She catches it, laughing.
I sigh. “I’ve missed you, idiot.”
“Of course you have,” she says, winking.
The conversation dissolves into teasing and jokes and bittersweet reminiscing for a while before Briar’s face turns serious again.
“How are you faring, though—really? The bruises are nasty enough, but what about the rest of it? The fact that you’re apparently…you know, divinely-chosenand all that.”
I tense at the question, realizing how my relative calmness must look to someone on the outside looking in. Someone who doesn’t know that I’ve always suspected and feared I had ties to dragons.
I force a shrug, a weak smile. “The insanity of it all hasn’t set in yet, I guess.”
Briar gives me an understanding, sympathetic look, but it doesn’t stop the self-loathing that my own words have ignited in me.
I hate everyone in this palace for keeping so many secrets from me.
I’m not any better, though.
But if I’d told her everything, would Briar still be here beside me? Wouldanybodyin the Burn have allowed me to stay among them if they knew the truth?
A small, frightened part of me wonders if Briar would run, even now, if given the chance. If she knew the reality of who I am, what I might become, the mistakes I’ve made and the things I’ve kept hidden even from her…
Would she go back to our old life without me?
It would probably be better if she did.
This isn’t the job she signed up for, after all.
“Knock it off,” she says, suddenly.
“…What?”
“You’ve got that look on your face—the one you get when you’re overthinking things.” She takes a sip of her drink, peering at me over the glass with knowing eyes. “Knock it off.”
I try to force another smile. I’m not sure I manage it.
“We’ll be fine,” she insists. “We always are.”
“You’re right,” I agree. And even though it feels like a lie, I smile brighter, reach for another pastry, and steer our conversation back toward simpler and safer things until it’s time for me to face my dragon once more.
Gareth is notin the arena when I arrive.
A few servants have just finished up tending to Blight. They bow hastily to me before exiting, leaving me standing alone before the dragon. I’m still debating what to say to her when I hear footsteps, followed by a familiar but unexpected voice.
“Good afternoon, Ashwalker.”
I turn to see the king approaching.He's dressed more simply than I’ve ever seen him—as if he’s here for training aswell. Just dark pants and a fitted shirt that accentuates his muscular form far more than the usual layers of regal attire he has on.
But he still looks like a king, and likely would even if he were dressed in rags; it’s something about the way he moves, the way he carries himself, as if he expects the very air to part for him.
Blight's emotions hit me like a wave as Reave draws near: her usual wary protectiveness, a hint of fear…but beneath it is a curiosity I’ve never felt from her before.
Or is thatmycuriosity?
I don’t know, but I don’t want that dangerous feeling pulsing through me, either way.
“Your Majesty,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “I was expecting Commander Gareth.”
