Page 11

Rachel

L ast night's dinner had been an exercise in awkward restraint, with both dragons attempting to behave like they weren't literally just tag-teaming me on a mountain overlook. This morning feels more relaxed, though we're still drawing enough stares to make me want to sink under the table.

The dining hall's familiar breakfast bustle washes over us while Zahraxis and Finn demolish what looks like half the kitchen's morning production. I'm pretty sure most of the students are torn between fascination and mild horror at the sheer volume of food they're consuming.

Zahraxis looks... different. His golden eyes are alert, but calm, studying the room with the intensity of a scholar who's just been released from a very long, very terrible library. Gone is yesterday’s feral energy, replaced by something more controlled. Still, that edge of ancient power radiates from him like heat from a banked fire.

When Sean approaches our table, guitar case slung over one shoulder, Zahraxis tenses slightly. The territorial vibe is strong enough that I have to suppress a laugh. Finn just offers an easy smile as Sean's mates join him—Naia with her fluid grace, and Elias, who looks like he wandered in from backstage at some indie rock concert.

"Feeding a small country?" Sean comments, settling into an empty chair. His own plate holds a modest serving of eggs and toast.

"Dragons need sustenance," Finn says with a grin. "Especially before a long journey."

"Journey?" Naia asks, her silvery eyes brightening with interest. "Where are you headed?"

"The Queen's Court in New York," I explain, watching Zahraxis from the corner of my eye. "We leave today."

Naia's brow furrows. "You're not planning to fly that whole distance, are you? That would take days, on dragon wing."

"It is the proper way," Zahraxis says, his voice carrying that formal edge I'm learning means he's holding himself in check.

"There's really no need," Naia says, leaning forward with genuine warmth. "I could drift you there in moments. The River is particularly strong here on the island?—"

Zahraxis' fork warps in his grip. "We will not trust our fate to nymphaea magic."

The temperature around us seems to drop several degrees. Naia draws back, her silver eyes widening as she registers the hostility rolling off him in waves. Even Sean tenses, though Elias just continues picking at his breakfast as if he hasn't noticed the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Brother," Finn says quietly, "Naia isn't?—"

"You know what her kind did." Zahraxis' words come out in a near growl. "Three thousand years in darkness, trapped in her web of power?—"

"Meri." Naia's soft voice cuts through his building rage. "You speak of Meri, the Banished One." Her expression holds such profound sadness that even Zahraxis pauses. "She destroyed more than just the dragons, ancient one. My people still weep for what she took from us."

I reach for Zahraxis' hand under the table, feeling the tremors of barely contained power coursing through him. His skin ripples with golden scales, but he doesn't pull away from my touch.

"The nymphaea weren't her allies," Finn explains, his tone gentle, but firm. "They were her first victims. She killed their satyrs, corrupted their magic?—"

"And yet you would have us trust?—"

"Trust that we learned from her evil," Naia interrupts. "Trust that we guard our power more carefully now, and that we understand the price of corruption." She meets his gaze steadily. "The Haven cast her out for breaking our most sacred laws when we should have executed her. That failure haunts us still."

I notice Elias has stopped eating, his dark eyes focused intently on Zahraxis. There's something almost hypnotic about his stillness—not indifference as I first thought, but deep concentration.

"Your pain echoes in every breath," he says, his voice carrying that musical lilt I've come to associate with the turul. "But so does her truth." He gestures to Naia with an elegant tilt of his head. "We turul hear more than words, ancient one. We taste truth on the wind itself. Your captors wielded corrupted power, yes, but Naia's magic runs pure as a mountain stream."

Zahraxis' jaw clenches, but some of the hostility bleeding into his aura begins to fade. "You claim to know truth from lies?"

"I hear the song of it," Elias confirms. "As clearly as I hear the remnants of darkness still clinging to your own breath from your imprisonment. That darkness isn't you, just as Meri's corruption was never truly part of the nymphaea's River."

Finn leans forward, pressing his shoulder against mine. "He's right, brother. The world you knew is gone, but something better has taken its place. The races are stronger together now."

Zahraxis tightens his grip on my hand, though not painfully. When I peek at his aura, I see the volatile swirls of gold beginning to settle into something steadier. His gaze shifts between Naia and Elias, then to Finn, before finally settling on me.

"You trust this?" he asks softly.

I consider my answer carefully. "I trust that the world you knew and the world that exists now are different places. I trust that holding onto old hatreds only gives her more power, even in death." I squeeze his hand. "And I trust that you're strong enough to choose a different path."

A muscle tics in his jaw, but I see the impact of my words in the way his aura pulses with warmth. After a long moment, he inclines his head toward Naia. "How does this... drifting work?"

The tension eases as Naia explains, her voice taking on a teacher's patient tone. "The River connects all bodies of water, and through them, all places. I simply guide us along its current to our destination. You'll feel a moment of coolness, like diving into a pool, then we'll emerge exactly where we need to be." She pauses, then adds with a slight grimace, "Though I should warn you, most first-timers find it a bit... unsettling. You might want to wait until you've digested breakfast."

"Unsettling how?" I ask, eyeing the mountain of food my dragons have consumed. Because apparently, when you're dealing with magical teleportation, it's totally reasonable to be concerned about digestive logistics.

"Like being dragged through a whirlpool by your belly button," Sean supplies helpfully. "You'll probably throw up."

Great. Nothing says "welcome to magical transportation" like the potential for spectacular vomiting. Just what I always dreamed of when imagining my first interdimensional travel.

