Page 76 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)
Chapter Fifty-One
Twenty minutes later, Alashiya found herself fidgeting nervously beside Radek. She’d changed into a silky, ankle-length pleated skirt and a white linen blouse — two things she couldn’t imagine Alex wearing, but she had apparently read Alashiya’s needs better than she initially gave her credit for.
Her old boots clicked on the marble floor as she let Radek lead her down sunlit corridors.
She tried not to stare at everything, but it was hard not to gawk.
The roost was beautiful, but it was strangely empty.
All high, vaulted ceilings and seamless windows and white walls.
It hardly seemed like a home to her, but she tried not to be too judgemental.
She thought she was doing pretty good until they reached the atrium.
The first couple times she walked through it, she’d barely noticed it. Now, as Radek guided her across the empty expanse of it, she couldn’t help but look around with confusion, her nose wrinkled.
“Something wrong?” the dragon grunted.
“No.” She paused, rethought her answer, and then said, “Actually, yes. Why is this room empty?”
He shot her a glance. “There’s a table and some chairs.”
“One table and two chairs in a room the size of my house.” She gestured to the glass ceiling, which let in a stunning amount of pure, glittering sunlight. “With all this light— Do you have any idea how many plants you could grow here?”
Radek stopped at one of the many doors that ringed the atrium. Opening it for her, he rumbled, “No, I don’t. That’s something you should take up with your Chosen, Emand.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I don’t want him to think I don’t like his house. It’s just very different from mine.”
It couldn’t have been more different, really. Taevas’s reaction to her home made a lot more sense to her now. Not because his roost was better, but because she couldn’t imagine two more opposite dwellings if she tried.
She’d only seen one plant so far, and she’d been horrified to discover it was fake. How he justified that, she couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Radek gave her a strange look. “A dragon’s roost is his pride,” he explained, like it should be obvious, “but it doesn’t mean fuck-all if his Chosen doesn’t like it. Trust me, ma’am. He’ll want you to change things.”
Taevas had said as much, so she supposed she ought to take it seriously. Still, it felt a little rude. Shaking her head, she asked, “Do you have a spouse, Radek?”
He turned his gaze forward. A subtle tightening of his mouth was the only sign that perhaps all wasn’t well when he answered, “Yes. I have a Chosen. Her name is Vivian.”
Fearing she’d stepped in it but not knowing how to back out of the conversation now that she’d started it, Alashiya floundered. “Does… did she make changes to your roost, too?”
“Not yet,” he answered.
Something about the way he said those two words felt like a definitive end to the conversation.
Alashiya blew out a breath and nodded. She wasn’t offended by Radek’s taciturn attitude.
If anything, it was comforting in its familiarity.
Most of the men in Birchdale hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy, either.
They continued their journey in silence until they reached another large doorway. Radek put his hand on the knob, but he didn’t open it for her right away. Hesitating, he rumbled, “Ma’am… thank you. For saving Taevas.”
Her chest squeezed. Laying a hand on his massive bicep, she told him, “Call me Shiya.”
Radek gave her a curt nod and opened the door.
Peering around him, she spied a much larger lounge area than the one she’d been holed up in with Alex and Hele.
A glossy bar spanned one side and a huge sunken seating area the other.
Across from the entrance was a wall of windows that opened up into what she could only describe as some sort of rooftop patio.
Her eyes were instantly drawn to Taevas, who appeared to be holding court from the comfort of the couch. She recognized a few of the dragons gathered around him, but there were two healers dressed in their elegant gray coats she didn’t know as well.
Her husband’s head whipped in her direction. A luminous grin spread across his gorgeous, perfect face. “My Shiya,” he called, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “Come here!”
Despite automatically rolling her eyes, she couldn’t suppress a smile when she complained, “Always so bossy.”
The gazes of the people gathered around him bounced between them. Eyebrows lifted when Taevas wiggled his claws at her and teased, “We both know who the boss is here, metsalill, and it’s not me.”
Trying to ignore the scrutiny, Alashiya crossed the floor to step down into the sitting area, drawn to Taevas like a sapling to light.
They reached for each other at the same time, their fingers linking as Taevas drew her down to sit beside him.
