I spend the remaining hours of the day beside Cephias.
Every so often, I hold a one-sided conversation with him, but I spend most of the time trying to figure a way out of this mess.
Unfortunately, I keep coming back to the same conclusion. No matter how strong and able-bodied the Firehearts may or may not be, there are just too few of them. If these Waterhearts have an army at their disposal, then Cephias doesn't stand a chance.
At least, not by himself.
He needs to grow his army, and the only way to do that is by enlisting humans to fight the Waterhearts. Which means I need to convince him he is the biggest fool in all the realm if he doesn't just marry me already.
Now, it crosses my mind that I could smack him across the head and have Andre puppet him around as my husband. But that plan—though thoroughly amusing—is obviously not an option.
I need him to commit. That's where I'm stuck, because gods know I've tried all I can think of at this point.
Around dinner time, Bellina stops by with a tray of food and the threat of dragging me back to my room if I don't go willingly within the next hour. I have enough sprains and bruises for the time being, so I promise she won't see me when she comes back to take watch over the dragon lord.
After my meal, I trudge back to my room. On the way, I spot Jennit and Andre smiling together beside my door. Jennit blushes and immediately shoos Andre away before offering to help me settle in for the night. However, I'm numb to it all because seeing them together finally provides me an answer—the Fireheart gem forging tradition.
As far as I can tell, when it comes to Fireheart commitment, making a jewel for your beloved is a sure sign of your intentions. I certainly can't forge a gem on my own, but perhaps if I craft something else, that will be enough.
***
The following morning, I join the dragoniths around the table for breakfast.
Killian took watch from Bellina in the early morning hours. The dragonith has nothing to report other than Cephias's color is improving, and that he's now making slight movements instead of being stone still. My heart lightens at this news, but Cephias's aunt looks drawn and small as she shares it. In fact, no one takes the sign of improvement well.
Is this too slow for a dragonith? For a human, such movement after a major injury is worth celebrating. But for them, every second he stays asleep, the darker his outlook is.
I can't allow myself to overanalyze her reaction. She's been up all night and is just exhausted. Cephias is going to be okay. He has to be.
Instead, I turn my attention elsewhere. Busy hands quiet the mind and I know just what to do to keep me distracted.
"Mira, Gatteo, Numen, is there a chance I could ask a favor?"
The three hunters look up from their plates of roasted colliroot and smoked hog, all of which they've drowned in a sweet syrup tapped from the local trees. Their faces are impassive.
It's no secret I am not the hunters' favorite person. They only see me at meals and, in their world, I'm an extra mouth to feed, which means more work for them.
When an uncomfortable amount of time passes, I clear my throat and continue.
"I was hoping you might know of some clay in the area."
"Planning to go on another excursion?" asks the burly Gatteo with a patronizing drawl to his words.
"Uh, no, learned my lesson the last time."
I offer a nervous laugh, as if yesterday's disaster is already a story to be shared around the fire. They unfortunately haven't gotten to that point yet.
I continue with an even voice, or at least as even as I can get given the situation.
"So, I'm familiar with your practice of forging gems for people, uh, special to you."
This gets Mira and Numen to raise their brows and exchange curious glances. Gatteo continues to look like an angry lump.
"Yes, what of it?" asks Mira with cautious hesitation. "What does it have to do with clay?"
"Well," I answer, my speed picking up as I launch into the speech I've been practicing all morning, "obviously I cannot forge a gem—humans being naturally lacking in the department you all excel in."
This earns me an approving grunt from Gatteo. I'll take it.
"My people, my kingdom at least, are known for our ceramics. The beds surrounding our many rivers have a unique clay that we form into all sorts of goods. Our kingdom is iconic for our fine ceramics. So much so that even a princess like me is expected to be a master craftswoman. So if I can't forge a gem, then I'd like to craft something with clay instead."
The three of them hold a silent conversation of confused, curious, and concerned glances. Even a few other clan members have taken an interest in our discussion, but none dare to throw in their input.
Eventually, it is Gatteo that breaks the silence.
"I'm the best with a spear, so I'm usually at the river gathering fish. We're getting into the colder season, so it isn't too high right now. I can probably find you some."
"Thank you, Gatteo! Thank you so much for this kindness."
I reach over and take his calloused hand in mine and give it a grateful squeeze. The muscled fisherman looks down at my hold but doesn't pull away. Probably because he's frozen with doubt.
I don't blame the man for suspecting I'm up to something, but from my time here, I've gathered dragoniths are far more loyal to their word than most humans. If he says he'll bring me clay, then I believe him.
"S-sure," he replies, pulling his hand away and hiding it beneath the table so I can't snag it again. "I can't get you much. It's too heavy."
"Whatever you can gather is appreciated. Thank you."
I bow my head with my words and when I look back up, he's even more bewildered than before. However, I won't press my luck. I'll let him stew over my intentions without further harassment from me.
With this taken care of, I focus on eating breakfast and getting back to Cephias's side.
***
The hours aren't as quiet today as they were yesterday. The injured dragon lord snuffles and groans in his sleep. He'll wince against unseen nightmares and sweat dews along his hairline.
Despite Jennit's insistence that Firehearts are too hot to get an infection, he shows all signs of a rampant fever. Every now and again, Moira comes in muttering to herself about his slow progress. She'll force a few drops of something down his throat before leaving with a look of terrified uncertainty on her face.
