Reckoning (Book 5) (2 page)

Tressa lay in bed, her head resting on a fluffy pillow. Her dark hair spread out in a fan. Her hands were in fists at her sides. Her eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that her tears had nowhere to go.

"You must get up," Granna insisted. "You can't wallow down here forever."

"I can," Tressa responded. "And I will."

"You lost your dragon. Fi is dead. Jarrett is missing. Bastian is having a child with another woman. I know all of these things are making it difficult to get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other, but you must." Granna shook Tressa's shoulders. When that failed to rouse her, Granna tugged on her hair.

"Ow!" Tressa exclaimed as she shot upright. She opened her swollen, stinging eyes, and glared at her great-grandmother. "That was uncalled for."

"That is the least of what you deserve," Granna said. She stood and paced Tressa's room. "When you arrived in the middle of the night all those months ago, I was sure we'd lost you for good. When you plummeted into that cave, crashing in a heap, legs folded under you, wings broken and bloody, I thought that was the end. But, no, Tressa, you changed back into a human. You healed."

"And I’ve never changed into my dragon again," she said, bitterness lacing her words. "It's gone."

"You thought it was gone forever when you were in Desolation, but it came back. Why not again?" Granna asked. She stopped her pacing to pour two cups of tea.

Tressa took one, wrapping her hands around the delicate porcelain. Warmth spread up her arms. "It feels different this time. I feel... empty."

"That could just be your emotions." Granna settled in a chair carved from an old tree stump. "You have been through so much since leaving Hutton's Bridge a couple years ago. Now that you’ve had time to catch your breath, you're bound to feel different."

"It's not that," Tressa said. "You know it as well as I do. The dragon is gone. Forever. Whatever Donovan did to me in Desolation is now permanent. He claimed I could regain my dragon by drinking dragon blood, but we both know that isn't the case. My teeth are stained pink from all of the dragon blood I've drunk since coming back here." Tressa's lips curled backward, to show her great-grandmother.

Granna sighed. "I know, I know. We have tried everything in our power to help you, Tressa. You have two choices. You can continue to drink and hope that one day you will sprout wings again, or you can choose to give up on the dragon and be just as you were before. You spent most of your life without a dragon. You can go back to who you were. There was nothing wrong with who you were before."

Tressa threw the teacup at the wall. It shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. "I don't want to be who I was before leaving Hutton's Bridge." She thought back to the meek girl who was hopelessly in love a boy she could never have. That girl didn't know how to fight. That girl hadn't traveled the length and breadth of the Dragonlands and passed over the Barrier Mountains into Desolation. That girl was a memory. She might as well be dead.

"I need my dragon back. Otherwise what good am I? Do you expect me to work in textiles, weaving belts and ropes again? After everything I've done!" Tressa fell on the bed, crushing a pillow to her face. She took deep shuddering breaths, her chest heaving. "I can't go back. I can't."

"There's no shame in weaving," Granna said. "It's an honorable trade."

Tressa smeared her tears onto the pillow and sat up once more. She frowned. "I know that. I do. I used to love weaving. All I wanted was to marry Bastian, have a family, and live a quiet life."

"And now?" Granna asked. She blew on her hot tea. "What do you want now?"

"I want my dragon. I want Fi to be alive and back with Sarah. I want Jarrett to break whatever magical bonds hold him in thrall. I want..."

She couldn't say Bastian. Not anymore. She'd given him up a long time ago. Still, when she heard he was having a child with another woman, she couldn't help but think of the night she'd told him about the child she'd lost. His child. The one they'd wanted for so long. She remembered how he'd taken her in his arms, kissed her, and helped her to heal that hole in her heart. Unfortunately, that night had reopened a door she'd long thought closed. Part of her ached again for the redhead who'd captivated her for so many years. "You didn't send word to Connor about Bastian, did you? That I know he’s alive?"

Granna shook her head. "I did as you asked. I will not tell."

"Good," Tressa said. "At least one thing has gone right. Bastian doesn't need to think of me like that anymore. We both should move on."

"Exactly." Granna set down her teacup and stood. "Now move on, Tressa. Get up. I will not allow you to lie here any longer. I've let this go on for far too long. Up, I said. Up!"

Tressa groaned. Granna wouldn't leave her alone until Tressa did as she asked. Tressa swung her legs over the side of the bed and let her feet fall on the wooden floor. She stood, straightening out her bedclothes. "There. Happy?"

"Not yet. I want you to head down to the bath, clean up, and get dressed." Granna swept out of the room with the confidence of someone who knew she had gotten her way.

Tressa wrapped herself in a robe. She yanked a dress and a pair of stockings from the wardrobe, then made her way to the bath. She opened the door. Billowing clouds of steam greeted her, the moist air enveloping her in warm arms. Tressa took a deep breath and entered.

A few women sat at the edge of the pool of water, submerged up to their knees. They cleaned their limbs with sponges while talking amongst themselves. When they looked up and saw who entered, the talk stopped.

