Chapter 57
CHAPTER 57
T arasque’s path is smoother this morning as we soar across the damp, grassy fields of Brocéliande. We’re miles north of Perillos, racing toward the Fey army and the fleet of dragons Auberon keeps far from the city walls.
Gone is the sparkling snow. Grass stretches beneath us, a velvet mantle of green dappled with pale silver flowers that Talan calls lady-smocks.
Swallows sweep through the blue skies. Only days ago, winter reigned in Brocéliande. Now, fresh shoots of green rise around us, and tiny green buds sprout from the hawthorns. Wren song fills the air.
A deceptively serene day. I’m afraid that before the day ends, blood will feed the kingdom’s silver lady-smocks.
Up ahead, I spot a few dragons flying in the sky, circling each other. They breathe plumes of fire, bright orange streams against the blue.
They seem to be playing, reveling in the sheer joy of flight. But then, as we get closer, all of them dive and land in a large grassy field.
“A lord named Niolf will be in charge of the dragon command,” Talan says. “I’ll need to persuade him to fly the dragon fleet far away from the portals.”
“Do you want me to mind-control him?”
“No, I think I have another plan, but Nia, it’s going to be chaotic today. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
I lean against his powerful chest. “Don’t make me give you my father’s lecture about being the granddaughter of Queen Morgan.”
The dragons and their riders form a haphazard half-circle over the field, waiting for their prince. Gracefully, Tarasque glides down before them. She lowers her neck to the grass, and Talan slides off. He still hasn’t completely healed from his iron poisoning, but he doesn’t let it show. He strides forward like he’s at home, and all the dragons and riders are his guests.
I slide off Tarasque and follow him over the grass.
“Your Highness.” A Fey man in black armor dismounts an enormous black dragon. He stalks forward and bows brusquely, a short, shallow gesture.
I’ve been in the Fey court long enough now to understand that his bow is designed to offend.
His eyes shine with metallic red. “King Auberon told us you would not be joining us. He had no idea where to find you, I’m afraid. We’ve all been wondering.”
“Well, I’m here.” Talan’s voice is laced with steel. “So, you can stop wondering. I will take charge.”
Niolf’s lips flatten, his jaw flexing. “We’re supposed to receive the command in a few hours. Then we’ll set off to burn the south of England.” He throws a pointed look at Tarasque, his eyes like lava.
“I suppose you can join us, but your dragon looks half dead. You’ll slow us down. Might be better for you to stay here.”
I can feel Talan’s anger rippling from his body, and the air chills around him. Frost spreads over the dewy grass.
“The plans have changed, and we have new orders,” Talan says, his voice cutting like a blade. “You and the entire dragon host must fly to Kerdraig. Stay there for the foreseeable future.”
Niolf’s red eyes flash. “The northern dragon fortress? But that’s a two-day flight.”
Talan raises an eyebrow. “Then you’d better get going.”
“What about the attack on England?”
“We’re holding off for now.”
Niolf’s eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. “Your father warned me about this. If you think I’m going to fly away and take the dragons out of his reach, you’re sorely mistaken.” He whirls to his dragon. “Morennor!”
Talan moves so quickly. A blur of shadow, the twist of a neck, a sharp crack, and Niolf’s enormous body crumples to the frosty grass, his armor clashing.
Talan stares down at him. “See? You didn’t need to use your magic.”
Around us, the dragons start to roar, trembling the ground beneath us. A few raise their heads, scorching the air with flames.
Morennor, Niolf’s black dragon, is the most terrifying of all. With a bone-trembling roar, he lurches forward, slamming down on the ground just a few yards away from Talan. He opens his jaw widely, his hot breath rushing over us. He rears back his head and scorches the sky above us with fire.
My blood roars in my ears.
Tarasque takes a step forward and roars back at Morennor, spreading her wings threateningly. I have no doubt that she is willing to attack Morennor to protect Talan, but I don’t like her chances in a fight.
Talan moves closer to Morennor and reaches out his hand. “Stand down, Morennor,” he coos. Another step closer. He speaks to Morennor in the dragon language, and Morennor lowers his head.
Seconds stretch by, and all the dragon riders in the field stare at Talan.
Talan takes another step, his movements slow and calm. Morennor inches back, then lets out a soft rumble of acquiescence.
Behind me, Tarasque settles back down, and I let out a long breath.
With the dragons calmed, Talan turns, scanning the dragon riders. “Palenor!” he calls out.
A young man dismounts his dragon and crosses the field to Talan. After witnessing Niolf‘s death, he is visibly nervous. He bows low. “Yes, Your Highness?” he stammers.
“I’m appointing you as the new commander. You are to take the dragon host to the northern dragon lands of Kerdraig.” He casts a quick glance back at Niolf’s corpse. “Niolf didn’t respond to my order very well. I trust you will make a better decision.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
I lean closer to Talan, touching his arm. “A word?”
He puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me away.
“Palenor seems like he’s willing to do whatever you command, don’t you think? What if we kept the host of dragons on our side instead of sending them out of the battle?”
I think of Nivene and her own task, unease growing in my gut. We will need the dragons’ strength.
His expression darkens. “Once dragons begin killing, they don’t stop, and they can’t tell friend from foe. In battle, they’re pure chaos. Perfect for a massacre like Auberon wants, but a nightmare if we’re trying to spare civilians. They scorched the kingdom after the revolution centuries ago. I’m not going to repeat that now.”
I swallow. “There are too many moving pieces in our plan, and if we don’t have enough leverage, we might end up getting crushed between them.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“Better than repeating the mistakes of the past.” He returns to the new dragon commander. “Go, Palenor. Fly to Kerdraig.”
He bows low. “Yes, Your Highness.”
We watch as the riders mount their dragons and launch into the sky, soaring away from us.
Talan wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I murmur.
“Nia, I will never let a single other person in the world know that I think this, but I almost never know what I’m doing. The only ones certain of themselves are people like Wrythe and Auberon. The fact that we’re wallowing in doubt means we’re on the right side of things, don’t you think?”