Chapter 33 #2
I draw back a step, my own breath catching.
For a moment, I don’t understand. Then the clamoring fear in my head seems to clarify, and I see what he sees when he looks at me.
Mhoryga. The Dragon Queen, his own mother—tall and terrible, her skin partially covered in scales, her nails long, cruel claws.
But most of all, her eyes. Golden eyes, gleaming with an inner furnace of hellfire.
I shake my head, desperate to drive out that terrible image.
“No, no!” I say hastily, holding out both hands.
My own nails are a trifle long and pointy as Philippa has not had an opportunity to file them today.
But they certainly aren’t talons by any stretch of the imagination.
“I’m not her, I’m not…your mother.” I cannot bring myself to speak the word our.
Whatever else I’ve come to accept over the last few hours, that particular truth I’m not ready to acknowledge. Not out loud at least.
The boy shifts in his chains, staring up at me.
He’s so scrawny and bony, like he’s been starved for years.
Bruises cover his skin, and worse still, cuts like from an iron-tipped whip.
My stomach knots at the sight of those wounds.
But worst of all is the fear in his eyes when he looks at me.
I hate that he should look at me with such dread. If only I had time to earn his trust.
Unfortunately, time is not a luxury I possess.
“I’m here to rescue you,” I say. Gods blight it, my voice sounds so loud and echoing, surely guards will come racing around every corner any moment!
The boy blinks at me, confusion battling with the horror in his eyes. “You’re…you’re not…”
“No, I’m not Mhoryga,” I say, drawing a step nearer those torches. “My name is Rosie. I’m your…friend.”
“Friend?”
We could be here all night with him echoing back every word I say. For now, I need to get him out of here. It seems as though the torches are the primary barrier keeping him captive. Dragon though he is, he shrinks away from those flames. Perhaps the dragon spawn aren’t fireproof after all.
It’s a simple enough matter for me to stride over to that circle, select one of the torches, and heave it out of its slot in the floor.
The flames flicker, the heat uncomfortable against my flesh, but I do not fear fire of this world.
I toss the torch to the stone floor, where it rolls away harmlessly enough.
Now I stand at the gap in the torch circle, holding out one hand to the dragon boy.
“Come on,” I urge him. “I’m going to get us both out of here. I promise.”
He gets to his feet, visibly shaking. “My—my brothers?” he asks.
My heart twists, but I shake my head firmly. “Once we’re out of here,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything then, I swear. But we’ve got to go, now.”
Just as the words leave my mouth, a sound of armor-clanking footsteps rattles in my ears. The boy startles, hunching into himself with terror as he gazes beyond me to the stone hall outside this little chamber. Someone is coming, one of the guards.
My hand reaches for the knife strapped at my hip.
But no…I cannot quite bear the idea of stabbing an unsuspecting man, even if he is my enemy.
Instead, I catch up the torch again as the only other weapon available to me.
Standing at the opening of the chamber, I raise the torch over my head like a club.
“You still in there, you rutting dragon spew?” a harsh voice calls out as the footsteps draw nearer. “The king’s given orders; you’re to be brought to his chambers at once. No doubt, he means to dispose of your cursed hide himse—”
His voice cuts off abruptly, for in that moment, he steps through the doorway, and I bring the torch down hard on his head.
There’s a terrible stink of singed hair, a shower of sparks, and a startled, wordless cry.
Then the guard’s body slumps to the ground, inert.
I stand over him, torch still gripped in both hands.
I’m stronger than I thought! Who would have believed my skinny little arms could bring down a fully grown man in a single blow?
Why does this all feel much too easy?
No time to worry about that. There’s a key ring on the man’s belt. Choosing to see this as the gods’ favor in action and not a suspicious convenience, I deftly relieve the man of his keys and turn to the boy once more. “Come on!” I say, beckoning.
He shakes his head, as though he doesn’t quite believe what’s happening.
His fear scrabbles at the back of my mind, but I push it back and say more forcefully, “We don’t have time to waste!
I’m not your mother, I’m not even a dragon, not really.
I can’t hurt you and I wouldn’t want to even if I could.
I just want to get you out of here. And me too for that matter!
But neither of us is going anywhere without the other, so get over here now. ”
Slowly, as though each step causes him pain, the boy steps to the gap in the torch circle.
Once he’s close enough for me to reach, I take hold of his shackled wrists and pull him toward me.
Quivering like a frightened puppy, he flinches away, but I don’t release my hold.
