Chapter 15 Trew
TREW
The village of Myrelle had been home to two-hundred-and-twenty-seven souls yesterday. Today, nothing was left of the village but smoldering ruins and husks of what used to be happy people.
Lakast’s wings beat steadily beneath me as we circled the ruins. My dragon’s scales rippled like liquid gold in the morning light, his enormous form casting shadows over the devastation below. Smoke still curled from collapsed homes, their wooden frames jutting from the earth like broken ribcages.
I saw no movement. No survivors pawing through the wreckage to find something—anything—they could salvage. Only silence and the stench of death riding the wind.
I pressed my knees against Lakast’s sides, and he banked toward the clearing at the village’s edge.
Twenty-five of my best soldiers followed me on their own mounts, dragons of every size and color darkening the sky.
We landed in a bright meadow nearby, where wildflowers bloomed, their heady scent mixing in with the pall of death.
Lakast folded in his wings and lowered his great body to the grass, breathing out a heavy sigh I felt all the way to my bones.
The moment my boots hit earth, I drew the sword from the sheath on my back.
Around me, my soldiers did the same, steel singing as blades cleared leather, long daggers appearing in other hands as everyone spread out, scanning the immediate area for threats.
After a Skathe attack, you remained armed, or you died.
Nasty creatures; they’d suck us all dry if they could.
“Send the troops to search. Tell them to remain in groups,” I told Kira the moment she dismounted and hurried over to my side, her death adder coiling around her throat.
“Search every structure, every cellar, every hiding place. If you find survivors, bring them to me. If any Skathe remain in the area, destroy them.”
Kira’s blade shrieked as she yanked it from its sheath. She strode away from me, calling out orders.
The Skathe had evolved since they’d first slipped through whatever crack in the veil had allowed them into our world.
Sixteen years ago, when my father died, they’d been little more than a few scattered, mindless beasts drawn to magical signatures like a pack to cornered prey.
In the past few years, they’d not only grown in number, but they’d also started showing intelligence.
Strategy. They’d learned to hunt us more efficiently.
No one knew how they’d originally breached the veil between our worlds. The strongest theory was magical corruption, a wound in the fabric of reality that had festered and spread like rot.
One of my younger soldiers, who’d remained nearby as my guard, spat in the grass. “Damn Skathe hit so fast the poor people didn’t even have time to grab weapons.”
I studied the patterns in the dirt, the way buildings had been torn apart rather than burned.
The Skathe fed on magical energy. They’d gorged themselves on the village’s power before slamming through the homes to find those who’d hidden.
It wasn’t surprising the place had ignited.
All it would take was one torch knocked from the wall before flames would consume one closely built building after another.
Kira divided the soldiers with sharp commands, her voice cutting through the smoke-tinged air. She was efficient, ruthless, and every bit a commander, which was why I’d elevated her to that position a year ago. As my troops spread out through the ruins, I strode closer to what was left of Myrelle.
Soot soon clung to my armor, my boots, and even my leather clothing.
Each step stirred gray powder that had once been homes, lives, dreams. The Skathe had been thorough.
Bodies lay twisted in doorways where families had tried to flee.
Children’s toys lay scattered among the debris, their bright colors obscene against the scorched devastation.
I stopped and ducked my head inside what remained of Marren’s blacksmith shop. He’d forged my first sword. His wife, Della, had baked honey cakes for my nameday. Their daughter was meant to wear white next spring. Instead, they’ll all burn in the same pyre.
Gone.
I was fifteen when my father died. Fifteen when the crown fell to me along with the responsibility for every life in our kingdom. Sixteen years of war and sixteen years of loss since, and I was no closer to stopping the Skathe advance than I’d been as a green boy playing at being king.
If only I’d found a way to close whatever breach allowed them entry into our world.
I came to a stop near the village well. Cratered bodies lay arranged in a neat row beyond it, the dead my soldiers had gathered. The funeral pyre would burn tall and bright today.
The magic in my blood responded to my grief, flames licking along my fingers.
Growling, I started hauling bodies from buildings and adding them to the pile.
Hours later, we’d found them all.
