Page 62 of Phixmery

His large head swivels towards me, nostrils flaring. “Why did your scent sour? What has upset you?”

I wave him off, calming my emotions. “Nothing, but the friends I speak of are good fae. They have been helping me. They know about my magick and are keeping me safe.” Deciding to get comfortable because I don’t know how long I’ll be here, I sit in the snow, leaning back on my hands to peer up at the magnificent white beast in front of me.

A growl rumbles from his chest, but it doesn’t scare me. Some innate part of me knows that this dragon will never harm me.

“They know your secret?” he growls, so low and deep that I’m glad I have no fear of him wanting to hurt me.

“You’re not listening. My friends are good fae. They don’t know about my past. I am leaving Phixmery. I don’t know why we keep walking in circles here,” I snap, feeling exasperated.

“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t been able to sleep deep enough to come here,”he snaps.

I freeze. Is that why I can’t always reach this place? I need to be in a deep sleep?

He continues, ignoring my revelation. “You’re waking up. You will come to me, Little Dream, or you won’t like how I retrieve you. And mark my words, I won’t have you gallivanting around Damorleia, ignoring your responsibilities. Gretchen was supposed to explain this to you.”

The dream starts to get blurry as a crack opens in my chest. “Gretchen is dead.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

THAT NECKLACE, I'VE SEEN IT before. It’s something I haven’t seen since the early years of my life when I was just a young one. Back when life was simpler and we weren’t at war. Back when I didn’t know the meaning of the word. Now, I’m all too familiar with it.

That necklace used to sit around the neck of someone we all cared about, but it’s been nigh on twenty years since we’ve seen her, and that’s because she’s dead. But is she? The thought crosses my brain and spirals before I can stop the small seed of hope from blooming in my chest. They never did recover her body—too small, they said. Probably incinerated in the blast that took out the east wing of the Maleen palace. After all, her parents were found nearly unrecognizable except for precious metals signifying that it was them.

But that would be impossible. A young female of only six years old escaping the greatest coup of our history and surviving on her own? I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts off. But too many things are lining up. Too many coincidences all at once. I need to speak to the others.

My mind drags me back to the silver chain and the pendant, intricate metalwork of delicate flowers and nestled in the middle is a beautiful sapphire jewel, the exact shade of her eyes.

Her eyes, so big and wide as she stared up at me, so full of fierce stubbornness, edged with a sort of vulnerability that made me want to scoop her up and take her back to my chamber to protect her, invade her space and keep her safe.

Then again, I always can’t help but invade her privacy. Fates, sometimes when she’s in lessons, I’ll sneak into her space and lay on her bed. I’ve gone through her things, but she doesn’t have much. Nothing at all, really; just Phixmery-issued uniforms and scraps of fabric. But I never saw the necklace, which means she must have never taken it off. Always placed on her pretty, soft skin.

I know I shouldn’t have gone in there and stopped what was happening. After all, I was supposed to be watching her from a distance. But when I saw her leave her squad chambers, exhausted and down, I couldn’t help but follow. I can always never help but follow where she’s concerned. Then I heard her fighting back, and I couldn’t take it any longer, I needed to get in there. Everything yelled at me to get in there.

When I saw what they had done to her, I felt rage like I’ve only felt a few times in my life—the worst of times.

Those wenches had no right to take her ear tips, especially not for petty, delusional reasons. And then I saw her scars.

So. Many. Fucking. Scars.

The only thing that ever leaves a mark like that is iron—I would know. My hand trails up to my useless eye where long, thick, raised tissue cuts down through my brow, eye and cheek. Someone has taken care to damage—no, not damage, she could never be damaged. But the amount of suffering she would have had to endure to bear all those marks…

My blood boils, and I want to hunt down whoever did that. They were careful to make sure it was in places that could be hidden. If she’s who I think—hope, wish, want her to be… then it’s treason.

Fuck. Where in the fates are they? If it wasn’t for Evera, I wouldn’t have to try to hunt down Talyn this late at night.

Finally, after searching every crevice of the castle I can think of, I head out onto the battlements and find him overlooking the training yard, watching the second year Dragon Riders fly over the mountains for their nightly flight training. I step up beside him, resting my arms on the stone wall as we stand here in silence while I figure out how to explain to him what went down in the female’s bathing room.

After a long stretch of silence, I turn to him, “Tal, where’s Killian? We all need to talk. I-I think I found something out about Cadet Solace. It doesn’t make any sense, but it does, and I need you to tell me I’m fucking insane—”

A bewildered expression has taken over his stoic features, making his golden eyes comically large. “Stop. He should be meeting us here any minute, or did you forget about meeting Evander tonight? What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “Let’s wait for Kill. I’ll explain on the way to The Keep. I must be insane. Looking for hope where there isn’t any,” I mutter.

“Hope? What are you talking about? Did you get drugged or something? Did Solace do this? I swear to the fates—”

“No, she didn’t do anything. I—” I don’t know how to explain it. Should I just tell him never mind? Because the chances of her being the princess of Damorleia are practically non-existent. Who knows how many of those necklaces were crafted or where she got it.

Talyn’s voice softens, the worry etched clear as day on his face, even out under the light of the full moon. “Jesp, what’s going on? You’re concerning me right now.”

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