Author's Note: Andddd... Here we are :D
A big hand to those who reviewed and are still hanging on to this story. Your reviews and efforts are much appreciated :D I hope I don't disappoint with this chapter ^^
Sorry for being gone so long D: I was busy, with school and... other stuff, but I guess that's no longer a valid excuse seeing as how I've evidently overused it But please enjoy this chapter and comment, whichever catches your fancy XD
Chapter 7:
She was reduced to waiting tersely once more, with bated breath.
"You're here," that voice drifted to being from somewhere behind her again, and Cynder whirled around in a hurry, her eyes flashing green, a sharp contrast to the gloom around her.
Nothing. She found herself peering at nothing but darkness which stretched on and on and...
She hated having to wait for something to happen. It placed her at a disadvantageous position. Worse still, she hated not knowing what she was waiting for. And she had been waiting for long enough.
"Who are you!" The black dragoness screamed, in an attempt to dispel the oppressive silence. Like viscous liquid pushed against her, gave way reluctantly, and then bounced back seamlessly. Her breath came in ragged gasps. It did not seem to be air she was breathing, and that alone was enough to make her feel unbalanced. This whole place was making her scales itch in places she could not fathom.
Laughter, almost too sweet, showered down upon her from above, and something brushed against her folded wings. A blast of cold air assaulted her from behind, and she shrieked, diving to the side.
Silence fell once more in its entirety, and she huffed. It was almost unnerving, how fast sound could fade away from this place.
"Show yourself already," she hissed through clenched teeth, eyes darting wildly around, challenging someone, anyone, to attack her.
"Oh, but I'm right here. Standing in front of you. I always have been," the voice taunted now, whispering into her ear frill. She snarled, twisting her body to the side and snapping her head backwards, spitting a glob of poison with, what she hoped, was accuracy.
No cry of pain reached her. Her head thudded against her ribs. Her eyes narrowed with frustration. How could she have missed? She could have sworn that her aim was true. It must have been. That voice was so close... How could its owner have ducked out of way in time at all?
"Where we are now, the unseen reigns," it hissed at her from behind, and once more she spun with deadly speed, her tailblade cutting the air with one swift, deft stroke. She caught nothing.
"You know who I am," it rang out from the darkness, radiating from her left. She felt something cold brush past her flanks, and this time, she screamed, throwing herself to the side once more, her claws curling and uncurling, digging into the soft pads of her feet, drawing short, sharp bursts of pain. How... How could it have come so close to her without her noticing? Her blood ran cold through her veins, and she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her fear from bubbling to the surface and breaking through her calm exterior...
"You know me better than you know yourself," it came to her now, saccharine sweet, but lacking in warmth. It chilled her, to hear the twisted innocence in those words. It felt so wrongly matched... Cynder shivered, as the temperature around her plummeted, her breath tracing tendrils of gray as it reached outwards with deformed claws and dissipated, incomplete.
"Why can't you see me?" The sweetness that reached her now was tainted by frustration and something older, deeper, darker. Something which demanded her attention, craved her touch, and Cynder shook her head to clear her thoughts, snarling at herself for getting distracted.
"I'm disappointed, Cynder." Like fire burning low, the tempest dropping in strength, it sighed, soft as a breeze kissing her cheeks, "I had thought you were ready.
"But it looks like I thought wrong."
Somehow those words scared her more than anything else, dragging at her consciousness, twisting itself into thin threads which grabbed at her mind. She drew back and reared, front paws swatting at nothing tangible.
"You won't be able to get at me, Cynder," now imperceptibly calm, the voice huffed, and then sneered, "You're here, at the heart of my domain. You can't strike back, not in my place of power. You're powerless here."
"No!" Something in Cynder snapped, and icy torrents of fear and anger alike coursed through her body like winter frost. Her heart shriveled under the pressure and skipped a beat. Her limbs were tingling, and there was a click as her mind began shutting down.
"You are," the voice snorted derisively, "and I would like nothing better than to keep you here with me, if only to argue this point, but it seems that your time here is up.
"Go now," it commanded, and something akin to heat flared under her paws. The sudden, unexpected sensation unlocked her senses once more, and Cynder suddenly found the power to breathe again.
"I will let you go for now. But come find me," it commanded, "Find me, Cynder. And then maybe you can find the answers which you seek."
"I will be waiting for you, right here."
Her eyes snapped wide open, as she screamed and kicked the blankets off with her feet.
Something tumbled off her bed with a resounding crash, and Cynder scooted backwards, her jaw cracked open, poison bubbling in her throat, begging for release.
And found herself staring straight into a pair of brilliant amber eyes. Memories from the night before flooded back in, and she relaxed, groaning as she grabbed her head with both paws and her eyes scrunched shut, "It's you."
"Yes, it's me," Cutodiel sounded half amused and half worried, "Were you expecting anyone else?"
The black dragoness opened her mouth partly, as though to answer, before something flashed past in those green orbs, and she closed it again, choosing apparently to heed her own counsel instead. He sighed.
