Page 70 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
—You’re full of yourself is what you are.
I sense a chuckle from him. It feels strange, disused, as if he hasn’t created such a sound in a long time, just the reason I don’t point it out. The sadness I’ve glimpsed in him seems too grand to give room to mirth, so I’m glad to see that it hasn’t robbed him of the capacity altogether.
In the shower, I sit under the stream of hot water for several minutes before I start scrubbing. My muscles relax, welcoming the building heat. I’m the only one there. The others likely chose the hot spring. They’ll probably think I’m afraid of Silas and I decided to stay away.
—Let them think what they will,Zephyros says.They will soon realize your might.
—You must meanyourmight.
—There is no difference. We are one and the same now. Besides, the bond is mutual.
The sincerity in his statement shocks me at first, until I recognize the truth of it. I felt it during our bonding, but the experience—no matter how grand—has dulled to fit my human senses and mind. I imagine it will take me a while to get used to who, towhat, I have become.
—How old are you, Zephyros?I ask as I scrub my body with a soaped cloth.The records estimate your age at five thousand years. Is that right?While there, I performed a quick search at the library, and if what I discovered is correct, he’s one of the oldest dragons still alive. Some of the records on our dragons are extensive, listing battles, strengths, character, and every imaginable detail.
—It is not,he replies without elaborating further.
—Are you older than Fragor?The records indicated that Vaylen’s dragon is over five thousand years old.
—Do not mention that creature to me.
So the animosity I’d sensed between them is real. My curiosity spikes, but I’m afraid to press him for more details. Despite the idea that we’ve become one, we’re still separate entities with our pasts. He has been nicer to me, however, so I take the risk.
—Why do you hate him?
—For reasons I would rather forget, so do not ask me about him.
—All right, sorry.I return to the question about his age.Do you remember Heratrix? She was your mother, right? Is it true she was the most powerful and could wield all the elements?
I’m not as obsessed with Heratrix as Phoebe, but stories of our Goddess do interest me. I’ve read many accounts of her in our history books. There aren’t many since time and war have destroyed so much, including older libraries than the one found here. But if Zephyros was there, this is a unique opportunity to acquire first-hand knowledge about her—maybe even document it for the benefit of future generations. Perhaps other riders in the past have been able to talk to their dragons, and that’s the source of some of the anonymous accounts I’ve encountered.
—The past is in the past.Zephyros sounds aggravated at me.
—Well, I guess you’re not much for conversation.
—Not when the interlocutor decides on a line of annoying questions. Finish getting ready. I will come for you when it is time.
—I don’t think…
He’s gone, not listening to me anymore. How rude. If he can shut me out, that means I can do the same to him. I’ll have to figure out how.
When I finish showering, I head back to my room, change into my formal uniform (without the jacket) then head to the mess hall. An attendant brings out my meal even though I’m the only one there. At the Academy, there were set times for meals. If you weren’t there, you didn’t eat. Here, things are more flexible. I start to sit down, but Zephyros said to eat quickly, so I stuff my face with a few bites of roasted potatoes, then put the meat—a thinly sliced beef that melts in my mouth—between two pieces of bread and head back to my room.
I stroll down the long corridors, munching on my sandwich, lost in thought. When I walk near the hot springs, I hear voices and splashes. I’m tempted to go in, but if Zephyros is serious about a visit to my father, I should rest.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, stripped down to my undergarments. At first, I fear sleep will evade me, but the exhaustion from the grueling day overpowers my overactive thoughts, and I succumb, falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
* * *
—Wake up,little one.
It’s an effort to open my heavy eyelids.
—It is time to go.
At first, I’m confused, thinking the rumbling voice is in my dreams.
—You have to talk to your father, remember?
