Page 36

Chapter 36

“RISE AND SHINE, FRILLS, YOUR…uh…glam squad is here.”

Karis’s calm voice plucks me from a fitful sleep, and the ring of uncertainty I hear in it has curiosity shoving back my exhaustion. I teeter between consciousness and unconsciousness for a moment before deciding sleep wins. Curiosity has fucked me over enough in the past twenty-four hours; it can wait a little longer before it starts making doe eyes at trouble again.

“Why is she on the floor?” a rough, unfamiliar voice asks.

“She does that. Don’t worry about it,” Farrow answers.

“And who is she again exactly?” another male inquires, and from the sound of it, this isn’t his first attempt at fishing for information.

Great. They have a bunch of Wing wannabes assigned to guard me, but they haven’t told them who I am or what’s about to go down tonight. I’m sure that bright idea will bite no one in the ass, especially not me.

“You don’t need to worry about who she is either. You’re here to protect her, not write her memoirs. Focus on the task at hand,” Farrow rebukes.

I groan irritably at the grating exchange. “Can you gossiping biddies sip your tea elsewhere? I’m trying to sleep,” I grumble and then burrow deeper into my nest of blankets.

I’m spent and need way more rest than the few hours I’ve managed if I’m going to deal with the shit today has in store. A raucous clattering suddenly fills the room, followed by a strange thrumming, and—against my will—I startle all the way awake.

Fuck the fae.

I throw blankets off my head and sit up with a growl. “I swear on the ancestors, I’ll throw each of you off the bloody balcony if you don’t fuc—”

“Happy Naming Day!” Azo croons from where he’s struggling to set up some kind of metal chair and table in the middle of the room.

The human beams at me and then starts to wrestle with the chair again. A small rack with a single covered garment bobs in the air behind him. I eye it warily. I don’t know much about fancy dresses, but whatever’s hanging on that rack doesn’t look big enough to be a dress, fancy or otherwise. Concern prickles through me, exacerbating my crankiness.

Chair wrestled and placed next to the table, Azo grabs a metallic disc from a case on the floor and starts messing with it. My focus drifts from whatever Nixy’s quirky assistant is doing to the sun gleaming at me through the window. Surprise whips through me when I realize it’s late afternoon. Looks like I slept longer than I thought. Not that I stopped tossing and turning long enough to feel rested at all.

I quickly catalog the details about the five drakes I don’t recognize. They have to sense me studying them, but no one meets my eyes. They simply survey the room, tense and ready, like the good guards they’re here to be for the day.

“Up and at ’em, dragoness. We let you be lazy for as long as we could,” Farrow orders.

“You’ve been hanging with Tove too much,” I harumph as I shove off the rest of my covers and get up while aiming a scowl at the cheeky fucker.

His grin fades all too quickly and his face scrunches with concern. “Why do I smell charred skin?”

Shit.

I forgot about my burn.

Karis steps closer, his focus aimed on my arm when I take a retreating step and try to tuck the injury behind my back. I didn’t get a chance to look at the burn until I was back in my room last night. It’s not bad, the blisters will heal in a week or so, but it’s there. Proof that last night wasn’t some kind of fever dream, it really happened, and somehow I’m alive to tell the tale. Not that I have any intention of telling anyone. If I did, then I’d have to explain about the Syphon Glass, and that’s not happening if I can help it.

Karis holds out his hand expectantly. The determined look in his cinnamon brown eyes tells me he’s not going to let me dodge this. I sigh and pull back the sleeve of the shirt I wore to bed, showing the big stubborn Thrasher my injured forearm.

“How did this happen?” he asks, turning my wrist so he can see the entirety of the burn.

I shrug and gesture in the direction of the fireplace on the other side of the room as though its mere presence will help solidify my story. “Must have sleepwalked too close to the fire.”

“Lie,” three separate voices proclaim at the same time.

Yeah, I didn’t think I was going to get away with that one, but I had to try.

I frown over at Farrow and give the two other tattling Thrashers the bird. I glower up at Karis for good measure because he’s a Thrasher too, and try to take my limb back from him. The gentle giant doesn’t let me reclaim my arm.

“Tell Pacey he’s needed. He can switch out with Daega,” Karis orders, turning to a Channeler in olive green scale armor.

The Channeler nods once and starts typing the command into the com fixed to the top of his hand. His brown hair is short but messy like he just rolled out of bed. The unruly scruff on his face only adds to that unkempt impression. The bump on the bridge of the male’s nose has me wondering how he got it and, better yet, why he kept it. The Horde’s Healers could have easily mended it, and yet the drake wears it like it’s an important part of his personality.

