“So maybe it's not silly after all,” I mumble to myself, holding the little dragon up to the firelight and watching it shimmer.
Chapter Fourteen
The king is gone all of the next day.
I’m beginning to think he's avoiding me on purpose.
For better or worse, Commander Gareth is missing as well, even after he insisted I arrive with the rising sun. It seems unlike him to miss an opportunity to torture me, but I try not to dwell on it—to just be grateful for a break.
I’m still expected to spend time in the coliseum, maintaining some semblance of my training routine, so I help the servants feed and groom Blight.
After that, I remain close to her for most of the morning. I sit on the edge of her platform while I work on practicing knots with a piece of rope I found, keeping my hands busy and my mind occupied. She occasionally stretches her neck over to sniff at my work, her breath warm against my hands. I let her investigate without pulling away, even when her curiosity makes it more difficult to focus, but we don't interact much beyond that. There’s less tension in the air than usual, though, which feels like progress.
After leaving her side, I keep to myself as much as possible. I pass several hours in the library, sorting through books and scrolls about dragon lore and the history of the Kaldran Empire. I'm newly determined to make myself less ignorant about the things that have shaped this world, both dragons and otherwise. And though I know most of the materials in here will carry a bias toward Mouren's perspective, there's still useful information to be gleaned.
The library's keeper, an elderly woman with ink-stained fingers and hands that shake slightly when she shelves books, is one of the nicer inhabitants of the palace. She doesn't allow me to enter the restricted sections, and she bites her tongue when I try to ask her opinion on things, but she brings me food, occasionally, and happily supplies me with plenty of materials to bring back to my room.
I’ve just returned to the relative privacy of that room—and I’m considering settling in for a long evening of studying by my fireplace—when the gift I made for Arlo catches my eye.
After a brief debate, I decide to wrap it up in a fancy, delicate handkerchief and bring it to him.
The hall that leads to his quarters is eerily quiet. As I walk down it, an uneasy feeling crawls up my spine, though I can’t pinpoint any exact reason for it.
The door to his room opens before I can knock. His sister emerges, mumbling to herself, so caught up in whatever she’s brooding over that she nearly bumps into me.
Her eyes flash to mine. “What do you want?”
“I came to see Arlo.”
“He's sick.” Her tone is blunt, as usual, but it's missing some of her usual venom. It sounds…tired. Worried.
“Oh…well, could you give this to him, please?” I hold out the wrapped figurine.
She stares at the gift for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face.
Slowly, she takes it and gives a single, terse nod.
I want to go in and see the young prince for myself, but I know she won't allow it. So, despite the pit of worry forming in my stomach, I turn to leave.
As I'm walking away, she calls after me: “I was hoping I'd run into you, actually.”
Tensing, I stop and glance back at her. “Were you? Really?”
“Yes. I wanted to give you a word of advice, if you care to hear it.”
Curiosity roots me to the spot.
She takes a few steps toward me, her posture as proud and haughty as usual, but her expression oddly uncertain. “…My brother will be meeting with his high council later tonight,” she tells me. “You will be the main topic of discussion. Several courtiers are pushing for you to be…dismissed. There are rumors that you've made no real progress with the dragon—that the bond is a farce.”
So it seems I haven't been imagining all the hostile stares and whispered conversations that stop the moment I enter a room.
“Show progress, or your friend is doomed.”
“I'm trying to, I just?—”
“Try harder.” Her expression is cold, uncompromising. “If ever there was a time to dig deep, this is it. The king put forth an expectation when you arrived here, and every person of every rank in this palace now knows about the bargain the two of you made. And Reave doesn't make idlethreats—he can't. Not without risking his authority. Not when there are always rival nobles and foreign powers all looking for a reason to call him weak. Don't give them a reason. When Commander Gareth returns tomorrow morning, you will step into that arena as though you have always belonged there. You will embrace whatever the dragon offers you—and you will prove all the doubters wrong.”
As if it’s that simple.
