22. TWENTY TWO

twenty-two

FINE

When I wake, Cole is slumped over the bed near my legs, his hand still clutching mine. His eyes flutter open and closed, his lashes kissing his cheek with each dragging blink.

As I shift under the sheets, his eyes fly open.

He pulls up closer to me, cupping my face with a hand. “How are you feeling?”

My head is a little fuzzy as I swim back to my memory. “I’m okay, I think?”

“Daeja?”

“I’m here. I was so worried something happened to you, are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’ll try to come see you tonight.”

Cole’s staring at me. “You didn’t hear a word I just said…did you?”

He knows me too well and takes my hesitation as confirmation. “Look, this is getting far too risky, Kat. And the rebels aren’t going to let up. They’re going to keep attacking us. We are too close to their borders, and I can’t keep risking your life. Not to mention if someone catches wind we have a full-grown dragon. You should let Daeja go on her own before you get too attached. You could go back to Padmoor where you will be safe.”

“That’s not your call, Cole.”

“I’m the captain. Of course it is.”

I glare. “Don’t you pull that captain card on me. I have to get Daeja to the Dragon Lands. You said you would help me—”

“You almost died at the hands of a rebel last night. If it weren’t for Archie, I would be mourning you all over again—” He pauses, his chest rising and falling. Finally, he grits out, “I can’t do this, it’s too dangerous, Kat. I can’t lose you again.”

“Then if it’s so dangerous, why don’t you train me to defend myself?”

He snorts and shakes his head.

I try again, “If you are so worried about me, then train me.”

“I was supposed to protect you, and I—” He swallows.

He doesn’t have to continue for me to know what word comes next. Failed …I relate to it too much.

He continues, “I’m supposed to protect you. Me. I should have been the one to save you. I would have done anything, given anything just to make sure you were safe…” he looks down at our clasped hands as he blinks back tears.

I rub the back of his hand. “Cole, you can’t be the one to save me all the time.”

His watery eyes meet mine. “Gods, but I want to.”

I smile softly. “I know you do.”

A heavy, defeated sigh escapes his lips as he diverts his attention back down to our hands. He shakes his head again, as if he already knows he’s in trouble for asking. “You think that’s what we should do? That’s what you really want? To be trained?”

“Is that so awful of me to ask?”

“No…but…I guess now I’ll have to be scared you’ll kick my ass when you’re pissed at me.” He flashes me a subtle, handsome smile.

We both laugh.

I knock my fist into his arm, a smile creeping onto my face as I say, “How about tomorrow?”

He levels a disapproving look at me.

“You were the one who said there’s been an influx of rebels. Who knows when they will attack next. If we’re going to travel north, I’m going to need to know how to defend myself. And next time I might not be so lucky,” I murmur.

He chews at his lip but nods his head. “Fine. If you’re feeling up for it after training with Marge. But I don’t want you pushing yourself.”

He leans in to kiss my forehead, and the door swings open. He pulls back quickly enough that when Marge walks back in, he’s sitting on the bed, his hands piled in his lap.

Marge shuffles over to us, flicking a wrist at Cole to excuse him off the bed. She presses a hand to my cheek, my forehead, and assesses my cuts. “She looks fine to me. How do you feel?”

“Good,” I answer.

“Great. I’d like you to start cleaning those vials over there.” She points to a basket on the counter.

“Now? But I—”

“Plenty of things that need to get done around here. But if you’re feeling that bad—”

“No, I’m fine.” I push up to my feet as Cole offers me his hand to help me up.

Away from the cover of my sheets, I realize I’m still wearing the nightgown from the night before. The hem is shredded, and old blood stains the material in blotches. Cole is already a step ahead, having had someone bring me a change of clothes for when I woke. After I encourage Cole several times to leave and get some rest, he throws me a hesitant look and leaves. I quickly change into a fresh set of pants and a tunic.

I scrub vials until Marge walks over to me. She pauses, watching my hands work while I wash the last one.

“Why did you come here last night?” she asks finally.

I turn toward her. “I umm…”

When our eyes lock I stop scrubbing. “I...I don’t know,” I admit.

She takes the last vial from me, tucks it into a drawer, and returns with two knives and a clump of mushrooms. We both slice in silence.

Her attention flickers over to me, and she stops cutting, dropping her blade to the counter.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re…cutting those wrong,” she mutters.

I don’t bother to mask my heavy sigh. I can’t do anything right in her eyes, and it’s starting to wear on me. “You’re telling me there’s a right way to cut mushrooms?”

“Well, if you keep chopping like that, you might cut your finger off,” she quips, shuffling over to me.

She wraps her hands around mine, puppeteering each motion. “Here.”

For the first time, she isn’t wearing her black gloves. Angry scars wrap around the backs of her hands. The rugged skin is raised and jagged, and the color blends in with the rest of her hands. I always assumed she wore gloves for sanitary reasons. With how often she must come into contact with body fluids and illnesses, I never questioned it.

She notices my stare and lifts a hand closer to my face to observe. I flinch back, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Dragons,” she says and goes back to slicing her own mushrooms.

I check over my shoulder to make sure it’s only us in the room. “You were attacked?”

“No.” She grins, as if her brilliant mind hid all the secrets of the world, and she’s just waiting for someone to ask her the right questions. “Dragonblood.”

I stop chopping. “Dragon blood ?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down,” she scolds.

I stare at her hands again. The scars mimic the wicked lick of flames.

“What were you doing with dragonblood?” I whisper.

“When I was a little girl, I became sick. Within a day I likely would have succumbed to my illness. It was incredibly painful, and I withered away to almost nothing. But my grandmother used the last of her dragonblood. And it saved me.”

“What do you mean it saved you?”

