Chapter 8

8

A guard approaches Igrid and me midday and trails us the rest of the afternoon. His name is Sir Warryn. He's young-looking—younger than Jack at least—and his features are delicate, boyish, and beautiful. He keeps quiet mostly, to my relief. I don't think I could handle another hateful guard.

By the time I am returned to my room by Igrid and Sir Warryn, my feet are aching from being pinched in those flats all day. All I want to do is curl up in bed and watch Vanderpump Rules . Then I remember.

They don't have that here. They don't have TV. Or Instagram. Or anything.

Before the door fully shuts behind me, Zadyn is there in his male form. He pushes it shut the rest of the way as I sink into the firm mattress face-first.

"Any notes?" I ask dryly, my voice muffled by the blanket. His brow ticks up, and he comes to sit on the edge of my bed.

"I can save them for when you don't look ready to rip off someone's head," he offers .

"I'm just tired." I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I know you are. Aside from that, how are you feeling?"

I appreciate his concern. I mean, no one else has stopped to ask how I'm settling into this new world. But I haven't fully forgiven him for lying to me for years.

"I feel…numb. Confused. Alone. I never thought I would see my dad's face again. I got so excited because I thought—" I swallow the tightness in my throat. "I thought it was really him. Now I just feel…devastated."

Zadyn's eyes turn down in concern. He slides closer and takes my hand in his. I stare up at him, blinking back tears. "You are not alone. I know you won't be able to trust me right away. But I'm here. No matter how overwhelmed you feel, I hope you can believe that I won't let anything happen to you. You never have to pretend around me. Your safety and your happiness are mine to ensure."

His words and warm touch ease some of that tension in my chest. I gaze up at him, feeling the tears sting my eyes.

"Will they hurt you if they find you here?"

"They're welcome to try. But I'd rather leave the element of surprise in case we end up needing it." He offers a wide, dimpled grin that I can't look away from.

If Tatler had an adult grandson, it would be the beautiful person sitting before me. The resemblance remains between those warm, kind eyes and the heartfelt smile. I reach out a hand without thinking and brush my fingers against his smooth face. He tenses, his brown eyes watching me carefully.

"It was so real." I let my hand fall to my side, and he relaxes.

"Most glamours are woven with that intent."

"So, this is your true form?"

"The one I was born with." He nods. "Shifting was nearly impossible in the human world, so I relied on glamours instead. "

"It's strange to think you've been so many people in my life. And I never knew, never even suspected."

He offers an apologetic smile. "I wanted to tell you. So many times, but you weren't ready. For any of this."

"I'm not ready now. I don't think I'll ever be."

"You are. Trust me. You may not know me the way you thought you did, but I know you. I know the blood of a warrior witch clan runs in your veins. Your strength runs deeper than you could ever imagine."

"It's all just too much." My voice is barely even a whisper.

"What can I do?" he offers, eyes searching mine.

"I—I don't know." I sit up. "There's still so much I don't understand. Igrid mentioned this prophecy earlier...what I don't get is how I can be this Blackblood witch when I'm not even from your world."

"You may have been born in the human world, but it was Blackblood magic that placed you there for safekeeping until it was time to return here to your true home."

My true home? This is not my true home.

"So what you're telling me is that while I look human…I'm not." I shake my head in confusion. He nods. "But my parents."

"You were essentially planted in your mother's womb."

"That explains why we're nothing alike," I mumble.

"They're still your birth parents," he amends. "But your blood, your true blood, is black."

Witch. Blackblood. Not human.

He continues on.

"The prophecy Igrid was telling you about foretold the coming of the last Dragon Rider. But there was another part of the prophecy that the High Seer only sold to the highest bidder. Only a few were privy to that knowledge."

"What was the other part?"

"That the Dragon Rider wouldn't be born here, in Solterre. That she was hidden in another world for protection. The king was one of the few who knew. He and my parents."

"Your parents know the king?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "They were all friends."

"Then maybe he'll see you, maybe he'll listen to you," I point out excitedly, but he shakes his head.

"I don't know the male. I want to do some spying first. Make sure the king's intentions are pure."

"And if they're not?"

"Then I'll get you out of here," he says without hesitation.

"I thought you said they wouldn't truly hurt me."

"You are an asset to them. But I'm not willing to gamble when it comes to you." A chill shoots through me for some reason. I pivot, breaking his intense gaze.

"Why did the captain say he thinks I'm a witch but not a Blackblood?"

"He probably thinks you're a Red or Blue."

I stare at him blankly.

"Say more."

"At one point in time, there were three clans: the Redbloods, the Bluebloods, and the Blackbloods," Zadyn outlines. "Reds are the most common. Their power is slight, drawing mostly from nature. The Blues have a higher concentration of magic in their blood, so they can essentially siphon off themselves and others. But the Blackbloods"—his eyes sparkle as he leans forward—"were, by far, the most powerful and most feared."