One of the Thrashers—Daega, I’m guessing—leaves just as Pacey strides purposefully through the door. His violet eyes immediately settle on the arm Karis refuses to give back, and his features sharpen with consideration.

I study the prominent dragon mark claiming the Healer’s throat, a black sun with flares that stretch into the shaved undercut of his pitch black hair.

“May I?” Pacey asks, nodding toward my arm as he draws closer.

Karis tries to hand off my limb before I can say anything, but the Healer doesn’t take it. He just stares at me like he’s genuinely waiting for my answer.

“If you don’t want me to heal it, I won’t,” he tells me when I still don’t respond.

The surprise must show on my face because Pacey takes a moment to really assess the situation. His violet eyes study the way Karis and Farrow are crowding me. Then his gaze drops to the blankets and pillow on the floor at my feet, before his attention darts to the made bed off to my left. Disquiet flickers across the Healer’s face, but the flash of emotion is gone by the time he looks back at me.

Interesting.

“You can fix it,” I tell the Healer, quickly tucking away my observation to look at later. “Thank you for asking.”

“Fenox, can you hear me?” Azo asks loudly, and I look over to see the human circling the metal disc he was messing with.

An image strobes above it for a few seconds before blinking out.

“You there, Nixy?” he asks again before he bends and fiddles with the apparatus again.

“I…here…an…you…hear…me? Nothing’s on my screen, Azo, but I can hear you.” Nixy’s voice suddenly rings clearly through the room.

“The sound is working, but it looks like the projector is on the fritz,” Azo tells her before he gives the device a good slap.

A full-sized semitransparent version of Nixy flares to life, just as the metal saucer that’s projecting it rises and starts to float about a foot off the floor.

“I can see you now,” the wyvern announces before her gossamer blue-hazel gaze moves around the room.

“We can see you too. Welcome to the party,” Azo chirps, and then they both turn to me.

“All set, dragoness,” Pacey announces, and I look over just as the Healer steps back.

I didn’t even feel him working on the burn. My eyes snap down to the mended skin of my forearm, but before I can thank him, Pacey moves to stand with the other drakes. He says something to the Channeler in the olive green scale armor, but I can’t make out what before Nixy and Azo step in front of me and block my view.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Nixy asks, and I fight the urge to look around her at the two drakes I can see whispering back and forth through the sheer projection of Nixy’s head.

“Are you excited for your big day?” Azo asks, practically buzzing with exhilaration.

“Ecstatic,” I droll as the human tugs me away from Karis and Farrow, toward the chair he set up earlier.

Nixy’s projector drone circles me with a peppy whir as I plop down in the chair. Azo immediately gets to work while Nixy guides him like she’s the artist but he’s the brush and paint. They toil together, chittering back and forth while I get hydration patches on my arm, my hair combed out and readied for the styler, and bites of breakfast between wearing the makeup machine with its long lasting dyes that will have me looking like a goddess come to life in no time flat. It’s chaotic, and impressive, and the next thing I know, Nixy and Azo flit back and marvel at whatever it is they’ve done to me.

No one hands me a mirror or asks my opinion, which is fine by me. I trust Nixy and Azo to make me look appropriately extravagant and fussy. I might even like it, who knows. There’s a lot to be said for being clean, fed, and clothed. I’m not wiping sand from unmentionable crevices or pretending dried meat is a delicacy. I still think dancing with strangers is a form of torture I could live without, but I’m curious about The Horde, about what it will be like to be around them.

“Are we ready for the dress?” Nixy asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Her blue-hazel eyes are filled to the brim with eager anticipation. I look over at the floating rack, and instantly the butterflies in my stomach start to riot. The mystery dress feels like the final nail in my coffin, and yet it’s also the armor I desperately need to survive the night.

Please let it have lasers.

“Everyone out. The dragoness needs to get dressed,” Nixy barks with surprising authority.

The guards I don’t know glance over at Karis as though waiting for his order. He nods and then they abandon their posts around the room and file out.

“How long will you be?” Farrow asks Azo before he gives one last visual sweep of the room.

“Fifteen minutes, give or take,” Azo answers, and both Farrow and Karis nod before leaving.

I turn to Nixy to ask her about the garment bag that doesn’t look like it’s holding a dress and freeze. She has a finger held up to her lips while her eyes track something that Azo is doing behind me. Alarm kicks my heart into high gear, and I whirl to find the human quickly moving around the room and spraying something around the windows and the doors. He finishes and walks calmly over to the table where he picks up a small silver case.

