Chapter 2
Two
If there was one thing my mother had taught me, it was that no golden opportunity should ever be permitted to escape.
I was no hero. I was a starved, filthy, unmated draga.
So I let the stranger take the punches while I ran for it.
I dropped to the floor a mere second before a scaled fist flew towards my face, but none of the dragons were focused on me. They wanted the stranger, who had dared to challenge one of the strongest dragons on Mistward.
Crouching on all fours, I scrambled between boots and legs, ignoring the grunts and roars rising above me. Someone kicked me in my side, sending a bright white flare of pain through me, and I took a knee to the face with a sharp crack.
That blow almost made me pass out, but if I stopped now, I’d be either torn apart or mated bonded by force. I kept crawling, dizzy and nauseated, allowing myself one tiny whimper of pain as my eye began to swell shut.
I was half-blind by the time I crept out of the mass of fighting dragons. My outer cloak had been torn off; I got to my feet, gripping a table for support. My right eye was so swollen I could hardly see through it.
The barkeep remained behind the bar, staring at the fight with resignation, already gripping the bell-pull that would ring out the warning to all patrons to get out of the Wyvern’s Whore before it all went to the Hells again.
The barmaid was staring at the fight, her eyes wide, and as I stumbled towards her she curled her lip, pushing me away.
But at least she pushed me towards the door.
“Don’t let me see that ugly face of yours in here again,” she snapped, but I didn’t care. Freedom was before me.
I glanced back just long enough to see the stranger tear a dragon’s arm from its socket in a spray of blood.
The dragon roared, losing control over his shifting from the shock and pain; his body erupted through his clothes, becoming massive and scaled, shrank again, arms and legs shifting from human ones to muscular dragon limbs.
Wings flapped outwards, sweeping both tables and spectating Bloodless aside, only to vanish just as quickly. And then he loosed a massive gout of pale blue flame that crawled over the walls like mist, eating away at curtains and wood with shocking swiftness.
The barkeep sighed and rang the bell.
I ran for all I was worth, pulling my second cloak up to cover my hair. Over my pained, gasping breaths I heard wood shattering behind me as more dragons shifted, tearing the Wyvern’s Whore apart around them.
The screams of the Bloodless who hadn’t gotten away quickly enough filled the air. Fools, the lot of them. It was pure suicide to stand around when dragons shifted for a fight.
Bloodless and dragonbloods alike came spilling out of their houses, all of them shouting and heading for the wells and the bucket brigades at the docks. A dragon fight could easily burn a town like Farpost to cinders within an hour.
None of them looked at me as I ran past.
I glanced back again, watching as dragons flew upwards from the flaming ruins of the Wyvern’s Whore, teeth flashing and glittering flame filling the sky in billowing clouds. Those who could not breathe fire tore at the others, sending a rain of blood over the town.
Kalros was easily recognizable, a huge beast of crimson with a mangled-looking forearm. His eyes blazed amber fire as he chased an enormous black monster of a dragon, who breathed obsidian flames that twisted like smoke around his pursuers.
I stopped watching after that, focusing only on running. Farpost was an open town; when I passed the last shanties, I stumbled abruptly onto a wide, rocky moor.
If I could just get to my cave, all would be well. I could move tonight, head for the mountainous northern region of the Isle and start over on my plan to escape.
I was much slower than usual. My side ached with every step, but I forced myself to keep going.
And I called myself every name in the book while I did it.
It had been stupid to want to celebrate, no matter how long I’d been waiting for this day. I could’ve just bought a jar of shine and brought it back to my cave.
I could almost hear my mother laughing in my head, letting me know in her dulcet tones that I was an imbecile of the highest degree.
An hour later, when I’d put a sufficient distance between myself and Farpost, I glanced over my shoulder.
The mist of the moors was already moving in. On any other night, Farpost would be nothing but a dim and distant mirage of blurry lights; tonight it was a bonfire, even through the mist.
The silhouettes of dragons circled the burning town, swooping over the flames.
But they were no longer fighting.
No…they were searching.
My heart jumped into my throat and I picked up the pace again, mindful of the ache in my ribs and the ever-shifting stones underfoot. I’d managed to keep one of the loaves of bread from the docks, even though I’d lost the other while crawling out of the brawl; but a single loaf was still better than none.
They had probably torn the stranger apart. A small sliver of me wished I could thank him for giving me the opportunity to run, but doubtless he was another Kalros; it was fairly bold of him to claim that I was his princess, after all.