"I'm sorry if I startled you somewhat. But I didn't know that you took so strongly against having breakfast in bed," his voice was tinged with amusement, flavoured with a hint of irony.
Her jaw dropped open again, this time in shock. Cynder scooted over to the edge of her bed and peered down. There it was, a porcelain platter smashed to bits, the white stark against the woolly brown of the carpet, and the mess of yellow and red which looked suspiciously like egg and bacon. She covered her eyes with her paws and groaned again.
"I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted," the black dragoness dared to peek at him from behind her paws, cracking one eye open and fixing him with an apologetic stare. A tiny smile curled the corners of his muzzle, and he shook his head, "No it's fine."
He sat down on the bed, careful to keep a distance, for which Cynder was grateful for, "I take it that your night had not been as uneventful as mine?"
The understatement of the century. Cynder shook her head, but kept her mouth resolutely shut, her head pounding. Something told her that last night's encounter was not hers to share freely. Something told her that this was something she needed to keep to herself, something she needed to figure out on her own.
Something she was sure she did not want anyone else figuring out before she did. Though she knew not why.
Cutodiel stared at her with unblinking eyes, "Okay then."
Then he stood up and motioned for her to do the same, "I had taken the liberty to bring your breakfast up for you, since I had thought that you might appreciate being made to feel welcome."
"But now that-" Here his eyes flickered downwards, and Cynder winced, "- that's no longer an option, I guess we'll have to find something else downstairs. Follow me?"
The black dragoness saw no reason to refuse. She rose mutely from bed and carefully sidestepped the mess on the floor. Those stains would be a pain to get out from the carpet later on, she knew.
Cutodiel could not help a smile.
It was a beautiful morning. The sun's therapeutic rays warmed her scales, and she basked in its naked glory, thankful for the heat.
Something cold nudged her from within, and her heart skipped a beat once more. She stopped in her tracks, caught off guard, and for a moment, fear paralyzed her once more.
"Is something wrong?" Cutodiel turned back to stare at her, concerned.
"Nothing's wrong," Cynder shook her head, and told herself to stop being silly.
But it was useless, she knew. Something has changed her. Something has changed from last night.
She did not know if it was for the better, or for the worse.
The brown dragon did not believe her, she could just see it in his gaze, but by some power of will, he managed to refrain from asking despite the burning curiosity he must be feeling.
They continued walking.
Cutodiel led them past a copse of trees, until they came upon a small clearing. A clear, small stream ran through the centre, and Cynder found herself enveloped in peaceful silence. Not cold and sharp and threatening like the one she had found herself immersed in till but a short while ago, and she was grateful for the respite.
But she knew that that would not be her last encounter with that voice.
She was going back again, whether she liked it or not.
She hoped that she could put it off for as long as she could.
The brown dragon motioned for her to come to him, and Cynder padded over, only to find herself standing beside the stream. The water looked refreshingly cool, and a sudden shadow darted past, with only a flash of colour flickering off its streamlined body to mark its passing.
"Ever tried fish?" The brown dragon's voice rumbled from deep within his throat, with something it took Cynder a while to recognize as laughter.
"No. What's that?" Curious, she angled her face to face him again. The brown dragon's eyes glittered with mirth.
"Then let's get started shall we?"
He reached behind his back, and begun to unpack the strange package he had strapped onto his back when they left the place Cutodiel had called the Adamantine Palace behind.
It was his home, he had told her, but it was also the village's only academy for the students. Though it was holidays now, so the whole place was empty, almost lonely, except for some students staying on the upper floors, those who would rather stay back than to go home. Cynder wondered why. What made them choose to stay? And what was that strange pulling which drew the rest unfailingly back to where they called home?
"Catch," Cutodiel's voice cut deeply into her reverie, and drew her back to reality just in time to snatch the long, wooden stick out of the air from where it had began its fall downwards.
"Nice catch," he nodded approvingly.
Cynder smiled back politely. She spared a glance out of the corner of her eye for the strange contraption now resting snugly in her jaws, watching how the light reflected crudely off the sharp metal on top, "What's this for?"
"To help us catch our breakfast," Cutodiel's voice sounded muffled, and she saw that he had picked the stick up with his jaws too, "Let me show you first."
She watched as he padded towards the river, to stand at an angle - which she soon realized - kept his shadow from falling onto the crystalline surface.
And there he stood erect, still, unmoving, his eyes biding her to keep quiet. So she contented herself with just watching in silence. Her jaws were already beginning to ache from clutching something so heavy for so long.
Something flashed in those clear depths again, but before she really registered anything, Cutodiel had moved into action. Faster than she had expected, he jerked his head fluidly downwards, and Cynder watched, both entranced and slightly repulsed, as red began to colour the crystal, before fanning slowly outwards to taint everywhere with a thin sheen of pink and the metallic smell of blood. Water splashed everywhere as the fish thrashed in its dying throes, but Cutodiel held resolutely on, and Cynder felt a brief flash of admiration his resilience. Already, her neck was aching in sympathy.