“Dragonblood is incredibly rare, and at that, very dangerous. Some that consume it can go insane. They can be granted special powers. They could go blind, or die—and it’s a horrible, painful death. The blood will burn you inside like a live fire. Or…it can heal you.”

She looks down at her hands and brushes the scars with her fingertips. “These scars are from dragonblood. And ever since then, I wanted to be a healer.”

“So…how come you never went to the Dragon Lands yourself?”

“Because the rebels despise Spoileds almost as much as they do the King.”

“Spoileds?”

“Yes, when you consume dragonblood it essentially spoils your blood. Some say you will burn in hell for interfering with such sacred, magical blood—” She laughs absent-mindedly. “Maybe that’s actually why I wanted to be a healer. To balance out whatever cosmic sin I had committed to…”

She shakes her head to clear the thought from her mind and ushers me out. “You are dismissed for the day. Go get some rest.”

As I walk toward my room, I pass by other soldiers, their steps sure and expressions hard. Out of last night’s attack...how was I the only one injured? Unless I woke after the other injured soldiers left the healer’s quadrant? It’s another confirmation how critical it is for me to be trained.

Nearing my tent, I smile as I notice Archie standing at my door. A plate of pastries balances on his fingertips. I invite him into my room, and he sweeps inside with me.

“I wanted to come check on you before sparring,” he murmurs with a nervous grin.

I smile. “I’m doing fine, thanks to you.”

He plucks a pastry off the plate and offers it to me.

“I’m okay for now, but thank you.”

He nods and sets the plate down on my desk.

I step forward, tilting my head to the side. “Archie, I never knew you were so skilled in knife throwing.”

He blushes. “It was my favorite weapon growing up…but…you can’t really use throwing knives in a war.”

“Maybe not. But you would be a killer assassin.” I wink.

He laughs and points at me. “Ahh! I see what you did there!”

And there he is—void of guilt. His regular optimistic self.

I dip my head. “But honestly, you saved my life, Arch.”

He mirrors my smile, and his chest inflates. Pride bubbles through the warmth in his brown eyes and blushing cheeks. He tries to wave me off nonchalantly. “I just did what I had to do.”

I squeeze his arm. “Thank you.”

His gaze floats over to my sword leaning against the desk for a long moment. “Where did you get that sword, by the way?”

“I uhh…a friend gave it to me.”

Archie’s eyes flare. “Wow, some friend you have! You have a friend in the close circle?”

“What do you mean close circle?”

“May I?” He motions toward my sword.

I nod, and he retrieves it, stopping a step away from me.

“After the rebels attacked, I found your sword on the ground near the healer’s quadrant. Cole recognized it was yours, and that’s how we knew something was wrong. We spotted you before the rebel took you into the forest. When I originally picked it up, I noticed this...” He traces a fingertip over the textures on the handle, outlining a ring of circles overlapping each other in the middle. “The mark of the King’s most inner assembly. Some say they know the kingdom better than the King—”

He pauses, realizing the insult he implied to the King. “I-I mean, some say they know the King better than the kingdom—” He laughs awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I don’t know what I’m trying to say. But it’s a nice sword.”

He hands it back to me. I stare down at the hilt decorated in intricate patterns with hidden intersecting circles.

What was a rebel doing with a sword from the King’s close circle?

“Stay away from the shoreline. We have to cover your tracks,” I call out after Daeja as she approaches the lake. As soon as the camp fell silent in the late night, I slipped out to see her.

Daeja turns to me, her eyes catching a reflection of moonlight. “Why?”

“Because if someone catches you, they’ll kill you. Remember?”

“Why would they want to kill me?”

I think of the people who lost their lives in Padmoor. How the dragonfire left scorch marks along the cobblestones. The man who tried to run in the street from the dragon, torched to a heap of ash, and now a distant memory.

But my thoughts fade to the memory of her as a hatchling. Diving around with my dagger in her mouth. Chasing after a butterfly and trying to catch her own tail. The corner of my lips lift into a smile. Maybe if they knew Daeja like I did, they would see she isn’t a threat.

“I don’t know.”

Doubt tightens the invisible bond between us. “ I’ve been thinking…what if we get to the Dragon Lands and the other dragons don’t like me?”

“Why do you say that? Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“What if I’m different? What if I don’t know how to be like the other dragons?”

I chuckle as I pat her neck. “ It doesn’t matter if you know how—it’s what you are.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She snorts and bumps me with her hindquarters. I stumble forward, thrown off by how powerful she is. She nabs the back of my shirt in her teeth, catching me before I land on my face.

Steadying back onto my feet, guilt swarms me with how out of place she must feel. Stuck in a land that doesn’t want her and without her kind. Limited from her natural tendencies and capabilities.

Perhaps I know what can make her feel better, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment.

I mount her, climbing onto her back as she turns her head to grin. If dragons can grin. I cling to the horns lining her neck, my hands already anxiously sweating.

“Fly.”

She ducks her head and charges for the lake. Her wings flap and thunder, and we lift above the water, her talons grazing the surface. The wind sings around me, stealing my breath as we soar. I don’t let my gaze fall lower than her head, for fear of losing my grip and slipping into the water below. The roaring wind dies down, and she slows to a graceful glide.

Slowly, I dare a peek down. The reflection of the moon and stars glitter across the lake’s glassy surface. I drag my gaze up to the sky. Remembering the times my mother, brother, and I used to shout how much we missed my father up to the sky, as if he could hear us. Absent-mindedly, I reach one hand up, as if I could touch the stars. Wondering if they were looking back down at me now.

A shooting star streaks across the sky, so fast I almost second guess I actually saw one.

For the rest of the night, we fly in circles under the stars. And for the first time, in a long time, it makes me feel as close as I ever have to all of my family.