The suffocating heat of the dragon-fire and the echoing screams of the subterranean pit dissolved, washed away by a gentle, lingering coolness that smelled softly of fresh snow and wild lavender.
I blinked against a soft, golden sunlight streaming through towering arched windows.
I was no longer lying flat on a scorching stone floor, nor was I choking on the smoke of an ancient palace. I was tucked into a massive, plush bed, enveloped in thick silk duvets that cradled my exhausted body. Outside, the clear morning air was alive with the gentle, rhythmic chirping of birds—a sound so peaceful, so wildly disconnected from the nightmare I had just witnessed, that it made my breath hitch.
My head turned slowly against the soft linen pillow, my heart hammering against my ribs in a quiet panic.
Sitting in a carved wooden chair across the room, illuminated by the bright morning light, was Draven.
