18. A dragon, gold
18
A DRAGON, GOLD
That news ended the meeting.
Ris and Claw began arguing, which escalated into screaming, which drove Naeron from the room with his arms wrapped around his head. Anahrod slipped out after, bemused to realize that Kaibren had removed his inscriptions and escaped with no one noticing.
On the way to the main cavern, she passed human servants. They all seemed like skittish mice, wary of loud noises and cat bells.
By the time she reached the main cavern, Tiendremos hadn’t returned. She walked through the weather vanes, spinning them as she went. Definitely not his real hoard. No dragon left their treasure out in the open like this.
This was a joke, a play on his elemental attunement to storms.
Now there was an uncomfortable thought: she hadn’t known dragons could have a sense of humor.
It was also a perfect expression of everything she hated about dragons—so driven to hoard their obsessions that they divorced them from all function. What good was a weather vane left indoors?
She threaded her way to the cave entrance, curious to find out how difficult it would be to trek down to Duskcloud. There was no way in hell she was traveling down the mountainside on dragonback.
Anahrod received no warning. One moment she walked toward the sunny cave mouth, and the next a flaring light blinded her. She put a hand to block the glare, squinted.
Her vision returned in time to see a dragon duck into the cave. Not Tiendremos. This was a smaller dragon, with mirror-bright scales—what had reflected the sun into her eyes.
Peralon.
Although she’d thought he was a large dragon when she’d seen him from a distance, on closer observation, Peralon was small, even petite. But size wasn’t always what made a dragon dangerous. What was his native element? Was he skilled at magic? She recognized most of the dragon attunements by sight, but she’d never heard of a gold dragon before. Dragons might sport gold accents on their scales, but never as the primary color.
His eyes were scintillating ruby red, his claws crystals. It was as though someone had carved a statue of a dragon—crafted it from gems and metals—and then magically transformed it into the real thing.
Anahrod had no idea how old he was, if he was younger than Tiendremos or older. She wondered what he hoarded, where he laired.
[Such a pleasure to finally meet you,] the dragon purred. [Ris won’t stop talking about you.]
Anahrod stepped backward until the sharp end of a weather vane jabbed her back. She glanced around the cave, but they were alone.
The dragon was talking to her.
Not just talking to her. Moving toward her as well. His walk was graceful, elegant, hardly shaking the ground at all.
The dragon lowered his head farther still, until the tip of his nose was in front of Anahrod, until she felt his hot breath on her face. She didn’t dare move.
[She says you tamed a titan drake. How did you manage it?]
Inside, Anahrod cursed. How had the dragon known she could understand him? How had he even suspected? She hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t even hinted that she could understand dragons . Was he bluffing?
He might’ve been bluffing.
[I know you can hear me.] Peralon seemed less upset than amused, like he’d caught a small child lying on a test.
Ironically, her silence gave her away. A normal person—someone who wasn’t trying to pretend they couldn’t hear dragons—would’ve said something, bowed, gone to fetch Ris to be his translator.
They wouldn’t have stood still, frozen in fear.
Anahrod’s throat felt as dry as the air fifty thousand feet up. “You have to get to them young.”
Peralon made a soft noise. The wind from his exhalation blew back her hair. Idly, she reminded herself that she needed to start braiding it again.
[No,] he corrected. [I must disagree.]
Anahrod wished running were an option. He blocked the exit, and there was no place to hide if the conversation took a turn for the worse.
“Excuse me?” she said.
[The trick of taming a creature,] Peralon elaborated, [is simply this: make them understand that they have no choices. That every good or bad thing that will ever happen in their lives comes from you. That their only option, their only path forward, is to make you happy, do whatever you ask of them, until they don’t even realize that they’re enslaved.] His jaws tightened in something like a smile. [It’s easier with animals. Although I suppose you’re right: it does help if you get to them young.]
Anahrod stared at him, wide-eyed.
They weren’t talking about training titan drakes.
Ris’s voice came from behind Anahrod: “Peralon, you’re scaring her.”
[Am I?] Peralon once again sounded amused. [I’d apologize, but I can’t really be sorry for what I am, can I?] The dragon made a deep-throated chuffing sound—laughter. [I’m a dragon, after all. We’re terrifying .]
“Yes, darling. You certainly are,” Ris murmured lovingly as she lounged against the dragon’s leg. She studied Anahrod with a thoughtful expression. “I admit, I expected you to be more excited.”
Anahrod reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the dragon to face Ris. “About what, exactly?”
“You know”—Ris whirled a hand—“enough wealth to live comfortably for the rest of your days. Or should that fail to motivate, making Neveranimas pay.”
