Across from me, Talen lifts a hand, dragging it across his jaw while colour rushes into his face, staining his cheeks red before he can school his expression.
God, I want to throw something back at her, anything to stop everyone from staring at me, but I can’t move, can’t speak, my body is frozen solid with embarrassment, hot and suffocating, like my skin doesn’t fit right anymore. And it’s not only me. Beside her, Talen’s gone rigid, colour still high in his face.
“How can you even do that?” Neeve asks, blinking rapidly. “Have you ever done that to me? Got inside my dreams?”
“No—stars, relax,” Reya mutters, swallowing a mouthful of soup. “You’ve got enough going on with your dragon dreams already. And it’s new, alright? I’m still figuring it out. I’m not inside the dreams; I can just somehow alter Dream Threads in people. Not found a good use for it yet, except having fun. If someone doesn’t like the dream or if it seems too fake, they change it or wake up.” Her smirk returns as she arches a brow at me. “Though, judging by the sound you woke up with, I’m assuming you didn’t have many complaints.”
My spoon hits the table with enough force to make Neeve jump. “Screw you, Reya.”
“Please do! Anytime,” she responds as her catlike smile widens.
I tear my gaze from hers, only to catch on Talen’s, and everything inside me tenses. His chest rises slow and heavy as his eyes lock on mine—too intense and now far too fucking aware?—
“Goldie!” Lucien’s voice cuts through the Food Tent.
My head jerks toward the entrance as he strides in, and opposite me, Talen curses under his breath.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lucien demands. “I told you we had the briefing handled. You’re going to ruin yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Talen grumbles. “I happened to be in the area anyway.”
Lucien's attention flicks between him and me, stern and unimpressed. “Well, now you’re here we might as well talk.”
“If this has to do with moving the camp...” Talen’s jaw stiffens. “I told you, going there is not an option—not yet anyway, there's too much to risk.”
“I’m not discussing it here.” Lucien spins, already walking away. “Outside, come on. You too Reya.”
Bringing her bowl to her mouth, Reya pours in the remains of her soup before shoving away from the table and heading after him.
Across the table, Talen exhales forcefully through his nose, then pushes back his tray and stands to follow. But before he turns, he hesitates, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small brown paper bag, placing it in front of me.
His golden stare finds mine again, softening as his mouth pulls into a small smile. “Happy birthday.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Briefing Tent is even busier than last month, jam-packed enough that, despite the colder weather, the sides are still rolled up to let the recruits stuck outside listen in.
Throwing Talen’s flight jacket around the back of the chair, I drop into it. Neeve and I only just made it in time to grab one of the last seats at the back, the crowd pressing in around us. But it’s just us. Ezzy didn’t come. She stayed back in the kitchen. She stayed back in the kitchen. She’s there all day now, leaving our tent before sunrise and coming back well after it’s set.
With a heavy sigh, I loosen my grip on the brown paper bag and open it. Inside is a small pile of purple Honeyberries. But winter is ages away, they won’t be in season for at least four months. Where did Talen even get these?
The question fades the second I taste one, sweetness bursting across my tongue and my eyes slip shut. Damn, they taste so good. I still can’t believe something this small and delicious can be deadly enough to kill him.
Opening my eyes, I grab the next one, then the next, and it isn’t until the bag is empty that the thought finally lands.
It’s my birthday? I hadn’t even realised. Has it really been a year since my twenty-first, when I sat on the hill at Ashvale, overlooking the Innerlands, wondering what my mum would have said? If she’d laugh and say I turned out just like her, or if she’d just see everything I’m not. Everything I cost her, them...
Rubbing my thumb over the scar on the back of my hand, I stare at it as a dull ache starts to spread through my chest, but then Ahria shoots past, perching herself at the front of the tent with the other dragons, her violet gaze pinned on me.
Scrunching up the empty paper bag, I shove it back into my pocket along with everything else I don’t want to feel, don’t want her to see, and sit up straighter.
Canvas flaps beside me as an early autumn breeze drifts in, sending a small chill skimming down my arm—but before the shiver can take hold, the air around me shifts. Talen’s flight jacket tugs up, then slides around my shoulders, settling there like it was placed by unseen hands.
My brows knit. How the?—
Turning, scanning for the source of the movement, I catch Merrin with Magda, Darren, and Lucien making their way toward the front. And just behind them?—
Talen.
