RED
I dreamed of opal towers ringed by a fiery river. I dreamed of a heat so intense it melted the flesh from my bones, my fat sizzling on the flagstones, evaporating clean away before it even had a chance to smear. I dreamed of a light so bright it burned holes in my vision, leaving screaming darkness in its wake. My only compass was the pressure cinching around my head, tightening with every step towards the castle.
Still, I kept moving, even when I had to crawl. I would have my audience with Rya. I would know why She chose me to carry Her Blessing.
What a burden it was.
I collapsed at the front gate of the keep. When I woke, I was even more exhausted than before I went to sleep.
The days and nights passed in a blur, marked only by the distance that stretched between Sebastian and I with every step towards the Grey Fist mountains. He'd gone back to frequenting his Wraith form, using his keen senses and loping legs to scout the terrain without giving our position away. Rana grumbled that she could do a better job on wing, but Gretchen wanted her to play things safe. A wyvern on the wrong side of the mountains would only draw the Kirins' attention and put them on high alert. With one of their fillies in our ranks, we wanted to look as nondescript and unthreatening as possible when we passed into their territory.
The first great wedge was driven between us when Sebastian showed up late to the campfire one night, splattered from head to toe in a foul black liquid that sizzled when it dripped on the leaf litter. I made a sound of dismay as he gingerly shook out his coat, hands flying up to my mouth.
Rana merely wrinkled her nose. "What's a mud grub doing so far inland?"
The silver wolf rolled one shaggy shoulder, a lazy approximation of a human shrug.
Seeing my confused expression, Gretchen explained: "They're a kind of eel, only land-based and with lots of teeth."
"And much bigger," Rana chimed in, stretching her arms wide. "Slippery little buggers like to burrow in the mud. You can only tell they're there if you look closely at the ground, for little air pockets bubbling up on the surface. Steer clear if you see them, because if they sense your weight shifting..."
She brought her hands together in a booming clap. The Wraith huffed a laugh.
"This isn't funny," I blurted out, heat rushing into my cheeks when everyone turned to stare. I committed to Sebastian's burning gaze. "Why did you pick a fight with it? You could have been seriously hurt."
To my surprise, his leathery lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. A warning to back off.
It was the first time he'd ever looked at me that way.
"He's doing it for you," Rana hissed, jabbing me in the side as he curled up on the other side of the fire -- as far away from me as possible. "To keep you safe."
"Well I wish he wouldn't," I whispered back furiously. "I can look after myself."
That wasn't entirely true, but I couldn't bear the thought of him suffering on my behalf. Not after I'd seen him struggle in that Weaver's web, the razor-sharp strands slicing deeper with every desperate motion, cutting straight through to the bone. I'd survived years of poison and several wayward monsters, but I couldn't survive watching the light go out of his eyes again.
You're too invested, the smart, rational side of me warned. He doesn't feel the same way.
The sentimental part of me argued that he had to feel the same way; why else would he have risked so much to keep me safe? But reason was ravenous, and I was prone to picking my thoughts clean, marrow and all.
Slowly, reluctantly, I came to realise there was one alternative that made sense of his reckless actions. It was possible that I wasn't a person he cared for, so much as an asset to be protected. The last living torch-bearer of Rya's holy flames. But how did he want me to wield it?
It was clear that Sebastian had something against Nya. He'd tried to kill Her Chosen in the bloodiest way possible; I might have written off an arrow to the lungs as a poor shot if I hadn't seen Sebastian's skill with a throwing knife. His aim was uncanny. Which meant he'd wanted Rogan to drown in his own blood, a slow, agonising death. He'd wanted to strike Nya where it hurt the most.
Perhaps he'd scented Rya's Blessing on me long before the others, and had been subtly nudging me towards the Sun Temple, where I would finally learn to master my craft. Only then would I be able to take on the Blood Moon Pack and march into the Hidden Vale. Only then would I be able to deal a blow that even Nya Herself would feel.
Why else would a rogue lycan tolerate the company of a witch and a wyvern? Why else would he protect me so doggedly, so ferociously, from enemies no sane man would think to cross? He'd risked death trying to retrieve my corpse, of all things, so it must have been useful in some way. At first I'd thought Sebastian was motivated by sentimentality, that he'd reciprocated my naive feelings, but now...
"Stop scowling," Gretchen said, reaching for the rabbit on the spit. Its savoury, oily scent permeated the whole clearing, making my mouth water. "You'll give yourself wrinkles."
My frown only deepened. Not a romantic interest, or even really a friend. Not just a burden or a resource, but both. A means to an end.
So why do I still care? I wondered, hating the urge I felt to bring him food, to check and clean his cuts and scrapes. I wondered caustically if it was in my nature to seek validation from the men in my life, if my self worth was truly so dependant on feeling wanted, needed, admired. I couldn't deny that Sebastian's efforts had made me feel special, like a damsel in distress from one of Brollo's faerie tales.
But hadn't Hunter made me feel the same way, when he came to the rescue of those butterflies all those years ago? The only difference was that I was the butterfly now, the weak, fragile thing deformed by others' cruelty, my wings crushed along with my dreams of flight. My enemies might have been punished, but I was still that tortured, twitching thing on the ground, the powder from my wings still staining their fingers. I couldn't shift. I couldn't wield magic. I couldn't even fight.
The Wraith lay his head on his front paws, watching the woods with half-lidded eyes. When he refused to join us for dinner, I shoved his share into my mouth too.
For three nights and days, I went to sleep shivering and woke up in a sweat, tortured by the same dream every night. Our path zig-zagged up rolling green hills, each one taller than the last, but even they were no match for the agony of the Dance of the Sabre, where I learned the motions to slice, slash, rip and shred with two blades — well, two sticks. I used hefty branches to grow used to the weight of a blade in my hand, as Gretchen had yet to trust me with steel, and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask Sebastian if I could borrow some of his. I worked until my limbs quaked and Rana begged me to stop, because she was getting tired just watching me struggle.
And yet, even the fire in my limbs was pleasant compared to the burning frustration I felt every time I tried to meditate. My thoughts circled around and around like wolves, waiting until I wore myself out and it was safe to go in for the kill. I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to force them out, focusing so hard that my nails bit into my palms. Every single time, without fail, Gretchen would say in that infuriatingly breathy, sultry voice of hers: Just relax.
The monotony was maddening. All I wanted was to make progress, but the longer I trained, the more I realised how truly inept and unequipped I was to go into battle, magical or otherwise. How little I could do to protect the ones I loved.
And the harder I trained, the further I pushed them away.