But dragons died every day on Mistward Isle. Whether through territorial disputes or simple drunken rage, life out here was cheap.
The mist grew thicker with every step, and I gladly plunged into it. The dampness would hide my scent as the reek of unwashed clothes bloomed, and dragons relied on eyesight as much as smell.
Which was why it took me by complete and total surprise when I felt the displacement of air, the surge of something leviathan dropping out of the sky on silent wings. The mist blasted away, swirling around me like a roiling, mother-of-pearl wall.
I turned, heart racing, and stared up at the black dragon who hung over my head.
His eyes were fiery coals in a head large enough to swallow me with one bite. Silver teeth gleamed against thick obsidian scales. Every wingbeat sent the mist scudding further away, blowing my hair and clothes back.
I raised an arm as the dragon moved in, clawed forearms reaching out for me. “No, damn you!”
He gripped me around the middle, lifting away from the earth with a titanic clap of his wings. I watched the ground drop away, the blood rushing from my head and dizziness making it almost impossible to keep my stomach in place.
I couldn’t slide free from the cage of claws, but being carried by a dragon was so much worse than I’d ever believed it would be.
A rider was able to speak to her dragon, mind to mind. His sensory capacity would prevent her from losing her mind to fear when they were miles above the ground; he would feed steadiness and the knowledge of his movements into her, as she fed sensory input and direction into him.
This dragon was not my mate. All I knew was that if he despised the Silvered Embers, if he held a grudge against me or my House, all he had to do was relax his grasp, and I would plummet a mile, screaming and flailing all the way, to smash to pieces on the rocky moors below.
I gripped his claws tightly, anticipating that exact death as I sent a prayer to Nakasha of the Scale, but he kept them firmly clasped around me.
Maybe she was listening, and had offered her protection. I could only hope.
The bonfire of Farpost fell into the distance. My eyes began to water as the wind whipped my face, but when I blinked, a thin film, like a transparent eyelid, slid over my eyeballs to protect them—the nictitating membranes all draga possessed.
That made me rear back, taken by surprise at the sensation. The nictitating membranes, called the ‘third eyelids’, didn’t tend to come into use until their first flight with their mates.
It was impossible to get them to descend during training or to practice ahead of time—like breathing or sleeping, they were something the body did automatically, given the right conditions.
They felt strange, slightly uncomfortable, but not painful. The world was just as clear seeing through them as it was without them, and my eyes were protected from the wind.
The black dragon seemed content to soar over Mistward, heading north. The moors began to give way to sharp, ridged hills, mostly bare of vegetation. The island as a whole was gray and stony, inhospitable to farming, which was why the ferrymen ran good business by importing shipments.
I distracted myself from thoughts of certain death by examining the layout of the land through these new, strange eyelids. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to traverse much of the island on foot.
But pondering a path kept my mind from the more alarming questions, like who the black dragon was, and why, exactly, he wanted me. There was something familiar in the rich darkness of his scales, but…surely he could not be that one.
I would keep the promise I’d made to myself over Kalros. Anyone who thought they could forcibly mate me was going to be in for an unpleasant surprise, one involving teeth and sharp nails.
The dragon wove between cliffs, riding a thermal current. The air here smelled fresher, cleaner; there were few settlements on the northern tip of Mistward. Farpost’s omnipresent reek of burned meat, oil, piss, and shine had long been left behind.
And when the mist parted, giving way to clear air, my mouth dropped open when I saw where the dragon was headed.
There was an eyrie in the mountains of Mistward.
It was old and decayed, most of the stone columns cracked or outright shattered, built into the side of a mountain that seemed like it would crumble at the slightest touch. The dragon terrace jutted from the top of the mountain, a precarious, open-air plate of stone designed to support dragons of any size and weight, but this one looked…less than capable.
Nonetheless, my captor pumped his wings, thrusting us upward, and circled over the dragon door, a massive, rounded opening that allowed him to drop into the eyrie’s terrace from above.
It was dark, of course. My mouth went dry as the dragon flapped once, twice, sending gusts of pebbles and dust through the columns. The mountain was so silent that I clearly heard them clatter down the mountainside.
The dragon’s hind legs hit the floor first, and there was an alarming crack as the ancient stone took his full weight. His wings tucked in against his back, and he gripped me with one clawed hand as he settled his foreleg.
