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Awareness crept into her limbs, a slow tingling sensation that stretched toward her fingers and toes. The weight of several blankets rested over her torso, trapping the heat that had begun to gather sweat along her collar and behind her knees. It was suffocating.
Dim light was visible through her eyelids. If only she had the strength to open her eyes. Vaguely she was aware that she didn’t even want to try. Exhaustion was bone deep within her physical body even if her mind had already begun to wake.
Then, painted like an expensive piece of art, within her mind’s eye she saw him.
With dark eyes wide, he stared down at his palm. Hair fell carelessly over his forehead, giving her the distinct feeling that his hair looked different than it should. As though this man she could not name ought to have the strands pushed away to show off the cut of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. But that was a ridiculous notion. She didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how his hair should or should not look. He was a stranger.
His shirt was only half tucked, his trousers wet. Dirt covered the toes of his boots and left a trail behind him. Whoever he was, he was every bit disheveled as he blinked at the raised flesh that appeared as if it was watching him back.
Because it was.
And, by the dragons, if he wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever seen. That thought rose like a desperate declaration. She pushed it back down.
As if her mind knew that this image wouldn’t last much longer, she began frantically trying to take in every little detail around him. The wood boards under his feet were stained a rich brown, the walls decorated with a vibrant patterned wallpaper, and behind him, double doors were closed. Sunlight was cast over his face from a window she couldn’t see. The slice of light turned the dark color of his irises to honey. Meira’s pulse quickened. He was beautiful. And unfamiliar save for the ripe attraction that darted through her at his image.
Nothing about his scenery was telling of his location. Or who he was. Or why her body pulsed with the need to find him.
A haze took to the edges of the picture filling her head. All too soon his surroundings blurred. She greedily took in her one final look at the man, but then he was gone, replaced by the fuzzy awareness that her eyes were still closed. There was a hollowness to her chest in the aftermath of the vision. The need to cry stung her eyes. Were there tears streaking her face? Confusion and want haunted her thoughts.
She stretched her legs until her feet left the confines of the blankets. Her fingers curled into the sheets as her next breath brought with it a medicinal scent. A groan clawed its way out of her throat as she finally blinked her eyes open. With the back of her hands, she wiped at them, frowning at the evidence of her sorrow.
At least everything here was mostly familiar, she thought as her room came into focus. The same worn quilts she always used fell away when she propped herself up on her elbows. Her latest read was face down, holding her place on her small dresser. Her riding jacket hung on the back of the closed door, and her scuffed boots lay sideways where she’d last kicked them off. The same stone walls. The same polished floors.
Meira exhaled. A tremble passed through her arms, almost convincing her to lay back down. Instead, she sat herself up, pushed the blankets away, and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked down at her body, still dressed in the midnight blue riding gear, though it hung a bit loosely.
Fabric, tattered at its edges as if it had been hastily ripped, wrapped her left hand. She brought her palm mere inches from her face and stared at the material. No blood stained it but she could feel the stiffness of a healing wound beneath it. Swallowing the nerves that bubbled up from her stomach, she tugged at the knot holding the wrap closed. The fabric was unwound and fell away to reveal the pink cuts carved into her flesh in the shape of an eye. Meira traced a finger over the marking and flinched as dull pain was renewed with the touch.
What did I do? Her breath quickened as she tried to search her memory for an inkling of what may have happened. Nothing readily came to mind. Yesterday she’d returned from a small mission to the Catalough Isles and celebrated with the other riders. Bram had walked her back to her room, then she’d come to bed, a little inebriated but otherwise fine, and fallen asleep. Whatever had happened between then and now was lost to her.
Her stomach felt painfully empty as she eyed the glass vials lining her nightstand. Mousy brown curls stuck to her forehead; shorter strands slipped free from her two frizzy braids. She pushed the loose hair back. What had they tried to give her? What illness did they think she had?
Whatever they’d given certainly hadn’t worked. What caused this fatigue wasn’t a physical sort of illness that a healer might treat, though it appeared whoever had been here was blissfully unaware.
Thank the dragons. A small blessing.
She’d been lucky. Just like the millions of other times she’d managed to scrape by without anyone knowing her secret. At what point would her luck run out though? It couldn’t last forever, could it? If anyone knew, she surely wouldn’t still be sitting in this room in her sweat-slicked uniform. The fact that no one else had put two and two together and condemned her was proof enough that Meira held the dragons’ favor.
On shaky legs, Meira stood. There could only be a few reasons she had been thrown into a deep sleep such as the one she was waking from. Truly, there was so little that might sway her to be so reckless. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she rewrapped her hand, hiding the evidence of her nature.
What time was it? What day?
A pounding began in her head as she bent to shove her feet into her boots. The leather was soft from use but her bare feet still felt wrong, as though the impressions left inside them didn’t belong to her. She left the confines of her room wearing a scowl but found the halls quiet and empty. Stretching her arms out to touch the stone walls on either side of her to hold her upright, she kept moving. Her knees knocked with every step. She pretended as if they didn’t.
Only when she’d reached the stairs that she’d walked a thousand times before did she pause to take a breath. From here there was only one way to go. Up. And then up some more. Her body protested with each stair she climbed. Muscles burned as if they’d never been used a day in her life. She gritted her teeth and ascended the spiraling staircase, certain that she’d lost track of time, or perhaps that time had lost track of her when she finally made it to the top.
Sweat followed the gentle curve of Meira’s nose. Her cheeks glistened in the early morning light and her clothes clung to her flesh, heavy with moisture as she reached the mountain’s top. Through the door, the mountain flattened into a large smooth platform to allow space for riders to mount their Bold Wings. From here she could see the orange-pink that kissed the horizon as the sun rose to start a day still muted by thick fog. Most riders had likely gone to bed only a couple of hours ago. It made sense that the halls were so quiet and empty now.
Her dry lips cracked further as she put two fingers between them and whistled. The noise echoed across the rocky ledge. “Mrithun,” she called, but her voice was hoarse, hardly louder than a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Mrithun!”
Every breath she took was a shallow reminder of what there was to lose. Everything. There was everything to lose. There must be. Why else would she have taken this risk? A picture of that man staring at his palm flashed behind her eyelids accompanied by the nauseating feeling of being seasick.
Up at the top of Mount Ridmond, Meira had the growing sensation that she was alone. That only made the panic climbing up into her throat that much more powerful. For every second that passed in silence, her heart seemed to beat a little more erratically.
Then she heard it. The beat of wings. Gradually, the blue-black shine of Mrithun’s diamond-shaped scales came into view. Crimson-flecked eyes stared back at her as the dragon slowed and dropped onto the platform. Relief nearly had Meira on the floor.
She stumbled forward, stopping shy of catching herself against the silky scales of Mrithun’s front leg. Fresh demanding tears sprung to her eyes, making her vision blurry even as she tried to blink them away.
The dragon huffed a breath that clouded between them and washed over Meira’s face. Then the beast's wet nose ruffled her hair.
