One True Queen: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

56.

content warning: religious imagery/cults, fairly non-graphic depictions of illness

Shadowhunter

"Okay." I sigh, staring at myself in Permafrost's mirror. I try on one of her diamond necklaces, making a face. The light hits the gems just so, making it cast out tiny little rainbows. 

I look nothing like myself.

I take the necklace off.

"Good. You're not touching my jewelry," Permafrost says from the bed. "I don't want you to lose it."

Our tent has gradually turned into an endearing sort of chaos. She has a small library in the corner, a desk to read and write at. In one corner, an overly pretentious bathtub. In another, the dinner table. It desperately needs walls to divide up the space, but that seems to be one thing the tent isn't enchanted to provide. Permafrost always tries to tidy up, and chide me into doing the same, but it's a losing battle.

"Thanks, Permafrost," I say, rolling my eyes.

"What is up with you? You've been acting all weird and jumpy all morning. You look fine, I promise," she says with an endearing sigh.

"Wow, fine?" I tease. "You're really sweeping me off my feet today."

She scowls. "Well, that's what you get for distracting me from my scroll. It's about previous systems of government we had after the Scorching, and it's fascinating."

"You're so pretentious," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"You're just jealous. You wish you had my taste," Permafrost deflects, not even looking up.

I snort. "In your dreams." I sigh, and look back to the mirror.

"Okay." She sets down her scroll. "Come on, what's wrong?" she asks, a bit more genuine.

"Oh, I don't know—the hundreds of dragons who think I know why their god is dying?" I make another face in the mirror, then laugh at myself a bit. "I don't know what to tell all these stupid whiners. Can't they fix their own problems? I mean, a guy came up to me yesterday because he wanted me to settle a fight he'd been having with his brother. I don't know! It's not my brother."

"You know, I'm really glad you were never queen of the NightWings," Permafrost observes.

"Me too," I mutter. It was supposed to be funny, but I can't even laugh at my own joke.

***

It's another day of sun outside—the weird enchanted birds chirping, dragons milling about the narrow lanes. Daffodils blooming, cacti taller than me perched outside luxurious tents. As dragons see me, they collapse into reverent bows. I woke up early on purpose—at this hour, most dragons have the sense to leave me alone, so long as I shoot them a few evil looks. Permafrost and I exchange absent remarks as we walk over to Jerboa's tent.

"Hello!" Permafrost calls, poking her head inside the tent. "Ember?"

Ember stomps over from one of the back rooms. She has bags under her eyes and a foul expression on her snout. Smoke rises out from in-between her scales. She's one of the lucky ones, the last group to get full powers--although she doesn't look very lucky right now.

"The little monster didn't sleep through the night," she grouses. "Her heart was racing, and she started having trouble breathing and seeing again, so I had to drag Marigold over here at ridiculous-o'clock and try and stonewall all her questions. Anyway, kid seems fine now, but I think Marigold's clueing in." Ember sighs heavily, the bitterness on her face seeming to relax into exhaustion. "At some point, she's gonna have one of these episodes when she's asleep, and we probably won't even know. I mean, what do you do about that? Also, I'm sorry, why are we looking after the cult leader again?"