Then he dropped me on the floor. I sent up a puff of dust when I hit the ground, and waved it away, trying to cough quietly. Gods only knew if other dragons were hiding in these mountains. An entire eyrie…that would be a windfall of fortune for any exile who explored this far.
I surreptitiously watched my abductor as he twisted his head around, examining one of his bloodied hind legs with visible irritation.
He was one of the largest dragons I’d ever seen; my guess on his lineage was accurate. Whoever he was, he came from a very ancient line.
“Thank you so much,” I said, cringing a little as my voice came out much louder than expected. It bounced off the bare walls, making it sound like a thousand Seras all shouted back at once. “That was a very daring rescue. Perfectly timed, in fact.”
The dragon’s enormous head turned to face me, his coal-like eyes narrowed to red slits.
Then he shifted, his mass returning to that of a male, wings and tail vanishing.
I wished I’d managed to remain a little drunk for this.
“Rhylan,” I said numbly. I had recognized him, even if my consciousness hadn’t wanted to accept who the black dragon was.
He was six and a half feet of broad, solid muscle, inky scales gleaming on the high points of his tan skin: cheekbones, shoulders, hips, and thighs. Black hair curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck; in earthbound male form, his hooded eyes weren’t coals, but a piercing, heart-flame blue.
I kept my eyes glued to the face that had haunted both my dreams and nightmares. Thick black brows overshadowed those vivid eyes, and his nose arched strongly against the contrast of full, plush lips.
Which were turned down in a frown as he looked me over, still laying in the dust in my filth and rags.
Rhylan, of the House of Obsidian Flame.
Once upon a time, he’d usurped Tidas in my heart. I had never dared to write his name next to mine, even though I’d outgrown girlish scribbles by then. It was as though penning the words, committing my most secret wish to paper, would somehow curse them into never coming true.
Despite the promises made between my House and Tidas’s, ensuring we would be mated when we came of age, I had been sure in my heart that Rhylan was destined to be my dragon. The arrangement between the Silver Embers and the Razored Cinders had chafed at me, an insurmountable obstacle between me and my heart’s desire.
Rhylan was the dragon I’d wanted. He was the distant, dangerous older boy, the dragon who’d made Tidas seem like a sniveling brat next to his cool composure and deadly dragon form.
Then he’d testified against my mother, leading the Drakkon to send us to ashes and exile.
On that day, I couldn’t have hated Rhylan more.
“Serafina,” he said, his face growing even harder as he took in my swollen eye and bruised limbs.
Gone was the boy who’d made my heart flutter; he’d grown into a full male, marked with the scars of battle. His leg was covered with a glaze of dried blood, soon to be another scar to add to his collection.
I got to my feet, pressing a hand to my side. By now I was almost certain that my ribs were merely bruised, not cracked; sharp pains had given way to a dull ache.
“What are you doing here?” I couldn’t hide the hurt in my voice, so I disguised it with venom, thrusting my chin in the air. His shoulders stiffened as I looked down my nose at him. “Haven’t you destroyed me enough already?”
My gods…he’d ruined my entire life. Had he come to rub salt in the wound?
I gasped quietly when I wrapped my arms around myself a little too hard, wanting to vanish from this eyrie, from this particular company. I thought I’d rather deal with Kalros than Rhylan.
At least Kalros wasn’t the one who’d ensured I’d live a life in the Nine Hells.
Just looking at Rhylan hurt. Seeing him at full strength, with all the glory of his ancient bloodline…when mine was reduced to this.
A scrap of a being, caked with filth. I wished I wasn’t affected by him seeing me like this, but the shame cut bone deep. I wanted to sink into the earth and never be seen again.
“You were doing just fine with that on your own.” Rhylan’s sharp gaze ran over me from head to toe. “A few more minutes with Kalros, and you would have been destroyed far more thoroughly than I could manage.”
I bit my lower lip, tasting the remains of blood. “Wyvernshit. You are the reason I’m here at all.”
“You wouldn’t have needed rescuing if you’d had the sense to not hang around in a tavern full of dragons.” He cast a critical eye at my rags. “Stench notwithstanding, you really can’t hide what you are.”
Red flags burned on my cheekbones. I hadn’t thought my embarrassment could surge any higher, but I’d thought wrong.
“Take me to the shore,” I demanded, my lip curling. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Rhylan looked about the eyrie, clearly not listening. There was nothing here to look at; the walls were devoid of decor or tapestries, the rugs underfoot had long since rotted to dust, and the lamps remained cold and dark. There was no Ascendant here to keep the eyrie alive.