Four marble-like devices rise out of his hand and then dart in four separate directions until they’re about ten feet away. Just as soon as they stop, a square security field buzzes into place, trapping me, Azo, and the projection of Nixy within its walls.

“What is going on?” I demand just as soon as Nixy drops her finger from her lips.

“You have exactly nine minutes,” she instructs cryptically.

“Nine minutes for what?” I ask, confused.

“Azo, mark the time now,” Nixy tells the human instead of answering me.

My eyes snap back and forth between Nixy’s projection and Azo, who starts pressing buttons on his com. Before I can repeat my question, the image of Nixy starts to flicker, and then suddenly it isn’t Ren’s little sister staring back at me from the drone, it’s Enslee.

My breath whooshes out of me at the sight of my twin. I told Nixy that I needed to get a message to my sister, but I never thought in a million years the wyvern would arrange for me to speak to Enslee directly. My throat and eyes fill with emotion. It’s so good to see her. I know she’s not really here, but even her projected presence momentarily lifts all of the worry and tension that serves as my constant companion these days.

Tears well in her eyes as she takes me in. “You look really good, little sister,” Enslee teases, but I feel every layer of emotion and distress woven in those six simple words.

“I always look good,” I joke back, though my voice is thick.

Enslee’s chuckle sounds strained, and all attempts at humor go flying out the window.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I ask, stepping closer to the drone as though I can walk right through the projection and into my sister’s arms.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Enslee counters while her light green gaze drinks me in. “I heard it’s your Naming Day today.”

My huff is derisive.

“You’ll have to drink a glass of champagne in my honor,” she tells me lightly, but it’s obvious she’s dodging my question, which just makes me even more wary.

“Eight minutes,” Azo counts off, and my adrenaline spikes.

Shit. How was that a minute already? All we’ve done is say hi.

“Ens, we have a problem,” I tell her, getting right into it.

The faux levity in her features immediately cracks and falls away.

“It’s not just betrayal within our walls we have to worry about; someone on the outside is making trouble for us as well,” I tell her, and her features harden.

Enslee grasps her hands in front of her and widens her feet, like she’s preparing to go blow for blow with whatever I’m about to tell her.

“The Tainted weren’t a coincidence, Ens. We didn’t start running into them on missions by chance. I think one of our blood bank contacts put them on our trail. They’re hunting us. And I think they might know where we are. They can’t get in through our wards, so they’re picking us off when we leave them. Enslee, I don’t think whoever betrayed us and this shit with the Tainted is unconnected. I have no idea how or why, but all of this—everything that’s been happening, everything that’s been going wrong lately—I think it’s orchestrated.”

Enslee’s already fair complexion grows even paler, and she closes her eyes like she’s hoping it will shut out the overwhelming scale of betrayal I’m unveiling.

Azo steps up next to me and taps me on the shoulder. “Six minutes, and we need to get you dressed while you talk,” he tells me.

I nod absently and start pulling off my sleep shirt and shorts while I hear Enslee speaking hurriedly to someone off screen.

“Step into the skirt,” Azo instructs, and I glance down just long enough to see a mass of fabric that looks unsettlingly see-through.

I step into it and then immediately dismiss everything Azo is doing so I can stare down my twin, who looks both pissed and crestfallen as she continues to quietly argue with someone I can’t see.

“How could you have known?” the mystery person comforts my sister, and I recognize Amadi’s voice. She’s a Syphon that’s a couple years older than us and the person Enslee trusts the most aside from me.

“Ens?” I ask, pulling her attention away from her hushed conversation. “What couldn’t you have known?”

Enslee’s gaze flicks back to mine. There’s frustration in it, and resolute determination, but it’s the regret simmering in her stare that has the blood in my veins congealing with trepidation.

“What did you do?”

The words are half accusation, half plea to be wrong. But I can see in her body language, in her pinched features, that something has happened, and whatever it is, my sister feels responsible. Enslee flinches and her gaze drops like the shame is just too heavy to bear. Instantly my mind conjures all kinds of horrifying scenarios.

“The intel looked good, Ever. I had the information contained within our ranks. I would have never sent them out if I’d known there was more to all of this, but everything pointed at the possibility of the Conduit. You know I couldn’t just ignore that. Maybe some other Blood Crafter, but not the Conduit,” Enslee rushes to explain.

“You greenlit a mission after I told you not to?” I ask incredulously, and then it hits me, why she looks so distraught, why she looks so…guilty.