I won't dwell on what I don't know. It serves me no other purpose than to worry my heart—which is burdened enough with my guilt at the moment.
Instead, I focus on what I can do, which is to dab away the heat burning his skin. I drag a rag through the cold water sitting in a bowl on his nightstand. I lean in and offer sweet cooing whispers as I work. It settles his fevered dreams—at least for a little while.
In the silence between his fits, I consider my next steps. I need to come up with a design for whatever I'm making him. It will depend on how much clay I get, but I could ask Gatteo to gather more. Of course, I'm not sure how willing he'll be to repeat the favor. Perhaps I'll fashion Cephias a small cup with some sort of motif or embellishment.
What then, though?
I have an entire clan of people capable of helping me fire the clay, but then I'll need a glaze, and that I'm less certain of. I can make plant ash with no problem, and I can scrounge up something for pigment, but a silicate won't be so easy.
Lost in thought, my eyes look over every corner of Cephias's room as if an answer might spring out at me. However, his intricate rugs and tapestries, though beautiful, can't help me with pottery in the slightest. Frustrated, I lean back in my chair and stare up at the glassy ceiling.
Wait, it is glassy, isn't it? Just like a silicate would be. I scrunch my nose and squint my eyes. The rounded, organic nature of the castle's architecture—could it be that the Firehearts carved out these rooms and then smoothed them over with their flames? If so—
"What are you doing here?"
"Huh?"
I perk up, adjusting my seat in the chair before looking toward the door. However, it is closed and vacant.
"I said, what are you doing here?"
This time, I realize the raspy voice is coming from behind me. My heart climbs my throat and I turn around to find Cephias, straining and sweating, but awake.
"Oh, Cephias! You're okay. I've been so worried."
Flush with emotion and giddy at the sound of his voice, I swoop in to wrap my arms around his neck and plant a kiss to his forehead. When a hard hand pushes against my chest and knocks me backwards with a hiss and a growl, the elation flooding my thoughts drains completely.
"Do not touch me." He struggles to lift himself into a seated position and I spot a fresh pool of blood coloring the bandages around his arm.
He was willing to aggravate his wound to push me away.
"Cephias, I...I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to see you are okay."
"Who said I'm okay?" His words are snarls between his clenched teeth.
I take in a few quick breaths, my eyes running all over him in search of what has turned him against me.
I find his gaze is pure red, the whites bloodshot and melting into the burning garnet of his irises. His copper skin is blotchy with emotion, his face flushed with a red rivaling that of his eyes. Every muscle strains in his effort to face me upright.
"Let me help you."
I rise to my feet, but he's quick to send me skittering backwards.
"Do not touch me! Are you so incapable of listening to anything I say? I told you not to go after the caravan. I told you to stop meddling so I can concentrate on saving my people. And I told you multiple times not to touch me."
"Okay. Yes. I'm sorry."
I've never been one to cry. Royalty is expected to hide such weakness. And when I do fail to manage such emotion, I at least temper it with a firm chin and steadfast gaze.
However, seeing Cephias's chest shudder with difficult, heaving breaths, his shoulder bleeding through his gauze, and his eyes filled with anger, I cannot find a single defense against the sudden rush of tears prickling my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Cephias. I was just trying to help."
"Help? You put yourself directly into danger and nearly lost your life because of it. When I heard your screams, I had to decide whether to stay with the caravan that my people's lives depend on and you. Foolishly, I chose you. Now I cannot rejoin the caravan, and I might be permanently injured." Each word flees his lips with a spray of seething hatred.
"We are short staffed, and now we're down another pair of hands. How am I to organize my people and seek a solution to the massacre threatening us when I have to run off and save you from a fate you could have easily avoided? How am I to protect them in battle if I cannot even transform?"
Anger pulses in the veins climbing his throat and wrapping his muscled arms. Sweat dampens his red skin and his fists clench against the pain.
Despite the truth to his words and the clear struggle quaking through every inch of his body, all I can think of is how monstrous and unfair he is.
"I fucked up, I know that. But so have you. Those furs will get you a lot, but not as much as you ask for every year. I am trying to help you, Cephias, but you refuse to listen to reason. If you want to save your people, put your pride aside and work with me."
His nostrils flare and his eyes glance away, but he says nothing.
"I'm sorry, Cephias." My words are a choked whisper as a fresh wave of tears takes hold. "I am truly sorry that you were injured saving me. I realize how detrimental this could be, but do not pretend like I am acting in complete selfishness. I followed you because I want to save your people just as much as I want to save mine."
He looks back at me from the tops of his eyes. His lips are sealed in a thin line, but I can see in his thoughtful gaze that he hears me.
"My people threw me up on a sacrificial altar, while yours have treated me kindly even as a prisoner. In a way, I care more about protecting your people than my own. And I know for certain, I care about saving you more than anyone else in this world."
He doesn't have a response. Only the crackle of a low fire and the raspy intake of his breath fill the room.
Finally, I speak for the last time.
"I'll inform the others that you are awake and then I will return to my room. After that, do with me as you wish. If you do not want me, there's no one left in this gods' forsaken world that does. What is death to me at this point?"
I turn on my heel and though I keep my back and arms straight, my face crumbles once he can no longer see my pain.
My tears flow in secret, just like a good princess should.