Despite my bruised rib, I hugged myself again, mostly in an attempt to stop shaking with rage.
Rhylan strode to the edge of the eyrie, between two crumbled columns. I could walk up behind him now and give him a push over a thousand-foot drop of nothing but thin air and razor-sharp shale…but he’d shift before he hit the ground, and then I’d be facing down an enraged dragon.
My sight fractured as tears welled, and I blinked them away furiously before they could spill over and cut a tell-tale path through the dirt on my cheeks.
The last thing I wanted was to let Rhylan see me cry. He’d had my tears when I was young; never, ever again.
“Take me out of here,” I demanded again, more sharply. “Whatever you want, I don’t give a damn.”
“This eyrie is indefensible.” He was muttering to himself, not paying the slightest attention to me. “We’ll be lucky if we’re left alone overnight.”
Indefensible? He was worried about that when I was this close to shoving him over the edge?
“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not staying here overnight. You’re going to drop me on the shore and go wherever in Akalla you want, but it’s going to be far, far away from me.” I glared at him through red-rimmed eyes.
How had a celebration turned so sour? Maybe this was my punishment from the gods; I’d toasted my father’s death, and they’d delivered me straight to my worst enemy.
“No, I’m not.” Rhylan turned to face me, his cold eyes narrowing again. “You’re going to wash, so I don’t have to smell old shine all night. I’m going to ensure we have a safe shelter until dawn. Kalros is still alive. I had to leave him and focus on finding you before you did something stupid—like waltz into another dragon-filled tavern for a drink.”
How dare he accuse me? This…this pampered prince, who’d lived his entire life in a respected eyrie…he had no idea what it was like to scrape out a life on the cold stones of Mistward.
“Your audacity is truly amazing,” I finally said.
“So is your smell,” he snapped. “The doors to the interior are that way. The only way you’re leaving this eyrie without me is by climbing, so choose fast.”
Rhylan pointed to the doors behind me, and for a moment I was so choked with pure, black hatred that I couldn’t move.
But if my mother were here, she would have slapped me until I saw stars.
Think with your intellect, not your emotions, dear, she would say. And she’d be right.
I loathed Rhylan with the fury of the sun, yes. But he was a powerful dragon, able to take on Kalros’s crew, and seemingly committed to my continued survival for the time being.
He was my best chance. My only chance.
For now.
I swallowed the venom that wanted to pour out, hating myself for hating him so ineffectually, for giving in, and turned towards the doors behind me.
They were cracked open already, a tiny light flickering within. The entry hall led to the interior of the eyrie, a maze of halls and rooms that had been cut from the stone by whichever House had once claimed this mountain as their home.
But there were no shadowed halls ahead, only a small, cramped room. A candle only an inch high flickered in the dark, illuminating the ruins. Judging by the rippled pool of wax it sat in, it had been burning for many hours now.
This had once been an Eyrie-Master’s storage room, where a dragon’s riding saddles and armor would be tended, weapons stored, packs readied for long journeys, records maintained of anyone who flew in or out.
Now it was mostly empty, except for thick cobwebs, and the fresh, new packs that Rhylan had clearly brought in here earlier today.
A rusty old laundry wash tub had been dragged in here from the depths of the eyrie’s interior, and it was full of…I dipped a finger in. Ice cold water, naturally.
This would be very pleasant. I slowly stripped off my cloaks, then my shirts, and finally the two pairs of trousers I’d made from fabric remnants. They were so crusted together they came off as a single garment.
As I dropped it on the floor, I almost conceded that Rhylan may have had a point about the smell, but then, the smell had kept me alive the entire time I’d lived here.
He’d left soap for me, too. I scrubbed myself hard, teeth chattering, keeping my mind off the icy water by thinking of exactly why he would have come for me.
If the ferryman in the Wyvern’s Whore had spoken true…the Jade Leaves supported me. It had been a long time since I’d thought of that House, but perhaps they had a son of bonding age, and wished to find a draga for him.
Maybe they had paid Rhylan to retrieve what could be a very valuable token, a key to Koressis Eyrie. Exile or not, I was still of ancient royal blood; a mate bond to the eldest child of the Drakkon would give them an equal playing field against Yura and Tidas. Other Houses might be more persuaded to form a Court with them.
Or, if I were to think like my mother, there was another thread in this.