"Lovely," Finn mutters, then glances at the wall clock. "Still, if we go soon, we could reach the Court before they close for the day. It's already almost noon in New York."

Zahraxis nods. "Very well. We accept your aid." The words seem to cost him something, but there's a nobility in the way he forces them out.

Naia beams. "Perfect! Why don't we meet at the eastern shore in half an hour? That small cove near the art gallery would be ideal—the currents are particularly strong there."

My stomach does an anxious flip that has nothing to do with magical transport. Very soon I'll be leaving the island—leaving everything I've known for the past month—to dive into a world of dragon politics and ancient magic. My heart begins to race, but before the panic can take hold, I feel both dragons shift closer, their warmth steady and reassuring on either side of me.

"We will keep you safe," Zahraxis murmurs, his formal tone softening just for me.

Finn's hand finds my knee under the table. "Always," he agrees.

Looking between them, I realize that home isn't necessarily a place. Sometimes it's a feeling, a certainty, a belonging. And somehow, in the space of a day, I've found mine with these two impossible creatures.

"I should go pack," I say, rising from the table.

"I'll walk with you," Sean offers, carefully settling his guitar case over his shoulder. "Elias says we're doing voice work today anyway, so I need to stash this in my bunk."

As we turn to leave, Zahraxis catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends a shiver down my spine. "Do not take long," he says softly. "I find I do not like being parted from you."

"We'll meet you at the cove," Finn adds with a warm smile.

Just another totally normal morning, I think. Magical river-drifting, dragons who can't share breakfast without causing an inter-species incident, and two mythical creatures who apparently can't stand to be more than a few feet from me—totally normal.

The eastern cove is sheltered by towering cedars that lean out over the water, their branches creating dappled shadows on the rocky shore. I've been here before, or at least to the large deck of the art gallery that overlooks this spot, which is a favorite location for students to sketch or meditate—but it feels different now. The air itself seems charged with possibility.

Zahraxis and Finn are already waiting when Sean and I arrive, both dragons standing unnaturally still as they watch the waves lap against the shore. Their auras pulse with barely contained energy, Finn's a steady crimson glow, Zahraxis' still flickering between gold and darkness like an emotional light show.

Naia steps out from behind one of the larger rocks, her bare feet leaving no prints in the wet sand. The water seems to reach for her, tiny ripples breaking their natural pattern to flow toward her presence. "Are we ready?"

"As we'll ever be," I say, adjusting my backpack strap. My stomach churns with equal parts excitement and nerves.

"Remember to breathe through it," Sean advises. "And maybe don't eat for a few hours after."

Zahraxis moves closer to me, his presence solid and warm at my back. "If this harms her—" he begins, but Naia cuts him off with a gentle laugh that suggests she's used to overprotective magical beings.

"It's perfectly safe. Unpleasant, perhaps, but safe." She extends her hands, silver light already dancing across her skin like sunlight on water. "Everyone join hands. And whatever you do, don't let go."

Right. No pressure.

Finn takes my right hand while Zahraxis claims my left, his grip almost painfully tight. Naia completes our circle, linking hands with both dragons. I can feel the tension vibrating through their bodies—Zahraxis especially seems like a coiled spring.

"Close your eyes," she instructs. "The River moves in ways your mind isn't meant to process."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

I barely have time to comply before the world shifts .

The ground vanishes beneath my feet, water rushing in, and my stomach lurches as if I'm being yanked forward by my navel. Cool wetness surrounds me, but I can't tell if I'm moving through it, or it's moving through me. The sensation is like being caught in a whirlpool while simultaneously being stretched like taffy.

Zahraxis' grip threatens to crush my fingers, and I hear what sounds like a dragon's roar, distorted as if coming from underwater. My lungs burn, though I'm not sure if I'm holding my breath, or if breathing is even possible in this space between spaces.

Just when I think I can't take it anymore, everything snaps back into focus. My feet hit solid ground and my knees buckle. Only the dragons' hands keep me from collapsing completely as my stomach rebels. I barely manage to turn away before losing my breakfast all over a pristine marble floor.

Attractive. Real attractive.

Somewhere behind me, I hear the distinctive sound of two dragons being violently ill. So much for their dignity, or their breakfast.

"Breathe." Naia's voice comes from somewhere nearby, sounding completely unfazed. "The nausea will pass faster if you breathe."

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and crack my eyes open to find we're standing in what appears to be an ornate foyer. Or rather, I'm hunched over in an ornate foyer while my dragons are on their knees several feet away, both of them sporting a concerning mix of scales and sweat, their auras churning with distress.

"That was..." I manage to croak.

"Worse than dying," Zahraxis growls, his voice rough. Golden scales ripple across his skin as he fights for control.

"You haven't died," Finn points out, looking about as graceful as a seasick cat as he tries to stand. "Though right now, I might prefer it."

"Dragons always take it harder," Naia says, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and amused. "Something about your inner fire fighting the River's flow."

She gives a small bow. "This is as far as I can take you. The queen's offices are warded against unauthorized drifting." She smiles warmly at me. "Good luck, Rachel." Then she dissolves into fine silver mist that dissipates in seconds.

A polite cough draws my attention to a massive security desk, where an impeccably dressed man watches us with the carefully blank expression of someone who's seen far stranger things than two dragons vomiting on his marble floors.

"If you'll wait a moment," he says smoothly, "maintenance will handle the..." He gestures vaguely at our collective mess.

Just another Tuesday for the guy at the security desk, apparently.