“Ah.” Anahrod felt acutely sensitive to the gold dragon’s presence, to Tiendremos’s impending arrival, but most of all, to how much she didn’t want to talk about this. The giant cave felt claustrophobic and dangerous. “Easy mistake. If it makes you feel better, Sicaryon used to trip over the same root.”
She’d have to walk past Peralon if she wanted to leave. The sense of danger itched across her skin, even though she logically knew she was in no danger because all parties involved needed her alive.
Ris scoffed. “Why wouldn’t you want payback? How can you just let it go after the way she hurt you—”
Something inside Anahrod snapped. She could imagine Sicaryon’s voice with such perfect clarity, asking the same questions in the same frustrated, angry tone. How many times had they had this same argument?
The next line was easy. She’d practiced it a thousand times. “And what would it fix?”
“What?”
Anahrod threw up her arms. “What would it fix?” she shouted. “Would revenge give me parents who give a damn? Parents who see me as something more than a political tool, who I’m good enough to please?” She paused for an inhale, and because she had more fuel to burn on the bonfire of her anger. “Would revenge change the fact that they’ve been writing plays and novels where I’m the definition of evil? Does anyone in Seven Crests dare name their children Anahrod these days? Don’t bother telling me. I already know the answer.”
Ris winced, and behind her, Peralon shifted as though the ground had grown white-hot.
Then, Peralon spoke: [No, but it will stop her from doing the same thing to someone else. You’re not the first she targeted. You won’t be the last. Not unless something is done.]
“It’ll stop her,” Anahrod agreed, “but it won’t stop it from happening. Because that has nothing to do with Neveranimas. It won’t change just because she’s gone. The problem is not Neveranimas, the problem is that my people are not your equals. We’re not your peers. We’re pets. Eannis herself made us, remember? And when we grew too arrogant she cast us out of heaven to learn humility as your servants. How will revenge against one dragon fix that?”
Anahrod was screaming at a dragon. If there was anything riskier or more suicidal that she’d ever done in her life, she couldn’t think of it.
She was a fool.
She wasn’t even talking to Peralon or Ris, not really, but Sicaryon sure as hell had been on her mind recently, hadn’t he? That wasn’t a situation likely to change soon. Not until Ris recovered her damn sword.
She eyed the cave entrance. She’d never make it if the dragon felt like doing something.
Except Peralon didn’t attack her, didn’t roar, didn’t seem offended at all.
[I see what you mean.] A comment directed at Ris, not Anahrod.
“I told you she was special.” Ris approached her carefully. “You’re right, of course. It won’t fix any of that. But you’re letting yourself be overwhelmed by the knowledge that you must chop down a whole forest, and you’re forgetting that it always starts with one tree. But also: you’re lying to yourself.”
Anahrod felt a flare of indignation. “How dare you—”
“You don’t want revenge? Liar.” Ris’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Yes, you do. Listen to yourself: you’re furious. You have every right to be. Your whole life has been stolen, and I think you’ve spent the last seventeen years hiding in that jungle precisely so you won’t have to think about how angry that makes you. How powerless you feel to do anything about it. What you’re feeling is justified .”
Anahrod made a choking sound, eyes wide. She didn’t—
She clenched and unclenched her fists, swallowed air that was still too damn thin. Ris stood there defiant and so fiercely beautiful Anahrod battled between continuing to fight or trying to kiss her.
But she couldn’t—
Ris was a dragonrider .
“Maybe my anger is justified,” she finally allowed, “but I’ve also seen what revenge demands a person give up: everything . And I refuse to be sacrificed on that altar ever again.”
Ris started to say something. It would’ve been quick and cutting and oh, it would’ve bled. She paused. “No one’s asking you to.”
She looked the way Anahrod had felt while talking to Peralon—like she was experiencing that same slow, uncomfortable realization that the conversation had changed without warning.
[If the idea of riches or revenge isn’t a sufficient motivator, perhaps this will be: when I speak of keeping this from happening to others, I’m not speaking in the abstract. You were not the first student Neveranimas has attempted to kill, nor are you likely to be the last. You are only exceptional in that you have survived.]
“I’m good at that,” Anahrod said, and then her heart fluttered, panicked.
She thought of Gwydinion.
“Do you know why?” she asked him. “Why Neveranimas really wanted to kill me? It can’t be what she claimed. I didn’t do it. Is it—?” She ground her teeth. “Did she think I was refusing her?”
On dark nights when she felt unusually honest with herself, Anahrod could admit that more than revenge, what she really wanted was the truth. To just understand why .
She hadn’t even refused Neveranimas. She’d asked for more time to make the decision. Anahrod didn’t understand—she’d never understood—how that had somehow translated into rejection.
[She’s never taken a rider,] Peralon answered, [so I see no reason to suspect her offer to you was sincere. Especially as you share the same blessing as her other victims.]
