.

Dad appears next, and I can feel his presence, his power, enter the room a moment before he does. I wonder exactly how that power manifests in this alternative version of him.

He, too, does not look at me. And I'm still pinching myself because no matter how bad this situation is, my dad is here. He's alive in this world, and I don't care if he knows who I am because I thought I would never see him again in my lifetime.

And if this all goes to hell in a handbasket, at least I will have gotten to see him one last time.

The captain enters behind him, his expression serious and hard. He's without the armor today, dressed in a black long-sleeve tunic with slightly billowy sleeves. Its ties are unlaced, falling softly over his tan chest. Tight leather pants hug his legs before disappearing into tall riding boots. The belt at his hip conceals a dark longsword with an onyx hilt and a matching dagger. He ignores my presence completely .

I'm surprised to see that Jack takes a seat at my father's right-hand side, directly across from Sam.

"Come along, missy." Igrid nudges me to curtsy, and I follow her from the room.

She finds things to talk about while showing me the ropes around the castle. I listen, grateful for the distraction. After another hour or two of work, we head to the kitchen to find it empty and slide onto a wooden bench beneath the table. I sigh, stretching my arms over my head.

"Are you ever going to tell me your name, miss?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, yes. It's Serena. Serena Avery."

"What an interesting name. It's lovely."

"Thanks."

"So, Serena Avery, how did a human come to be working as a servant at the castle? I haven't seen one of your kind in ages," she lilts, her voice melodic with a slight accent.

"How did you—" I start, but she gives me a knowing look.

"Wild guess." She smiles warmly, tapping my rounded ear. "But your scent is different somehow. Not exactly human, but not fae either, something else. It's quite singular." She eyes me, her interest piqued.

"Oh." I nod, not sure if that's a compliment or an insult. "I've been asking myself the same thing. I uh—I'm not from here, originally."

Technically, it's the truth. I just hope my vague answer fends her off from further questioning.

"Not from Aegar?"

"No, I mean not from here here. Solterre?" I whisper, leaning into her.

"How did you get through the portal?" She gapes at me, stunned.

A portal ? A flash of hope sparks to life in my chest. Maybe I could get home through a portal .

"A little thing like you—how did you manage to get past the Guardians?"

"The Guardians?"

Her eyes widen into saucers. "Boy, you really aren't from here, are you? The Guardians are the wardens at the portal, tasked with keeping out travelers from other worlds. I wouldn't sick them on my worst enemy."

Before I can answer, she glances down at Zadyn, who is weaving circles around my ankles.

"Goodness, is that a loyal creature." She smiles, setting down a tray of bread and cheese in front of us.

"He's my familiar."

Crap.

That's probably not something I should be blabbing about.

She gasps. "Your familiar?" Her teal eyes glitter. "Then that means…oh, you are no ordinary human, are you, missy?"

"Not according to the people that locked me in a dungeon less than forty-eight hours ago."

I loose a sigh as I pull apart a piece of bread, holding it out to Zadyn. I don't know the last time he ate, but I'm sure he must be hungry as I am. He nibbles it gently, licking my fingertips with his little pink tongue. He really is adorable like this.

Igrid scoots closer to me on the bench. "We're alone now. No nosy ears. Let's have your story, then." She lays a gentle hand on mine and eyes me expectantly.

I assess her, wondering how much would be okay to reveal. I could really use someone to hash this out with, and something is telling me that she can be trusted.

I lay it out for her, sparing no detail. Zadyn doesn't try to stop me. Maybe he understands that I need to process this with someone else, someone not directly attached to the situation.

Igrid's jaw is slack by the time I get to the end .

"Good gods, you're the last Blackblood witch." She leans back, her whisper reverent. "That explains the scent."

"You say that like it's a good thing, but they're treating me like a prisoner until I can prove it."

"It would be a very good thing! Blackblood witches were once considered the highest of royalty. They were fierce warriors and the High Queens of this world before they became extinct. Well, almost extinct," she corrects herself. "Haven't you ever heard the prophecy?"

Her eyes widen in realization as she tilts her pretty head.

"Of course you haven't—you only just got here! Many hundreds of years ago, the High Seer foretold that one last Blackblood witch would come to claim the last remaining dragon on Solterre. I guess that's you." She regards me fondly, her cerulean eyes twinkling.

"Igrid—" I angle myself to face her head-on, tucking one leg beneath me. "Even if it is true and I am a Blackblood, I'm not a warrior, I'm not a High Queen, and I don't have any magic. I'm perfectly ordinary. I'd be the last person you'd want to be your Dragon Rider."