Tressa's heart fell to her feet. Sarah. They'd only spoken once since Tressa had returned, wounded, to the Ruins of Ebon. When Sarah learned Fi had likely died in the fallen Red castle, she'd spun on one heel and left. Tressa never had a chance to tell her how much Fi loved her wife and wanted to come home to her. Instead, Sarah avoided Tressa as if she carried the plague.

"Can we talk?" Tressa asked her.

The other two women looked expectantly at Sarah, who eventually nodded. "Go," Sarah told them. "I need to do this."

Tressa waited until they left before settling on the bench next to Sarah. "I can tell you anything you want to know."

Sarah didn't speak for what felt like an eternity. The two women simply stared at each other. "Did you love her, too?" Sarah finally asked.

"I did," Tressa said, "but not in the way you think. Fi and I weren't in love. We were like sisters. The dearest of friends. It broke my heart when I realized she was likely under the rubble. I dug until my talons bled. I am so, so sorry I couldn’t find her. They wouldn't let us dig further for her body."

"Is it true? Was there really a giant beast hiding under the Red castle?" Sarah asked.

Tressa thought of Decarian. To her, he wasn’t dead. His fierce grimace, four horns, and frightening muscles still haunted her dreams. "Yes, I saw him myself. Fi was trying to save all of the Dragonlands from him and his minions."

Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. "She had this damn overconfidence, always thinking she could save everyone. When she took off for Malum the first time, when she first saved you and your friends, I thought I'd never see her again. But she came back. Then she left for battle in the north. Again, she returned to me, even just briefly before going back to..."

"To me?" Tressa asked. "Oh, Sarah, it was never about me. Fi had wanderlust in her soul. She wanted to conquer all of the bad in the world so that someday she could live out her old age with you in a land no longer beset by war. She did everything for you."

Sarah's tears burst forth, rolling down her cheeks like a river breaking through a dam. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to believe it, but I feared she'd fallen for another. I could handle Fi leaving for war. I couldn't handle the thought that perhaps she died with the name of another on her lips."

"No," Tressa said, scooting closer to her friend's widow. "She loved you and only you, Sarah. I wouldn't lie about this. Please, believe me."

"I do." Sarah took Tressa's hand in hers. "Thank you. And I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough to talk to you about it before now. I was afraid to face my fears. I didn't want them confirmed."

"I understand," Tressa said. She really did. It was the same reason she wouldn't send word to Bastian. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, but she couldn't face his rejection all the same. Emotions were a silly thing, carrying far too much weight.

Sarah stood and dried off. "Maybe in time I'll want to hear stories about Fi. The things she did in Desolation. The battles she fought and won."

"I'd like to tell them," Tressa said, though she felt it would be a long time before she'd be able to talk about their night in the catacombs. Fear still ripped through her when she remembered all she'd faced and the comrades she'd lost.

"We'll talk soon, then." Sarah leaned down and kissed Tressa on the cheek. "Thank you, again." She gathered up her dirty clothes in one arm, leaving Tressa alone in the damp bathing room.

Tressa tossed off her robe, sank into the pool, and let the water soften the sadness of the last few months. The world was safe again. There was no sign of Decarian near the rubble of the Red castle. Yet Tressa didn’t feel at peace. She had no idea what to do with the rest of her life now that she had no one to fight.

After the gong rang, signaling the burning of the day’s final candle, Tressa snuck up from the Ruins of Ebon into the dark night. During the months she'd spent hidden in the great underground city, she'd befriended many domestic workers, and they had been more than willing to spill their secrets to her.

When the city was built, the Black’s greatest concern was hiding from the rest of the Dragonlands. It wasn't meant to be easy to access their city, and many steps were taken to control entry points. Except for one. The refuse tunnel. Covered in filth from years of moving garbage and waste through the rocky shaft, few dared to travel that way. The stink alone was enough to deter all but the most tenacious, and the layers of slime added insult to an already disgusting journey.

Tressa didn't mind. If she could slip out unnoticed, that was all that mattered. Inside the city she was separated from the one thing that gave her hope and comfort. Her ghost dragons. They had remained outside the city to protect her, hiding from anyone who might see them.

Upon returning to human form, her greatest fear had been that she wouldn't be able to see them anymore. Fi couldn't. Donovan couldn't. The people of Desolation couldn’t. But Connor did. In the haze of starlight and snow, he had seen glimpses of her dragons in the night sky.

So far, Tressa hadn’t lost them, but she went outside to sit with Alden and the others at least once a week, just in case. Alden told her stories of their days in Hutton's Bridge, before they were tricked into leaving their children behind. Before they were killed and their bodies turned to stone in Desolation. Before she rescued them with her blood.

If anyone had come upon her, they would have seen only a woman in her nightclothes, sitting on the ground, staring at the stars. The ghosts remained hidden from the rest of the world. Only Tressa could see them as clearly as if they stood before her.