“We didn’t find any living Skathe,” Kira said from beside me, her voice tight with the same grief slashing through me.
We wouldn’t find any dead either as they turned to ash the moment they died.
“Would’ve loved to send a few back to their maker,” she said.
“Me too.”
While my troops clustered behind and to my sides, I stepped closer to the dead and let my magic loose, shooting flames from my hands to ignite the husks of once-vibrant villagers.
“May this fire carry you to the blessed plains of the fates,” I said softly.
The pyre burned hot and fast, magical fire consuming flesh and bone and the remnants of their clothing with hungry tongues.
I stood motionless as it worked, watching faces disappear into smoke and memory.
Grief made it hard to breathe. Hard to think.
But I didn’t move or look away. I would bear witness to this final passing of my people, my friends.
Every village we lost meant ceding territory to creatures that were spreading like poison through the land.
Soon, the wasteland that followed the Skathe would consume this village too.
And one day, there’d be nowhere left to retreat, and my people would face extinction because their king hadn’t been strong enough to save them.
The rain started as the last bones crumbled to ash as well as inside a jungle on a different plane from where I stood. I watched them both, this place through my eyes, the other through Gavelle’s.
Droplets hissed on the dying flames while droplets dripped from the lush, lethal vegetation.
I tilted my face toward this gray sky and closed my eyes.
Through the connection I shared with Gavelle, I felt him ruffle his feathers and squawk in displeasure.
My cinderhawk hated getting wet, preferring the dry heat of our mountain valley over the magical realm where we held the first part of the Rite of Bonds.
Sorry, little one. You’ll have treats when we’re done.
I slipped into his eyes, seeing through his gaze as he perched on a rocky outcropping near a cliff with the yawning mouth of a cave. Rain slicked his feathers, but he endured it with the patience of a predator.
I forced my mind back to the village, to the pyre, to the Skathe threat. One misstep here could cost lives. But I couldn’t ignore her entirely. I’d watch just enough to make sure she survived.
The trials were designed to run without interference. Those who survived would be granted the chance to bond. Those who didn’t…
Yet here I was. Watching. Protecting a woman who should mean nothing more to me than any other recruit. She was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her hidden magic.
It would be easier to let the trials take her. Safer. But the thought of her dying made fear claw up my throat.
Through Gavelle, I spied movement near the entrance to the cave, a figure slipping from the shadows.
Fara plucked her way across the open area between the cave and the jungle, moving with the careful steps of someone trying not to wake the others. She carried no weapon, just a small pouch tucked against her chest. Through Gavelle’s keen sight, I watched her disappear into the jungle.
Fool. Leaving her post, abandoning her watch to travel alone in hostile territory. The trials were designed to test judgment as much as magical ability, and she’d just failed spectacularly. Pray she turned around and came back soon.
Gavelle shifted on his perch, water drizzling off his beak. I felt his discomfort through our bond, the way the rain chilled his bones and plastered his feathers to his body.
Not much longer. I need your eyes. Find her.
He launched himself from the rock, his wings slicing through the rain as he glided down and into the cave. Landing near Isi’s feet, he folded his wings and studied her sleeping form, his head cocking this way and that.
She lay curled on her side, protecting her arm. I’d seen her guarding it earlier.
Even in sleep, pain creased her brow, but it couldn’t steal anything from her beauty. Her lips were parted, soft and full, the kind of mouth that made a man think dangerous thoughts.
The elegant curve of her neck called to something primal inside me. I wanted to press my mouth there, taste her pulse, mark her as mine.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her breathing came too quick, too shallow. She looked so damned vulnerable lying there that something protective and possessive roared to life in my chest.
I found myself cataloging every detail through Gavelle’s vision.
The stubborn tilt of her chin even in sleep.
Her golden hair secured in a loose braid.
Through him, I watched her carefully, feeling the subtle tension in his body, the way his wings flexed like coiled muscle.
He could strike at a moment’s notice, a predator waiting to protect.
“Trew? Trew.” Kira’s hand landed on my arm, her fingers curling around my bicep. A brand on my skin.
I jerked away from her, stepping back far enough she couldn’t reach me again. “Don’t.”