The cave suddenly felt even colder than normal. Her stomach rolled. There could be no confusion, though. She only had one blessing. “Talking to animals?”
[Yes.]
Anahrod felt like she might be sick. She knew another dragonrider candidate who could talk to animals, didn’t she? Gwydinion…
“He knew you weren’t going to be harmed, by the way,” Ris quickly reassured her. Anahrod must’ve said his name out loud. “His father wasn’t in on the plan, but Gwydinion always knew we weren’t sending you to Yagra’hai. He never would’ve agreed to help us, otherwise. He’s a good kid.”
Anahrod swallowed with a raw throat. “Glad to hear it.” She stared Ris in the eyes. “Just one question then, and I mean this sincerely. How does robbing Neveranimas’s vault keep Gwydinion alive?”
It was the only question that mattered.
She didn’t give a damn about diamonds or wealth or avenging great-grand parents she’d never known, but Gwydinion didn’t deserve to go through what she had—not even a tenth of what she had.
Anahrod knew she was giving Ris all the leverage she’d ever need. She’d handed over what she cared about and linked it to her cooperation. All Ris had to do was tie it in a neat bow around Gwydinion’s neck and Anahrod would do whatever she asked.
Ris quirked her mouth. “I’ve already cut a deal with his parents to smuggle him into a sanctuary city beyond Neveranimas’s reach until this is all over. He’s not going to be in any danger at Yagra’hai, because he’ll never attend.” She gave Anahrod an apologetic little shrug.
Anahrod could only stare.
Ris could’ve lied. No, Ris should’ve lied. Even if she never had a second’s intention of letting anything happen to the boy, Ris needed Anahrod’s cooperation, and this would’ve ensured it.
But this? This was…
This felt like trust. Anahrod didn’t know what to do with that emotion except view it with suspicion, examine it for traps. Thankfully, they were in a dragon cave and there was a dragon right there, so that made it easier for Anahrod to push back the heady urge to kiss every part of Ris the woman would allow.
“So…” Anahrod took a deep breath. “You want me to go back into the Deep, don’t you? Convince Sicaryon to give back his sword?”
He’d never do it, not in a thousand years, but she’d try. She had to.
[You have time to prepare. I must return home, but I’ll be back in a few days.]
“What?” Ris seemed as surprised by the news as Anahrod. “Why are you leaving?”
[If Anahrod is to overcome her issue with heights, she’ll need the proper tools.]
“Fly as quick as you can then,” Ris ordered grudgingly. “I’d rather you were here when Tiendremos returns. He will not be happy with me.”
Anahrod straightened. “When Tiendremos returns? That makes it sound like he’s left Duskcloud entirely.”
[He has. Tiendremos cannot leave Neveranimas’s side for too long lest he rouse suspicions. He’s flying back to Yagra’hai but will return when he can.]
Anahrod exhaled. Just the knowledge that he wouldn’t be back soon made the whole cave brighter. “Hope he takes his time,” she murmured.
Ris laughed softly. She rubbed Peralon’s leg as if for luck and launched herself over to Anahrod. “Shall we go to Duskcloud, then? I don’t know about you, but I’d feel more comfortable staying in town for some reason.” She hooked a hand around Anahrod’s arm. “We could visit your father while we’re there.”
Anahrod blinked. Ris had mentioned that before, hadn’t she? And Anahrod had been too distracted to give it the proper attention.
“You mean my donor father?” Anahrod asked, wrinkling her nose. She had no idea who the man was, but if Ris had been researching her family, it made sense she would’ve tracked him down.
“Not at all,” Ris said. “I mean the person who used to be your first mother. Turns out he was late-sprouting. Calls himself Dradigh now.”
Anahrod stared at the woman. “Mayor Amnead? Here in Duskcloud?”
“Not the mayor anymore. And yes. As I said, he works a sausage cart.”
Anahrod had been subjected to a barrage of emotions since waking, since leaving that meeting. Distantly, she wondered what Ris had thought to gain by telling her that information, what sort of reaction she’d expected to elicit.
Anahrod wondered about that, too. She felt burned away, her emotions withered to ash. She didn’t have enough energy to be properly angry, or whatever emotion she should feel about the person she’d grown up thinking would always protect her. The person who’d instead ordered her thrown to her death.
She just blinked and stared out at nothing, until Ris put a hand on her shoulder, looking genuinely apologetic. “I shouldn’t have mentioned this, should I? I’m sorry, I… I just assumed you’d want to know.”
“I did,” Anahrod answered. “I do.” She realized there was another emotion banked in the embers of her feelings, even if it was nothing more than a tiny spark.
Curiosity.
She picked up Ris’s hand from her shoulder so Anahrod could turn to face the dragonrider.
Anahrod said: “I want to see him.”