Yet if Connor could see them in the right light, anyone else might, too. So Tressa did her best to protect the ghosts from the world by never mentioning them to anyone—not even Granna. It was a secret she held close to her heart. It reminded her she was once a great dragon herself. She had done great deeds.

In the end, though, it was Connor who had saved the Dragonlands by bringing down the Red castle and trapping Decarian and his minions under the depths of the rubble. Tressa had done nothing but travel to another land in a futile search for answers that never materialized.

We flew to Hutton's Bridge again last night,
Alden told her, his voice echoing in her mind, even though she was no longer a dragon.
The babe has been born. It was a boy.

Tressa couldn't help but smile. So Bastian had a son now. A son and a daughter. Tressa knew he would be thrilled. He had always wanted a large brood. He and Tressa had dreamed about it, their fingers interlaced, his lips on her neck. She'd wanted to give him a family. Thanks to her great-grandmother's herbs, she hadn’t been able to conceive. True, Granna had been trying to hide the dragon blood that coursed through Tressa’s veins, but it had also been a blow to Tressa's confidence. Unable to bear children, she was useless to the people in her village, and they had treated her as such.

Are you sad, Tressa?
Alden asked.
I thought you'd be happy to know life continues on in Hutton's Bridge.

She choked back her tears. The world had moved on without her. Tressa felt as if she were stuck in the past with Jarrett and Fi. Perhaps part of her had died with them. The part of her that was still alive didn't know where to go next.

No, I am happy,
she insisted.
As long as Hutton's Bridge continues to thrive, there is a chance for all of us.

And it was true. The rest of the Dragonlands saw Hutton's Bridge as a beacon of hope. If they could survive, then so could everyone else. The tiny town’s adult population had been wiped out twice, yet its lineage continued to flower.

Is the fog still up?
she asked Alden.

He nodded.
I do not know why, though. If the Dragonlands are safe, then why hide? It is time for them to emerge.

Tressa looked up at the sky again. The stars sparkled. The moon hung in all its glory, at the peak of its fullness. Tressa sighed and leaned into Alden further. She couldn't feel him, not in the way she could another human, but still, it gave her comfort knowing his wispy form surrounded her.

Perhaps they will leave the fog soon,
Tressa said.

Perhaps you should go home and see them.

Alden's reply annoyed her. Tressa knew what they all wanted. Even Granna had urged her to visit the place of her birth and see her friends. Everyone thought it would bring healing to Tressa. She knew the opposite would be true. Seeing Bastian with his new woman and their baby would only rip her heart in two once again. Yes, she'd thought the last time they were together was only a reflection of the past. Being away from everyone had proved her wrong. Once she found out Bastian was alive, she knew her feelings for him were stronger than she'd admitted. Now that Jarrett was gone, likely dead in the rubble, nothing stood between them. Except this woman and her baby.

No, Tressa wouldn't go to Hutton's Bridge. She wouldn't stand in the way of Bastian's new family. Nor would she go there and hang about Connor and Hazel. They, too, needed time to rebuild their life together. She would stay in the Ruins of Ebon. She would find her own way eventually.

Tressa tilted her chin up, gazing into the sky. The stars’ beauty washed over her, bring a hint of peace to her wounded heart. Perhaps she could find peace. Maybe time would heal the wounds of the past few years.

A shadow flitted over the moon. Tressa blinked. It was just a bird, or maybe one of the other ghost dragons in flight. Then it happened again. Another shadow.

Tressa stood, as if that would get her closer to the moon. Her neck craned and her eyes squinted, she tried to make out the shape now undulating over the moon. Terror awakened in her belly, a feeling she thought she'd left behind in the catacombs of Desolation.

No. It couldn't be. Not a shade.

It flitted across the sky, blotting out the stars one by one until the blackness of night was only punctuated by the moon. Then everything began to change.

The pure white of the moon dissolved into crimson spots until it was completely covered in red.

"What is that?" she asked aloud.

Alden and the other dragons looked to the sky.

It is a blood moon,
Alden said.
I have seen it only one other time.

When?
Tressa asked.

Not when, but where,
Alden said.
In a book in Hutton's Bridge. A book the elders burned when I was just a young boy. It foretold of the destruction of the Dragonlands. The elders said it was nonsense, just the ramblings of a sick man. I believed them. I put it out of my mind. But it appears it wasn't a lie.

A strange, dripping noise punctuated the quiet night. Tressa held out a hand. She was quickly rewarded. Something dripped onto her. Drop after drop. She brought her hand to her nose and flinched at the coppery scent.

"Blood," she said, horror creeping into every corner of her body. "It’s raining blood. I'm sorry, Alden. I need to tell Granna and Mestifito. Stay safe out here. We don't know what is coming."

If the stories are to be believed, the end is coming, my dear Tressa. But we will not go down without a fight.