CHAPTER 46 - BLAKE

Springrise

I lay in my bed, staring up at the dark crimson canopy, one hand absentmindedly stroking the soft fur of the fluffin curled up beside me.

I'd given up trying to send Neville back to Pendragon and her friend, Florence. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. Secretly, I found it kind of flattering that more and more he seemed to want to be with me.

There was something comforting about having him around. Not to mention the fact that the little ball of fluff had basically saved my life that day in the arena when he'd warned me about Coregon's approach.

Neville made a small sound of contentment in his sleep, nestling closer against me.

Usually the animal's proximity would help to calm my restless mind. But tonight, not even Neville could settle my unease.

I'd returned from feeding in Veilmar earlier to find Pendragon standing smack dab in the middle of the Dragon Court.

For a moment, I'd been frozen in my tracks. Had she been following me again?

For the last few weeks, she'd completely ignored me. Refusing to even look at me when we passed one another in the halls.

Then I realized she wasn't looking at me. In fact, her back was to me.

She was talking. But there was no one around.

I walked over to her and stopped with a jolt. She was in a night dress. The loose white gown clung to her tall slender frame. Her hair was down, red curls flowing down her back.

I'd stepped up to her cautiously. Her voice echoed through the air, but the words were strange and foreign.

Then it hit me.

She was speaking Classical Sangrathan.

I hadn't heard anyone ever speak the dead language outside of my father's lessons. He'd insisted his children learn the Old Tongue. I knew enough to recognize it, to hear it when it was spoken. No one really used it anymore though, except in rituals or in texts so old they required translation by a linguist before they could be read.

Yet here was Pendragon, speaking it fluently.

I moved closer to her. She paid me no mind. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Because she wasn't truly there at all. She was sleepwalking.

I tried to wake her, calling her name, but there was no response.

I glanced around, half-expecting to see someone else, whoever she'd been talking to, my senses on edge. But whoever it was must have been a figment of her imagination–someone in a dream. There was no one around us except the four stone dragons, lifeless and silent as always.

I stared up at them, shivering slightly.

The Dragon Court held power. Perhaps not even we highbloods understood the nature of that power fully.

I felt the urge to get Pendragon out of there. There was no way I was going to leave her alone in the courtyard in her nightgown in the dead of night.

I gripped her shoulders and shook her gently.

Nothing. Her lips kept moving, her eyes remained unfocused.

Knowing I wasn't going to get anywhere that way, I gave up. Scooping her up in my arms, I marched out of the Dragon Court.

She didn't struggle. She didn't fight back. She just leaned her head against my chest.

I'd held my breath for a moment, expecting her to wake up and punch me in the face for touching her.

Then I started to relax.

I half-expected her to keep talking to herself, but instead she stayed silent. Her eyes remained open, watching me as I walked.

Now that I was back in my room alone, I had to admit it had been fucking creepy.

But also weirdly nice.

She'd been so relaxed as I held her. It'd felt so natural to have her in my arms like that. I'd sniffed her hair, still damp as if freshly washed. She'd smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Her body was warm and soft against mine.

Part of me had longed to bring her back to my room, put her on my bed, and just... sleep beside her.

But I knew what would happen if I did.

So I took her back to the First Year Tower. Woke up her friend, Florence. The dark-haired girl's face had been shocked when she'd seen Pendragon in my arms. Then her expression had shifted into one of mistrust. Whatever Pendragon had told her about me, Florence certainly didn't like me now. I wondered if she knew about Aenia.

When I left, Pendragon was still dazed, only just beginning to come out of her stupor.

I figured Florence could tell her what happened. Maybe she'd even leave out the part where I brought her back. That might have been for the best.

Neville rolled over in his sleep and I rubbed his stomach. He let out a little grunt of happiness, then started snoring.

I grinned down at him. If only Pendragon was as simple as a flufifn.

But she wasn't. She was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery with extra secrets sprinkled on top.

She was the most complicated person I'd ever met. And the most infuriating. Just when I thought I might have come close to cracking her code, she'd slap me in the face and shut me out again.

The Consort Games were coming up and, if I was right, she was in for a world of trouble. In some ways, I'd laid the groundwork for her as best I could.

But there was still more I could do to help her. The problem was, I knew she wouldn't fucking let me.

She didn't trust me. She wouldn't let me near her.

And if I wanted to protect her in the best way I knew how, she'd have to let me get closer to her. A lot closer.

I frowned down at the fluffin as I stroked his fur.

She'd never accept my help willingly. She was too damn stubborn. But there was one way I might be able to get her to come to me.

It would mean taking a risk. A big one.

But if it worked, if she'd accept my protection, we'd both come out of the Games the stronger for it.

Not to mention I'd be a hell of a lot closer to getting what I really wanted.