Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

Imagining myself in the center of these puffy, grey clouds, I examine the scene carefully, searching for any holes or weak points where Siri’s thoughts could infiltrate. To me, the sky looks flawless. It’s like a stormy day in the spring, and it’s so detailed that I can almost smell the fresh, clean scent of the coming rain.

However, as I watch the clouds floating on their lazy paths, I see Siri’s silver eyes appear in the darkest shadows of the vapors. Her dark claws scratch and rip through the cottony forms, shredding through the shield until I see my Ddraig standing in the middle of a field of darkness. She opens her mouth and roars, white-hot fire bursting into the surrounding black void, ripping me out of my thoughts and back into the corporeal world.

“Not good enough!” Siri growls, pacing around the cavern in agitation. “What’s it going to take to get you focused, Iris?”

“Yelling at her won’t help, Siri, so hush,” Cyrus challenges, rising from his seat beside Suryc and walking over to my side. Without a word, he drops to sit beside me on my rocky perch, close enough that our shoulders touch. It’s like an unspoken gift, a gesture of support, and I feel myself lean heavily against his arm, soaking up his warmth as if it could somehow bring me success.

“Siri, come with me. Let’s go hunt for a while. I think you need a snack,” Suryc suggests, spreading his onyx wings and rising up into the fading light. Wordlessly Siri follows, slipping out of sight like a silent ghost.

“What’s going on in your head, sweetheart?” Cyrus whispers, his voice gentle and full of concern.

“When did you get so level headed?” I grumble, wringing my hands just to give them something to do. “It hasn’t been that long ago since I feared you were going to kill yourself or go insane. Yet you haven’t had trouble in ages. What’s changed?”

“Suryc’s been helping me with my nightmares. He’s already taught me a lot of what you’re learning now,” Cyrus replies with a shrug, staring out at the sunset. The sun drifts low on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of marigold. “A golden sky,” Cyrus muses, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. “Old folklore would say that when the sun sets in gold, the next day will bring triumphs untold.”

“Maybe I should just quit trying this stuff until tomorrow then,” I mutter, silently hoping that old rhyme is correct.

Cyrus sighs, sensing that his attempt to bring me out of my brooding has not worked. “Being closer with you has helped me more than anything. I don’t feel so alone anymore,” Cyrus explains, his voice growing soft. “Suryc tried the same methods with me, but I couldn’t make them work either. For weeks I struggled and failed to keep my nightmares caged in a cloudless sky. Eventually, I just started experimenting on my own. To shield my mind, I needed something stronger. Personal.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Cyrus hesitates, eyeing my expression warily before explaining, “I asked myself, ‘Why does Suryc want me to use a cloudy sky?’ And the only answer I could come up with is that Suryc loves days like that. It must be one of his favorite things, to soar high and skim the clouds, to feel their dew on his wings. So naturally, that made me wonder about what I love that dearly. What do I cling to so strongly that the very image of it would be enough to block out every outside thing?”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I reply, growing excited as hope bursts to life in my chest. “If I think of my most beloved, cherished things, then I might be able to block Siri out of my head. Maybe that old folklore is right; tomorrow will bring me triumph after all.” My mind races as I try to discern what it is that I hold most dear. Falling silent, I worry my lip between my teeth. “I…I don’t know what to use,” I admit, defeat crashing down on me, quashing the tender hope that was only just kindled in my heart.

Cyrus sits beside me, saying nothing. He focuses intently on the sunset, deliberately keeping his gaze off me. I can practically feel him willing me not to ask the question waiting on my tongue. Even to my own ears, I know the words sound terribly nosy. It’ll sound like I’m asking Cyrus to rip open his heart, to lay his mind bare before me just so I can scrutinize him. But I have to know what works, I rationalize, giving voice to the query. “Cyrus, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But could you tell me what you think about when you build your mental defenses?”

Cyrus loses the breath I hadn’t realized he was holding, his eyes drifting closed. “You sure you want me to answer that?” he replies, his voice deepening with the rawness of his emotion. “Because I’ll tell you. But if I do, and you don’t like what you hear, you don’t have the right to get angry at me for speaking. So be very sure you really want to hear these words, Iris.”

I swallow hard, shivering as I consider my response carefully. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as loud as a stampeding horse’s hooves. The silence grows unbearable. I suspect I know what he’s going to say, and I know I should stop him. Yet, the need to hear these forbidden words spoken aloud is a nagging whisper in the back of my mind that I find I can no longer ignore. “Tell me,” I rasp, turning my face to the sunset, struggling to calm down before my heart gives out.

Yet Cyrus will not let me escape. Gently he cups my cheeks, turning my head until I am eye to eye with him. “I think of you, Iris. You are my shield. I knit together a blanket