Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
If they call you cute, show them your teeth. Slowly.
-Humaning for Beginners: A Dragon’s Tale of Human Management
Wind shrieked past my ears as gravity took over. Down I tumbled, fighting to release my smokewings. As weak as I was, as fast as I was falling, the rush of air offered thousands of pounds of resistance against me…
Just before I hit, the smokewings unfurled in a burst, hardening and catching on the current. My momentum decreased between one heartbeat and the next, and a cry left me. Blessed relief.
Though it hurt in ways I’d never experienced, I angled my body and glided over the ground. Lifting. Soon, I was flying toward the traveling stones. To freedom. Life. And yet…
That undeniable tug of yearning still tethered me below.
I didn’t mean to, but I craned my neck to glance at Taron over my shoulder.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, a bow and arrow in hand but not aimed.
He simply watched me, the air around him all but crackling with intensity. The Chains of O rested at his feet.
My breath hitched at the ferocity in his expression. Why hadn’t I grabbed the chains while I’d had the chance? They might return to him through some mystical force I didn’t understand, as they always did, but at least I’d have a reprieve from something.
Focus. I was weakening fast, my neck throbbing. But when I flew through the doorway between worlds and reached up to apply pressure to the wound caused by the Yrnblade, I encountered unmarred flesh. No gash. No scab. No scar. I’d healed far faster than even immortality should allow.
Healing like that wasn’t a blessing but a warning. And that wasn’t even the most startling change in me: the yearning for Taron resurfaced with greater force. Unacceptable!
Anger powered the rest of my flight. As my soldiers came into view, I masked myself in white smoke, bellowed “Part,” and flew through the path they created, arrowing for my bedroom.
Once past the balcony, I ceased fighting, crashed and rolled.
When I stopped, I was dizzy and panting.
Sweating. Exhausted inside and out. I ached to close my eyes, but knew I’d only see his face, so I kept them wide open.
At least I had pretty things to look at.
There was a stereotype about dragons and their hoards, and I hated to admit it was accurate. The room pulsed with my personality. Shelves gilded in gold strained beneath my prized collections.
Music boxes of every shape and size filled every inch of the bottom row.
Precious gems encrusted some of the boxes.
Others were made of mirrored glass and shaped like castles.
When opened, they played lullabies, long-lost melodies or battle hymns.
Sounds Adelaide called “unbearable.” I found it soothing.
The middle shelf housed my collection of broken weapons taken from would-be assassins. Several were framed; still more were stacked carelessly. It all depended on how fierce the fight had been.
My teacups and saucers occupied the top tier.
There were rows and rows of them, many made of bone china, others fragile porcelain.
No two alike. My lips thinned when I again noticed the bare spot where my favorite had been.
A hand-painted masterpiece, tipped in gold on the handle and rim, with delicate pink flowers.
The words “You Drank Poison” were etched at the bottom. How dare Taron steal it?
Finally, I gathered enough strength to crawl onto my bed. Colossal and canopied, the draping fabric mimicked smoke. The large mattress was so wide I could invite my eight sisters for a sleepover if ever I so desired. (I didn’t.) I flopped on my back and sighed. Let me sleep.
“You look terrible. You should change.”
I popped up into a sitting position, heart thumping. Adelaide waited at my desk, filing her nails. Um, had she always been there or just arrived?
She glanced up from her task, skimmed her gaze over me without concern, and tsked. “The council members are waiting.”
Great. The meeting I’d called before I left. There wouldn’t be any resting. I struggled to my feet and tripped to the ensuite, calling, “Find out everything you can about Nyla’s dagger. The Yrnblade has made a reappearance.” No one researched better than Adelaide.
“Way to bury the lede,” she muttered, attention falling to her phone.
Certain she’d know every detail by the time I exited, I shut the bathroom door, hurried through a shower and changed into ink-washed leggings, armored at the shin, and tucked my feet into heavy boots soft enough to mask my approach, but with a reinforced toe that would make anyone regret advancing on me.
I slipped a dark cami over my head and cinched a leather belt around my waist, its width gleaming with ornamental weapons.
The functional ones I concealed in secret pockets.