Soon, the splashing of water stopped sounding, though it left echoes in her mind, which took its time quieting down. Cutodiel lifted the spear out of the water, the fish skewered limply on its tip. Cynder's stomach churned. Now she knew what that reflective piece of metal was for.
"Your turn," the brown dragon placed the spear down onto the grass in front of her.
Mutely, she took up his previous position, standing like a sentry in front of the gates she was supposed to protect.
Another flash of colour. She did not allow herself to hesitate before plunging the murder weapon held in her jaws savagely downwards. The resistance which came afterwards was not unexpected, but stronger than she had thought it would be. Her neck ached with the effort of keeping still, but Cynder refused to be upstaged by a dragon she barely knew.
She was Cynder. She was an assassin. She was built to be the ultimate killing machine.
When she was certain that the fish was dead, she lifted the spear clear of the water, watching as the load on its end flopped, and fixed her with one glassy eye.
She glared resolutely back, half expecting it to challenge her.
No response.
"Not bad," the brown dragon fixed her with an admiring glance and poked the fish with a claw. It stayed resolutely still.
"Are we done here?" Cynder tipped her head to the side in query.
"Almost," sharp ivory teeth locked around the spear again, as the brown dragon heaved it up in his jaws once more, "did you really think that two fishes would feed two hungry dragons?"
Cynder grimaced. Her neck was going to sore and stiff for days to come.
The fish tasted surprisingly good.
Cynder had to admit, it was worth the effort she had put into catching it, and then into slicing the scales clean off the meat. And that of putting up with the smell of dead fish, which had not been particularly pleasing to her nose.
Cutodiel watched her silently. His fish stayed untouched, in a plate in front of him.
And then he spoke, "You remind me of someone."
The revelation slammed into her hard, like a wall of bricks being pushed into her face. Her head jerked upwards, the fish all forgotten, "What?"
Cutodiel blinked, surprised, and his sight focused on her face sharply. Evidently, he had not been expecting an answer.
"You know what? It's nothing. I'm over thinking things," he shook his head hard, and his gaze slid away from her face, downwards. He prodded his fish listlessly, and took a tentative bite out of it. Then he looked up again.
"Do you like it here?" his voice was rough around the edges, and it grated against her hearing.
"That's... unexpected," she narrowed her eyes at him, emerald green sharp against the black that were her scales.
He did not meet her eyes. Glancing off sideways, he kept his voice level, "You're my guest. While you're here, you're under my protection. No one can hurt you. You have my word."
"And what's that worth?" the gears in her brain were already whirring to life, spinning frantically to keep up with the direction this conversation was taking. Think, she huffed inwardly, what are your options? What bargaining chip do you have?
Her mind drew a blank.
"It's worth whatever you think it is," he replied seamlessly, without missing a beat, "But in return, I need something from you."
"And what would that be?" Cynder's voice was pitched low, part hostile, part foreign, and part confused.
"Your trust," here, his eyes snapped back onto her face suddenly, and she blinked. That brilliant amber... it seared itself into her mind, and locked itself deep within, alongside the voice which haunted her from last night, "I can hurt you. But I won't."
Cynder lowered her head to her plate. When she spoke again, it was with resignation, "You know what? I expected that."
Her gaze led off somewhere far away, her voice distant, "You're different from everyone else I've met so far."
He acknowledged her statement with a polite inclination of his head, "Yes."
Cynder got out of her seat and moved to stand beside the window. Sunlight bathed her face with its golden warmth, but it did not touch within. Her blood remained cold, like liquid ice flowing through her veins, "I can't leave this place now, can I?" Adamantine palace. It was all an elaborate ruse. And like unsuspecting prey, she had fallen right into its iron grasp, a trap she could not hope to escape.
"Unless I choose to let you go," Cutodiel's voice came from directly behind her, but this time, she did not allow herself to be surprised.
"Then I don't have a choice can I?"
"In life, there are always choices," his demeanor softened, his voice gentle, "But promise me you won't try to leave."
"I won't," Cynder closed her eyes. Inky darkness swirled behind her eyelids and met her all around, "I won't try to leave. I give you my promise. For whatever it's worth."
Her words met with silence. And then, the faintest wisp of a voice speaking. "Thank you," she thought she heard, but it was faint like the summer wind, and she was not sure.
The marble was cold under her feet, cold as her heart, and it seeped into her innards.
And for the first time in her life, she tasted loss and calm acceptance in an unsettling muddle. It was cold, and viscous, and stuck on the walls of her throat, hard to contemplate, and even harder to swallow.
"You're welcome," she turned, and forced herself to smile as her words met with empty air.
She was no longer predator. Here, she was prey. She was on the menu. The walls were closing in on her, her choices shutting like doors in her face, one by one, resounding echoes in her mind emanating loss.
And for the second time in a row, she tasted the metallic iron taste of fear.