“Who did you send out, Enslee?” I demand, but I already know. It’s written all over her face.

Azo tugs at the dress he’s fitting around me, and it suddenly suctions to my skin. I wobble on my feet as the human fusses over the bodice and then the skirt, but I can’t focus on what he’s doing as devastation and outrage play tug-of-war with my heart.

“Your Flight has the highest success rate and the most experience,” Enslee defends, delivering the final blow with her shoulders back and her chin lifted.

It’s my turn to close my eyes as though it will shut out the inescapable reality of what she just said. I want to pace, to rage, but Azo pleads with me to stand still or I’ll ruin the dress, and it sucks me back into where I am and why. I’m stuck in Four Tiers, hours away from facing off with The Horde for the first time, and my Flight is hunting a Conduit that may or may not be real when danger is at an all-time high. Anger suffuses every ounce of patience I have left.

“ I told you it wasn’t safe,” I snap at my sister. “I told you to keep everyone inside the wards!”

“I know, and I had every intention of doing just that, but a chance at the Conduit…I couldn’t ignore that, Ever. You know I couldn’t.”

“So you sent my fucking Flight? Like they haven’t been through enough…like I haven’t?” I shout at the projection.

The square barrier buzzes, making Azo jump and Enslee flash brighter as I work to rein in my runaway rage.

“You knew we had a traitor. Why would you believe any intel coming in after what I told you, after what happened to me and Ren? Just because it’s not your life on the line out there doesn’t mean you can be so fucking reckless! What were you thinking?” I castigate.

Enslee’s eyes narrow and she steps closer to the screen. “Reckless? I’m not being reckless, Ever. I’m doing what we always do, capitalizing on an opportunity. We can’t all be in Four Tiers, playing dress-up for the dragons. I’m holding things down for all of us, and that requires making difficult decisions in impossible circumstances because they just might be the thing that saves us.”

I reel back, the vitriol in her words clocking me so hard that my vision wavers. Stunned, I stare at my sister. I take in the tight line of her lips, the angry flush working its way up her throat and settling in her cheeks, the outrage blazing in her light green eyes. Contempt radiates off her, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I don’t know her. And that hurts worse than any of the fucked-up shit that just came flying out of her mouth.

We are the same in every way, we always have been. And yet, right now, it’s painfully clear that we’re not.

I slam an emotionless mask in place and shutter myself off from the one person in this world I’ve never challenged, never questioned, never doubted…until now.

“Shit, Ev, I didn’t mean tha—” Enslee starts.

“Are they dead?” I interrupt coldly, addressing the Queen of the Syphons as though the answer won’t gut me, as though I’m not already bleeding out at her feet.

Enslee shakes her head, and I don’t know if it makes it easier or harder for me to breathe.

“We don’t think so. We lost all communication with them three days ago, but it’s possible they were pinned down and are waiting for things to clear to make contact or come back. There’s a lot of Horde activity down here; it’s not as easy to move around as it used to be.”

I don’t know if she means that to be a jab, but I take it as one all the same.

Three days…my Flight fell out of contact three days ago. If Wistan has them, he’ll bleed them. I don’t think he’ll kill them, not that quickly at least, but if he’s managed to capture my whole Flight this time, he’s got two Syphons and three wyverns at his disposal. How long before he decides the wyverns are of no use to him? How long will any of them last against what I know he’s going to do to them?

“Where were they going?” I ask icily.

“Ever, I’m sorry. Things are fucked here. You have no idea what I’m deal—”

“Where did you send them?” I cut her off again, not interested in anything other than facts right now.

“Groton. It’s on the other side of the divide in Thrasher Territory.”

Azo’s com chimes and he curses as he looks at the message.

“The keep’s security system just tagged our signal. You’re going to need to cut it short, dragoness,” he tells me apologetically, already reaching for the silver case that houses the disruptor shield that’s buzzing around us.

“Ever, please. I don’t want to end things like this,” Enslee calls after me when I start to move away from the drone projecting her image.

I look back at my sister, hurt and fury numbing the impact of her repentant tone and the apology gleaming in her gaze.

“Don’t worry, Enslee, I’m only off to play dress-up with the dragons and make a few difficult decisions in impossible circumstances because they just might be the thing that saves us.”

The projection of Enslee cuts out, and with it goes the last of my self-preservation and wary indecision. I pinch the bridge of my nose and look over at Azo, who’s shoving the silver case into a hidden compartment in the styler that did my hair.

“Azo,” I ask with a sigh. “Do you by chance know how to get a message to the king?”