Then, I pulled on a flowing overcoat the color of charcoal, its high slit allowing perfect mobility.
A glance in the mirror revealed the wound had indeed healed.
Zero evidence of my fight with the Locke remained.
Not outwardly. Inwardly, my dragon continued to froth, eager to unleash upon the mortal.
Worse, my strength had yet to fully return.
A problem when facing men with betrayal on their minds.
Head high, I exited the bathroom. Adelaide was standing, typing on her phone, a crown of blackened, dragon-fire seared steel dangling from the crook of her arm. “Don’t forget the precious,” she said, tossing the headpiece my way.
Though my reflexes were currently offline, I caught it mid-air, careful of the curved spikes resembling talons, each tipped with glowing amber. I anchored it to my hair, instantly feeling the weight of centuries of obligation.
“Looks like someone scrubbed Yrnblade details from our annals, but don’t worry.” Glee filled her voice. “I’ll learn how to break its hold. I’m very good at finding what others wish to hide.”
The delay sucked, but I knew she would succeed. “Thank you. On both counts,” I told her with a regal nod.
She performed an elaborate curtsy. “Obviously, you owe me, and I’ll collect.”
“Obviously.”
We strode into a hallway that stretched through the heart of the castle.
Carved pillars depicting dragons propped up the ceiling.
Their bejeweled eyes had fascinated me as a child.
Rich tapestries, portraits of kings and queens long past and curious artifacts collected through the centuries covered the walls, almost blocking the shimmering wallpaper that looked like dragon scales.
Per royal custom, my sister remained a step behind me, but that never prevented us from conversing.
“I didn’t spot the Chains of O upon your return, soooo what happened with the professor?” she asked as we turned a corner and descended a winding staircase, spiraled like a dragon’s tail.
“Well, he hit me with Skyrend toxin, then stabbed me with a mystical blade to ensure I forever crave him. Then he commanded me to kill him in my fire, so I’d endlessly desire what I cannot have.” I pushed the words from between clenched teeth.
“Sounds like an adorable meet-cute. So what’s next?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure where we landed on future plans. Who knows? Maybe he’ll decide to hunt me down to give murder another go, and we can solidify details then.”
“Smart.”
“Oh! I did learn something useful. He doesn’t have a twin.”
“That’s too bad, if he’s as cute as his pictures promise. We could have double-dated.”
I tossed her a glare, and she blew me a kiss with her middle finger. Then it was game time, and we both went stone-faced, projecting a cold determination known to clear battlefields. We entered the royal meeting room.
Vast and echoing due to its vaulted ceiling, the skyglass allowed views of the heavens.
A must for any dragon. Ancient maps and weathered scrolls graced the walls, side-by-side electronic boards and large viewing screens.
At its center stretched a massive solid-wood table, long enough to seat the ten members of my council, and me.
Crystal chandeliers suspended from dragon-claw fixtures that bathed the room in an amber glow identical to the one emanating from my crown.
Every inch of this space spoke of power and history and my place in it as the second ever to serve as regent.
My father, King Cedric, first ruled us. Once known as Drachensturm and The Storm. Then he became the first dragon-shifter. Their first king—and our greatest enemy.
The members of my council perched at the table, with only the chair at the head empty.
Each man and a single woman stood in deference, some more reluctantly than others.
They bowed their heads as I approached. Several had served under my father.
A fact that should have disqualified them from future service, but they were elected, not chosen by me.
Reason five million and twelve why I relied more on my sisters than my council.
With grace and elegance my mother instilled in me since I could walk, I took my place, lowering myself onto the cushioned seat. Adelaide remained standing behind me, a hand on a dagger hilt.
No one spoke at first, awaiting permission.
I used the time to gather my thoughts. I’d just battled a Locke.
Bonded to him via mystical blade. He wanted to kill me or die; either outcome was acceptable to him as long as I suffered.
I had no idea how to handle him, but I’d have to figure it out. Fast.
Deep breath in. Out. Centering.
“Let the skies part and stars listen,” Adelaide announced, sensing my readiness. “The Dragon Crown is called to her council.”
“We rise to serve,” the group of ten responded in unison, as custom dictated. “We stand with the Crown. We rest in her power.”