Page 124 of The Shattered Rite
She exhaled shakily.
"Do you think there’s another trial soon? Did you… sense anything? Hear anything from the steward?"
A pause.
No. Nothing clear. Nothing that will happen right away.
Her breath trembled out. "So we don’t know what tomorrow brings."
We never do,Vaeronth said gently.
Eliryn closed her eyes again. Letting the quiet hold her the way Silas’ hand had.
And this time, when sleep found her, it was kinder.
Chapter 19: The Shape of The Sky
“Some truths arrive like sunrise—soft at first, until you realize they’ve changed the shape of everything."—Field Notes from the Western Watch, Vol. III
Eliryn woke slowly, the way one wakes after an injury—mind surfacing first, body second. Her limbs felt heavy, warm beneath the layered furs, but not quite her own. Her breath was steady, though, and for the first time in what felt like days, her sleep had been restorative.
Light filtered faintly through the narrow, high window. Morning, but not early.
She shifted slightly beneath the covers, her voice rough. "Vaeronth?"
I’m here,came his voice in her mind, smooth as riverstone, steady as ever.And before you ask—no, there’s been no summons. The steward hasn’t stirred the air today.
She exhaled slowly, tension leaking out of her by degrees. "So I have time?"
Indeed,Vaeronth said. His voice softened.And we should use it. I need air. Space. Sunlight. My form is tight inside this place. My wings ache.
She smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "You want to stretch."
A dragon does not stretch. A dragon flies.A pause. Then, quieter:Even if only for a little while.
Eliryn pushed herself upright with a quiet groan. Her muscles protested sharply, her ribs aching with each breath. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood carefully, barefoot on the polished stone floor. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself against a low table, knuckles white.
"Maybe we’ll both need a while before we’re back to normal," she murmured.
Speak for yourself,Vaeronth grumbled fondly.You are fragile. I am not.
She chuckled softly, despite herself. "Don’t get cocky."
Well I'm not wrong, am I?
Her lips curved, if only for a moment.
She made her way slowly toward the bathing alcove, trailing blood-flaked footprints behind. The stone tub steamed gently, already filled. The room had prepared it while she slept. The scent hit her first: cool and sharp, like mint and lavender wrapped in smoke. Herbs floated among soft petals—heather, bellflower, starleaf.
You’re hesitating,Vaeronth observed.
"It’s… a lot." She whispered. "To be given such comfort is… still unsettling."
Too bad,he said.Let yourself enjoy it.
She undressed stiffly and stepped into the water with a hiss. The heat scalded at first, then dulled into warmth that seeped deep, unwinding knots even as her skin stung from the grit and blood.
As she sank lower, the surface around her bloomed red. The water stirred gently of its own accord, a soft whirlpool spinning outward from her body. Blood and dirt dissolved, drawn toward a silver drain at the base. The petals and heat remained, untouched. Magic. Precise. Unintrusive.