Perhaps Yura had paid him because she wanted to kill me herself.
If that were the case, I could handle it. I was weakened by years of starvation rations, but if given a chance, hatred would fuel me against Yura.
I thought I could at least take her down with me.
With another shiver, I dunked my head and began scrubbing my tangled scalp. Rhylan’s voice came through the door: “The gray pack is yours. There are clean clothes in it. Put them on.”
I scowled, curling in on myself in the bath until I heard his footsteps move away.
So he wouldn’t rape me into a mate bond. That was preferable to Kalros by far.
How far my standards had fallen.
I decided then, that even if Yura were behind this, that I would tolerate the insult of Rhylan’s presence for as long as it took for me to return to mainland Akalla.
From there, I would make my way to the House of Jade Leaves alone.
Until then, I would need to play nice with my tormentor. Mother would be proud, I thought bitterly.
When I finished washing, the water was black. I looked down at myself as I rose from the icy water, a little shocked at how pale and emaciated I was. My iridescent scales were like jewels on a corpse…although they were in poor condition themselves, some of them dry and cracking, many of them dull.
I set my jaw, stepping out of the laundry tub.
I had not chosen this. I didn’t have to wear the marks of my imprisonment with shame.
The pack contained a stripped-down version of a rider’s fighting leathers: soft, form-hugging leggings of thin leather, a long-sleeved silk tunic, and a leather vest that laced like a corset down the front. He’d also provided boots, and there was a comb.
I rather hated the clothes, even though they felt like the finest luxury after years of rags. They had Rhylan’s scent all over them.
I began working the tangles from my hair as I emerged from the interior to find Rhylan dressed and standing at the edge of the eyrie once more, his arms crossed, staring out into the night.
He seemed calmer now, his scales no longer fully covering his limbs.
“You need to eat,” he said, breaking the tense silence first. “You’re skin and bones.”
“Your powers of observation are remarkable.” I tried to keep the acid from my words and failed.
Rhylan said nothing, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.
So much for playing nice.
“Why don’t you tell me who you’re running errands for?” I ripped the comb through a particularly recalcitrant snarl, relishing the pain in my scalp. The sharp sting almost overshadowed the hate welling up from the depths of my soul. “Have the Jade Leaves put you up to this? Or…was it my sister?”
He finally broke his stance, glaring at me. Gods, to think I once would’ve melted to receive even a glare like that from him.
“If you give me to Yura, I will kill her first, then I will come for you,” I told him.
Rhylan laughed. It was a bitter sound. “My gods, you’re going to be a nightmare to deal with.”
“What did you expect?” I spread my hands, forgetting the tangles for a moment. “This is Mistward, you fool. What exactly did you think you were going to find here? Pampered, nice-smelling princesses with impeccable manners?”
My insult bounced right off him. “I did not come from the Jade Leaves.”
“Ah.” I braced my hands on my hips. “So Yura did hire you. House coffers running low, hmm? Was she the highest bidder?”
That muscle in his jaw twitched again. I could get used to seeing him pissed off. It made me feel a little better about myself.
“Yura couldn’t hire me for her entire eyrie.” Flames flickered in his irises. His fists were clenched, and he forcibly pointed at me to punctuate his words. “I’m here on my own terms. I came for you, Sera.”
I snorted. “As I said before, utter wyvernshit. Why would you? I know it couldn’t possibly be a change of heart. You’ve had years to retract your testimony, after all. And what do you know? You didn’t.”
“There’s more to the story than you know.” He was struggling to contain his temper, scales erupting over his chest. The gap in his shirt showed an expanse of shimmering ebony dragonhide instead of smooth flesh.
“What I know is that I spent four years courting death by the minute because of you. It’s a little late to feel guilty. Now you think you can…what? Rescue the damsel in distress? Wring forgiveness out of me?” I waved a hand, dismissing such a ludicrous notion. “Never.”
His mouth twisted. “Will you just listen for a minute?”
“Why should I? What are you to me, but this?” I spat over the side of the eyrie. “Why would you come here when you’re the last dragon I’d ever want to see?”
We were practically nose to nose as I shouted in his face. We realized this at the same time, and Rhylan took a step back, composing himself.
The fire in his eyes remained, even as he forced his shoulders to relax, the scales creeping in patterns over his skin.
His jaw clenched tight as he spoke, gritting out the words.
“I came here to ask you to become my Dragonesse.”