I find myself leaning in too, my interest piqued.

"Banshees, necromancers, shadow walkers—all black-blooded. They were warriors with a unique ability to serve as conduits for obscene amounts of power. That's why only a Blackblood would be fit to be a Dragon Rider. For a Red or Blue to channel a dragon's power, they would be incinerated instantaneously. "

Yet they want me to attempt it? Lovely.

"Before Solterre was split off into five kingdoms, it was one unified land ruled by three Blackblood High Queens. They were the most fearsome creatures in the world, up until the time they were killed off."

"What happened to them?"

"They were destroyed by the god that created them."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

Zadyn continues along his previous train of thought. "To maintain the balance of power within nature, the witches feed on their own kind."

"I'm sorry, what? No, no, no, I draw the line at cannibalism." I scoot back toward the wall, shaking my head vehemently.

"It sounds worse than it is," he rushes to explain, holding up a hand. "The Bluebloods drink red blood, and the Blackbloods drink blue."

"What do the Reds drink?"

"They don't need to drink. They draw power from the land and celestial events."

"So the Blues and Blacks are like vampires?"

"Vampires aren't real." He laughs, and I stare at him blankly.

"That's what they said about fae. About witches," I snap.

"Well, whoever they were, they were wrong. Blood sharing has become quite civilized over the last thousand years. Blackbloods only need to drink a few times a year unless they're gravely wounded or depleted of magic."

He must read the horror on my face. "But none of this is anything for you to worry about right now."

"But what if it is?" I ask, furrowing my brows. He shoots me a quizzical look. "Blackbloods need to drink blue blood to stay strong and to keep their magic working, right?" I wait for him to confirm with a nod .

"If I really am a Blackblood…what if I can't access my power because I've never drank before?"

Zadyn stares at me in awe.

"As disgusting as it sounds," I say, "maybe I need to drink."

I can see the lightbulb go off in his head.

"I can't believe I didn't think of it before! Brilliant," he says, bounding off the bed.

"You think it will work?" I ask, hope rising in my voice.

"Actually, I do. Your power has been suppressed from the glamour, from years of living in the human world. Your magic wanted to avoid drawing attention, so it buried itself inside of you. We just need something to trigger it. If Gnorr can't undo the glamour, this is our next best shot."

"Do you know any Bluebloods willing to donate to the cause?"

He thinks for a moment. "The Blues and the Reds have all migrated away from these lands."

"Maybe the king can pull a few royal strings," I shrug. "He wants me to prove that I'm a Blackblood, but I can't do that without the necessary tools. The captain is his right-hand man. Maybe I can get him to hear me out."

Zadyn stands across from me, arms folded over his broad chest, nodding in agreement. I stifle a yawn.

"Your body needs rest," he says, his voice lullaby-soft.

"I know, I know," I grouse. I'm so tired, I could fall asleep fully clothed. As if reading my mind, Zadyn opens a drawer and pulls out a simple white sleep dress. He faces the door while I quickly undress and slip the thin fabric over my head.

"Decent," I inform him, slipping my feet under the sheets. They're closer to sandpaper than Egyptian cotton, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

Zadyn takes a seat up against the wall, his long legs drawn up to his chest. My gaze skims over his profile as his thick lashes drift closed, and he tips his head back. I take in the tan skin, the faintest touch of freckles dusting his cheeks and nose. The slight stubble over his well-defined jawline.

"That looks uncomfortable," I point out, softly nuzzling deeper into the pillow.

He cracks an eye at me and shrugs. "I've slept on worse."

"We can share," I offer. I don't know at what point over the last two days I began to trust him again, but against all reasoning, I do. I know in my bones he would not hurt me. His brown eyes flicker toward the tiny single bed incredulously.

"If you shift, you can fit. Seriously, it doesn't bother me," I add, sitting up and patting the space near the foot of the bed. He watches me for a moment, then stands.

With a gentle tilt of his head, he says, "Goodnight, Serena."

He shifts between blinks and leaps up onto the bed with feline grace. His tiny paws pad gingerly over my blanketed feet before he curls up, a bundle of white fur at the foot of the bed.

My mind sifts through a thousand thoughts as I close my eyes. Part of me feels like I should be planning my escape instead of going to sleep. Zadyn has promised me safety, but how can he be sure they won't hurt me? That they won't risk my life for their own gain?

To stay around these people would be painful. Like compulsively picking at a scab over and over. But my mind keeps going back to the king who wears my father's face. To leave without knowing this man, without understanding why he looks the way he does, why the princess and the captain look the way they do…it would drive me crazy.

I can't unsee what I've seen or unlearn what I now know. I have to know them.

If curiosity killed the cat, I'm a dead woman walking.