"It's not entirely up to you, you know." She sits straddling the bench to face me fully. "The magic chooses. And so will the dragon, of course. If you are worthy, she will bond you."

"And if I'm not?" I counter.

"You'll save us all a lot of trouble and die."

A cold voice murmurs from the doorway. Beneath the gentle arch, Jack is leaning casually, arms crossed over his broad chest. I stare at him, barely even registering his words. Zadyn's tail brushes my ankle, and I break the intense eye contact.

"Captain." Igrid rises and curtsies. I do not.

I can feel his eyes burning into me from across the room as I study the grooves of the table and count the seconds .

"May I be of assistance?" she asks.

"Thank you, Igrid, but no. I'm simply here to make sure the witch behaves." He gives me a smug little smirk, crossing one ankle over the other.

"Have I given you reason to believe I won't?" I mutter under my breath. He somehow hears it.

"I'm not one to leave things to chance," he retorts.

"How boring."

I feel Igrid's shock as she snaps her head down to me. I dare to lift my eyes to Jack's, holding my breath for the nasty comeback. Instead, he gives a dark chuckle and saunters over to the table, sliding onto the bench across from me.

I fight the urge to fidget.

"Please, don't let me interrupt." He gestures for Igrid to sit and continue. "Where were we? Oh, that's right. The history of witches. As if you don't already know."

"I don't," I object. "Do you think I really chose to be here?"

"It's possible." He folds his hands neatly on the table between us. "Wouldn't be the first time a commoner posed as a witch to get inside the castle."

"Well, I didn't," I hiss. "I don't know what makes you think you know or understand me, but you're pretty judgmental for someone who doesn't have the full story."

"Oh, and what's the full story?" he challenges, leaning forward.

"The full story is that before yesterday, I didn't even know that fae or witches existed. I had never heard of Blackbloods , and I certainly didn't know that I would be tortured and kept here against my will until you figure out if I can be your precious Dragon Rider. So if you're going to sit here accusing me of having an ulterior motive, then you can turn around and march straight out that door. It's you people that want to use me for your own personal gain. Not the other way around, Captain. "

The liquid gold in his eyes seems to simmer. Beneath the rage, they are hypnotic. Igrid does not dare breathe beside me.

"I'll let you in on a little secret." He leans in further and drops his voice, making him seem all the more threatening than if he were to bellow at the top of his lungs.

"I believe you do carry witch blood in you, like Gnorr said. But I also don't believe you're the last Blackblood. I think you're just another little liar looking for glory. An imposter hoping to scheme your way into a position at the king's side. I don't believe that the gods would bless a human-born brat with a single drop of black blood. I don't think they would waste a moment's thought on you, let alone choose you as the last Dragon Rider. You are nothing. You are no one."

His whisper hangs in the air between us as I absorb his words. He rises wordlessly and heads for the door.

"If I'm no one, then why did you bring me here?" My voice rings out of its own volition, strong and sturdy, causing him to stop mid-stride. He angles his head over his broad shoulder. Without turning fully, his next words directed at Igrid.

"I entrust her to your watch. Should she cause any trouble, I will hold you personally responsible, Igrid. You won't enjoy the consequences." Just before he passes the threshold, he addresses me.

"Oh, and witch, if I hear you've been running your mouth about this to anyone else, I'll sew it shut myself."

He stalks away, and I slowly turn to look at Igrid, my eyes wide.

"Gods, he's mean. But so damn beautiful." A slow smile spreads across her face as she collapses onto the bench dramatically.

"He really does not like me." I blow out a long breath.

"He's the captain for a reason. He's overprotective to a fault."

"And alarmingly self-righteous," I add, rolling my eyes .

"Yes, well, he's a favorite of the king, but that comes with its own set of burdens."

"I just don't get it." I push out of my seat to pace aimlessly around the kitchen. "I didn't ask to be here. They must think I sent myself here using magic, but that's not what happened. If I could just talk to the king and explain all of this?—"

"You won't get an audience with the king unless he requests one." Igrid shakes her head sympathetically at me.

"Or unless I do something to get his attention." I slide my gaze her way, leaning against the butcher block counter. As I chew my bottom lip, my mind sifts through a wide spectrum of possibilities ranging from mild to bat-shit crazy.

Igrid studies me warily. "Serena—" she starts.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," I vow, glancing toward the door. "But he needs me. Which means I have the upper hand here."

"What are you thinking? You've got a wicked look in your eye, missy." Her brows slant in suspicion.

"I don't know," I admit, drumming my fingers on the counter. "But I'll think of something."