Mother Linnea is silent. When I turn to demand that she tells me all she knows, there’s no one there. There isn’t even a bowl of water or the cloth she was using to bathe my forehead.
I clench my hands on either side of my head, breathing hard. Oh gods, what’s wrong with me?
Time passes in splinters. People tell me things that have happened or that I’ve said, and sometimes I remember but often I don’t. Does Stesha live? I must have asked. I don’t remember. Where is my dragon? Why can’t I feel her?
A young woman who is vaguely familiar comes to see me, and it’s on a day when I have managed to keep track of the hours ever since morning. At least, I think I have. She tells me such shocking things. That the king and queen are dead and Zabriel is the new king. That Stesha lives. Thank the gods, Stesha lives. But no one has seen my dragon.
I weep for Minta for hours on end, until I forget why I’m weeping.
There is parchment and a quill by my bedside, and I write down everything that’s important, and I read the words over and over in the hopes that they will sink in. I look up from the parchment and find I’m in the middle of a conversation with Mother Linnea with no memory of how it began.
“He is not the man he once was,” she says sadly.
“Who?” I ask.
Mother Linnea sighs and gives me a long, pitying look, and I wonder how many times I’ve lost the thread of this conversation. She patiently says, “The dragonmaster.”
“But why? What has happened to him?” I cry, terrified that someone has hurt Stesha.
“It is not what has happened to him. It is what has happened to you. He’s devastated.”
I sag back against my pillows. “He does not care so much for me.”
“Your memory is playing tricks on you. The dragonmaster has always held you dear. Just yesterday he beat his head bloody from despair over what you have been through.”
“I probably wasn’t the reason. I don’t even know what I’ve been through,” I mutter.
“You were Emmeric’s captive,” she reminds me gently. “The dragonmaster made mistakes with you, but he has always held you dear, and he’s afraid… Well, perhaps it’s best that you don’t remember. Try to get some sleep, dear.”
When she’s gone, I sink back onto my pallet and stare at the ceiling in confusion. Held me dear. What does that mean, held me dear? I have been struggling with my feelings for Stesha forever, and what his might be for me, and I am no closer to understanding them. Stesha and I spent one of his ruts together, I know that. I press my fingers to my lips, remembering his kisses. His hot breath on my mouth. How beautiful and fierce he was as we were joined. But then he rejected me and declared he wanted another woman.
Stesha does not hold me dear. He would not hurt himself from the agony of not having me or from worrying about me. I would remember if he cared for me that much.
23
Stesha
Though I am forbidden from seeing Zenevieve, I learn of her suffering from theHratha’len. Emmeric held her prisoner for centuries. It does not seem as though she was conscious for much of that time, because like the rest of us who were under his spell, she seems not to have aged, but however long he kept her awake, it was enough to shatter her.
I think again and again of Mirelle’s agony at Emmeric’s hands, and a knife twists in my heart.He called me Zenevieve.Her ordeal is all my fault. If I had not given in to my weakness for Zenevieve up on that mountain, she would have never been ravaged by lavish sickness. She would have been strong and healthy and able to fight back. She would have been with the dragon army. She would have been safe with me under the mountain. I might have been holding tight to her hand when the spell dragged us into that shadowy otherworld for five hundred years. That thought is hammering on my skull when a wingrunner puts a report into my hands, and I stare at thewords without seeing them. The wingrunner tells me what she’s seen, and she’s already left my side by the time what she’s said penetrates my mind.
Wild dragons.
The wingrunners have spotted wild dragons, far to the east beyond a place called Bormont Valley. I snatch the report closer to my face and read it. The east of Maledin is a desolate, harsh place with rugged terrain and a few scattered hamlets. At least, that is how it was five hundred years ago when Golden Terror ruled the skies.
I hear Destrin’s voice reminding me that it is nearly impossible to tame a wild dragon. Dangerous, if not downright deadly. The former dragonmaster never managed it himself. Golden Terror would not be tamed, and the Alpha protected his feral flare with violence and flames.
For the first time since I awoke in New Maledin, I feel a flicker of interest ignite inside me. With Golden Terror long gone, there may be a way to bring some of these dragons to Lenhale.
I read the report again. The wingrunners spotted a yellow Alpha male, but they do not describe his size or temperament. They would not be reliable even if they had, being merely wingrunners, but as soon as I see him, I’ll know if the Alpha and his flare can be tamed.
I have to ask Zabriel for permission to leave the capital, and he dares tell me I have a death wish for daring to embark on such a mission.
“You’re not killing yourself and leaving the rest of us to fight back against Emmeric without you. I will lock you in the dungeons before I let you walk out of here.”
I seize the king and shout in his face, “I don’t want to die. I want tokillhim. I need vengeance for Zenevieve and everything he did to her. I can think of nothing else.”
I’m manhandling the king, something that Zabriel’s father would have punished me for had I ever dared put my hands on him. Zabriel could have had me clapped in irons or whipped at the barracks for every disrespectful thing I have said and done to him since he became regent of this land. Yet his expression is impassive, almost sympathetic. He’s giving me grace. King Zabriel has a quality that is rare in an Alpha.
