Luminous

75 - The Catalyst

Orange light burned her eyelids. Meya knew better than to open them and get her eyeballs singed for her trouble. With a whine, she buried her face into Coris's shoulder and hooked her human pillow closer with an arm and a leg. The light flashed out in seeming surrender, but left a negotiator to continue its work. Heavy footsteps clomped on the overlapping carpets, then a heavy bum slumped down at her feet.

"Rise and shine, newlyweds."

Zier sang over a chorus of clattering china and metal. More clinks and chimes followed as he set about unveiling their breakfast tray. The aroma of boiled wheat and herbs floated into Meya's nostrils, dragging bile up her gullet and spinning her brain in her skull.

Meya bolted up and scrambled for the chamberpot. She heaved and spat, but nothing came save for a few drops of drool. A stab of pain sliced through her head, and she slumped over the pot's cold metal rim, exhausted. She resurfaced and found Zier gawking at her, hands frozen in the act of arranging utensils.

"Why are you retching this time?" He squeaked. An ominous premonition curdled in Meya's stomach. She averted her eyes and combed back her hair.

"Nightmare. About the Famine." She nudged the pot away, wincing at the taste of the lie. She'd been blessed with the rare gift of the blissful, dreamless night last night. None the wiser, Zier turned to the snoring Coris, frowning.

"And my brother?"

Meya glanced at her beau. Coris's closed eyes had swelled to twice their normal size, and his runny nose remained shiny pink. She edged back to his side.

"Cried himself to sleep." She cradled his head onto her lap, sighing as she smoothed his hair, "Poor lad."

Zier blinked in pleasant surprise, then shrugged.

"Good for him." He lifted his behind onto Coris's mattress, then leaned over and shook his brother's elbow. Coris shook him off, nuzzling his face into the fat of Meya's leg with a grunt. Chuckling, Zier fell back on his arms and looked to Meya instead, "Well, guess you'll have to do the morning briefing."

The pause of silence jolted Meya from the cold grips of drowning fear. She tore her gaze away from her belly—it was as flat as it had always been, just flabbier from all the good food she'd been enjoying—and met those honest blue eyes. She couldn't rid herself of the uncertainty, nor could she let it show. Not in front of the potential uncle, at the least. She shoved it aside and focused on the present instead.

"Very well. Uh—" Meya scratched her nape, wading through the chaos in her brain for a proverbial driftwood to latch onto. She held up her hand and counted on her fingers, muttering, 

"Philema, Dorsea, Tissa, Frenix, Atmund, Meya—we have six dragons. Three transformed last night." She paused for thought, then acted out her train of thought with her hands, 

"So, we pair up. Me with Dorsea, Philema with Tissa and Frenix with Atmund. You folks set out first and get a head start. We'll teach each other how to transform—shouldn't take that long. Then we catch up with you and practice flying."

Zier rubbed his chin in thought, then nodded.

"Perfect. So, you fly alongside us during daylight hours. Then, after dinner, we continue your meditating sessions." Satisfied, he sprang up with a smile, "I'll go talk to Sir Jarl."

Zier left Meya to the grueling task of waking Coris without invoking his tantrum mode and ducked outside. However, instead of seeking out the marshal as he promised he would, he made a beeline for the servant loading cages of messenger pigeons onto a wagon.