Page 119 of I Dream of Dragons
Then his eyes open, and his lips move. I lean closer to hear.
“You’re falling, Aethry,” he says, his voice gurgling. “Watch out. Watch out, he’s here to get you!”
My eyes fly open, my head still full of Flynn’s face, full of sorrow and danger—but I’m not falling.
I’m lying on my back, staring up at a high, white ceiling. A window set in the wall across from me, small and arched, lets in light.
Where am I? What is this room?
Rolling on my side, groaning at the pain in every joint and muscle, I come within an inch of a gleaming object.
A dagger, right here, beside my pillow. Who put it there? My fingers trail over the hilt.
A slight noise reaches my ears, and I tense, jerking back, still tangled in the covers.
It’s a man. A man is kneeling on the floor by my bed, his head resting on the mattress beside me, on top of the covers. A dark-haired man.
Grabbing the dagger, I roll out of bed, slide to the floor, and press the tip of my blade under the man’s chin.
“Who—?” I start and stop.
The man lifts his head, my blade still pressed to his jugular. His brows arch, and his dark eyes fill with emotion. “Makhair?”
“Jai,” I breathe, lowering the blade. “What are you doing? Why are you on the floor?”
“I must have dozed off. You…” He chokes. He takes the dagger from me, puts it on the carpet, and hauls me down into his arms. “You’re alive.”
He crushes me to his chest, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed with relief. He smells of blood and sweat, soap and the night. And underneath it all is the unmistakable scent of him, leather and smoke and Jai. I feel… safe in his arms. A long sigh shudders through my body. The tension leaches out of me.
“Have you been here all night?” I whisper.
“Where else would I be? You scared me to death. Fuck.”
I take stock of things as he holds me and I hang limp in his embrace. Someone has dressed me in a long white nightgown with lace at the cuffs of the sleeves. My white hair is loose and combed out, hanging down my back and over my shoulders. More aches make themselves known. Bruises, small cuts. Older wounds throbbing in time with the new.
Meanwhile, Jai is still dressed in his leathers, encrusted with blood—hence the smell, I realize—and dirt. His heart thumps hard against my chest. I can feel him breathing in shallow, ragged inhalations.
Sliding my arms around his back, I clench my fists. This is real. I’m not in the sea. I’m not falling. I’m in Jai’s embrace.
I’m home, I think and it makes no sense, except it does.
After a while, I draw back and he relaxes his hold. “How did you know to come get me?”
“I felt you,” he rumbles, “but I didn’t know where you were. I looked everywhere.”
“I feel when you’re scared or in pain.”
“Where am I?”
“In my room.”
His room. I glance around, curiosity getting the better of me despite the pounding headache. I expected… I don’t know what I expected exactly, but certainly something more opulent than this. More in line with the king’s apartments with its thick carpets and heavy, golden-tasseled drapes at the window, with plush furniture and low tables laden with food and drink, golden candelabra and paintings on the walls.
This room is… austere.That’s the word that springs to mind. Bare. Bleak. It has no flourishes of embellishment, no decorative elements. No vases, portraits, bowls of sweets and almonds, or statuettes of the sleeping Gods.
No mirrors.
A practical bronze candleholder with a half-melted candle stands on the only table, a chair behind it.