He certainly didn’t seem to care about their audience when he swooped down on her and delivered a quick but passionate kiss.
Flushing to the roots of her hair, she muttered, “Was that really necessary?”
“Very,” he replied, sneaking in another kiss. Chuckling at her obvious embarrassment, he sat back and gestured at the hovering healers. “You’re just in time for my check-up — which will hopefully be quick, because we’ve got sovereigns incoming.”
“We’ll do our best, sir,” one of the healers dryly replied.
The dragons began to talk amongst themselves as the healers leaned over to lay their hands on Taevas’s forearms, which were revealed by his rolled up shirtsleeves. Whispering in his ear, Alashiya asked, “Can you remind me of everyone’s names?”
He tilted his chin toward the men, some of whom she recognized from the hospital.
Radek had joined them, but he didn’t appear any friendlier with them than he had with her.
If anything, he looked even more sour when one of them, a deep blue dragon with a broken horn, clapped him on the shoulder.
“This is my Wing. The one next to Radek is Pasha.”
Jerking his chin toward another clump of intimidatingly large dragons engaged in rapid, hushed debate, he told her, “The green one you know. The pale guy is Roman, and the red one with the patterns is Aivar.”
Alashiya tried not to stare at them, but it was hard. Each member of the Wing seemed more intimidating than the last. Vael and Radek were known entities, at least, but Pasha, Roman, and Aivar were different.
Pasha’s broken horn and ear piercings gave him a roguish quality only enhanced by his wild eyes and wide, sharp-toothed grin.
Roman was a ghostly white, with deep-set black eyes and high cheekbones.
Pale blue tattoos crawled up his neck to cover nearly half of his face and the shaved part of his head, which must have been extremely painful to have done.
And then there was Aivar, who would’ve seemed fairly normal if he didn’t appear to be caught between shifting from his day to night color.
Velvety black coloring swirled with luminous crimson, giving him a striking marbled effect that made her fingers itch for her needle and thread.
Despite their obvious exhaustion, all the Wing members seemed keyed up and excited, their deep voices rumbling as they debated something in their language. It was good to finally be able to put names to faces, but Alashiya still shied away when they glanced at her, their curiosity obvious.
“So what’s the verdict?”
Her attention was pulled back to Taevas, whose smile had fallen as he addressed the healers.
The one apparently in charge, a mature-looking man with dark skin and pretty, cinnamon-brown eyes, let out a slow breath.
“It’s hard to say, in all honesty. I believe your ability to shift has been stabilized, which is the good news.
We were able to flush the last of the suppressant out of you when you were in the hospital, but it did considerable damage to your nervous system.
If we don’t figure out how to fix it, your ability to shift will continue to be unreliable and… ”
Taevas’s jaw worked for a moment before he prompted, “And?”
“And your wings won’t recover.” The healer rubbed the back of his neck, a deeply troubled look on his face.
Alashiya reached for her husband’s hand and held it tightly when he continued, “There was some intentional damage done to the bases of both wings — electrical, it looks like — which would’ve been easy enough to repair if not for the additional injury caused by the suppressant.
I’m not saying there’s no hope, but it’s going to be a long road.
I suggest we find a specialist to begin the process immediately. ”
A wave of feeling washed through the hyphae.
Alashiya’s breath hitched as she brought his hand up to her lips.
She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and reached through the hyphae to soothe him there, too.
The steady beat of his heart thumped alongside her own when she sought out the gorgeous purple strand and followed it back to the source.
Easy, argaman mlk, she whispered to him. All is well. We’re with you.
His rigid expression softened. Taking a deep breath, he said in a measured voice, “All right. I’m alive. I can live without my wings for a while longer.”
“I’m also concerned about what looks like an aggressive fungal infection,” the other healer, a younger woman with short brown hair and a gold nose ring, interjected. “I’d like to prescribe you some medication that should hopefully take care of it before it settles in and does more damage.”
“Ah—” Alashiya shrunk back a little when the healers turned their shrewd gazes on her. It was her husband’s turn to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think it’s an infection like you’re thinking. It doesn’t need to be cured.”