I pull his hands up, stick the key into the lock, and twist until I feel a pop.
The shackles open, and the shining meorise falls to the floor with a clatter.
Immediately, the mental connection between us intensifies.
I can’t explain it—it’s as though, with the removal of whatever barrier the meorise generated, the boy’s life suddenly opens to me, like the pages of a book.
In a flood of sudden understanding, I see both who he is and who he was and even who he might be.
A child, born in flames along with a clutch of brothers, all almost exactly like him.
Given away to a human woman to be raised, believing himself to be as human as any other boy in his home village…
only to have that belief shattered when the dracori rode into town to claim him on his ninth birthday.
I see how the woman he believed to be his mother wept and begged that he not be taken, clinging to his scrawny arm. I see how the dracori killed her…
I shake my head, trying to drive out that brutal moment.
But more images, more moments of a lifetime simply appear in my head, like pieces of my own history.
I see a mighty stronghold, towering and black, suffused with a hellish green glow.
I see many children ushered through fang-like gates into a world of darkness and fire.
I feel their fear, their anger, their hollow helplessness.
And then, one by one, they are plunged into the flame and made to transform into monsters. Dragons. Beasts of burden, enslaved and ruined. Mounted and ridden by the dracori. Like animals.
Animals. That word echoes loudest in my head, aching with shame. I cannot begin to comprehend it, but I feel it there inside me. It’s too much to bear.
I slam the doors of connection between our minds. I’m not even certain how I do it. Blinking hard, I stare into the boy’s face before me, seeing the child who used to be staring out of the face of the creature that now is.
“Rhyo?” I say softly. It’s his name—I felt it in his mind. And I seem to remember hearing one of his brothers call out to him in the arena as well.
He blinks hard, his mouth moving. Then he whispers, “Nyxia?”
I frown. I don’t know that name…but when he speaks it, I seem to see another image in my head, this time of a woman about my own age.
She’s my height, my build, my everything in fact.
She looks so much like me, I would think I was seeing a mirrored image were it not for her long black hair and the delicate scales around her cheekbones and jaw.
“No,” I say, firmly shoving that image down as well. “I’m not Nyxia…whoever that is. I’m Rosie.”
He gapes at me, open-mouthed. Then, very softly: “So it’s true. There really is another one.”
The last thing I need right now is to get muddled up in more questions and enigmas. Setting my jaw, I take hold of the boy’s shoulder. “Come on. We’re getting out of here. Now.”
To my relief, the boy allows me to lead him to the air shaft.
It’s too far up for me to reach, but when I ask him to give me a leg up, he obliges.
I manage to scramble inside and turn to offer my hand to help him, but he simply leaps from the floor, catches the lip, and hauls himself up with just a little clambering of his scrawny limbs.
He’s a nimble blighter, despite his injuries.
“This way,” I say, and take the lead, crawling through the tunnel.
I try very hard not to think too much about the view I’m giving the poor boy.
What a great introduction to his own sister!
When we come to the upward-leading shaft, I tell him to climb ahead of me, preferring not to have him looking up my skirts, even in this pitch dark.
After all, his dragon sight might be much better than mine.
“Go slow and steady,” I tell him. “It’s a long climb.”
His panic simmers in the atmosphere, but I can tell he’s feeling stronger already, now that he’s out of those meorise shackles. Though I cannot see his face, I sense when he looks at me, considering whether or not he could overpower me.
“Hey!” I say sharply and tap the top of his head. “None of that! I’m here to help you, but you’ve got to help me too, all right?”
His mind instantly subdues. I think I hear that name again: Nyxia, Nyxia, Nyxia. It’s unsettling. Who is this mysterious doppelg?nger who inspires such terror in the poor boy’s heart?
At least he turns obediently and begins to climb the rungs. I start up after him, already exhausted at the prospect of this long ascent. But we’re out of the dungeon cell; that’s got to be a good thing, right?
No sooner has that thought crossed my mind than a deep-booming drone erupts in the air all around us.
It ripples through the shafts and echoes in the palace chambers and passages, filling up the whole world with terrible, inescapable sound.
The boy jolts, and one of his feet slips, kicking me in the face.
I redouble my grip on the rungs, clinging with all I’ve got even as my head fills with sparks.
“Blighted hell!” I snarl, my voice lost in that echoing dissonance.
Because I know what that sound is: the palace alarm.
Alderin knows I’m missing.