32. Thirty-Two
By my quick count, there are five dragons zipping through the center of the mountain; flying through an obstacle course, breathing frost against designated targets, and two of them have riders using their powers simultaneously.
”What is this place?” I look straight up to see the tip of the mountain is open and realize the dragons choose to stay here, even though they”re free to fly off.
”This is Fendruil,” Sylvane says with pride. ”It”s here we have protected our dragon companions from the outside world. After the Great War, most dragons from each of the Six Kingdoms fell. The ones that remained either survived the battle or were too young to fight in the first place.”
My gaze drifts from the dragons in the sky to the jagged rocks below. If someone falls, there”s nothing to save them from a gruesome death. I shake the horrible thought free and refocus on the dragons. They”re enormous, even from this distance. Their iridescent white scales glisten in the sunlight and if they were placed in front of a snowy backdrop, they”d be hard to spot. Four legs, sharp claws, and two expansive wings on their backs strengthen my desire to get a closer look, but I won”t press my luck.
”Come.” Her voice jars me.
I stare in the direction she”s pointing and tucked along the inner mountainside there”s a path wide enough for a carriage to fit down and thankfully, it”s roped off, so no one falls over the edge. At the end of the pathway that wraps around in a half-moon shape, there”s a colossal sized building built into the cliff. There are a few more smaller structures on the plateau including a tower, barracks, and a few buildings to house supplies.
Atlas has been quiet since we mounted the Aviatas to fly here, so I dare a quick glance up at him as we follow Sylvane down the pathway. His face is lifted upward, completely mesmerized by the dragons soaring above. This sight is overwhelming in the best possible way. I always hoped dragons were real from the fairytales I read growing up, but for Atlas, this must be a wildly different experience. As a child he was obsessed with dragons, gleaning every scrap of knowledge available to understand these glorious beasts. Living with the notion that he would probably never see one, since the Fire Breathers either fell in battle or disappeared entirely, must have been devastating. Watching him tear up a bit at the view of Frost Dragons makes my heart ache. I slip my hand in his like he does when I appear to need reassurance, and I squeeze, drawing his gaze.
Without needing to speak a word to one another, I understand. This is a once in a lifetime sight and we intend to enjoy every second of it.
A bell tolls, echoing through the mountain, and signaling the dragons to return to a gargantuan building with ten large openings that I”m now realizing are wide enough for the dragons to enter. Each one flies to their own entrance and perches inside, stretching out and making themselves comfortable.
”It”s feeding time,” Sylvane explains.
It takes us about fifteen minutes to make our way down to the white structures that match the architecture of Elowen down below. The white wooden doors are propped open so we can walk right inside. I almost ask why there aren”t any soldiers guarding this area, but I quickly swallow that foolish question. Dragons don”t need guarding. Only an idiot with a death-wish would attempt to creep in here. I stare straight up once we”re underneath the double doors and gawk at the fifty-foot-tall ceilings.
We pass an equipment room and riders” lounge before entering what I can only equate as a stable for dragons. On our left are ten pens with half-walls between each one, giving each dragon their privacy. The exit behind them is wide-open, cementing in my mind that these mighty creatures are truly free to leave whenever they want, but they choose to stay with their rider companions. It”s humbling to think that these powerful dragons feel a sense of loyalty to the Frost Elves.
”This is Drexel.” Sylvane begins our dragon tour with the first pen on our left. The gate between us and Drexel comes up to my chest. ”He is the oldest dragon here and the others respect him as their leader. He also happens to be the Frost King”s dragon and has been his companion since birth.”
Drexel”s blue eyes skim over Sylvane and Atlas before latching onto me. There”s innocent curiosity in his gaze, but I sense danger, too. Then I remember learning in one of my lessons with Professor Riggs that looking a dragon in their eye can be misconstrued as challenging their dominance. I quickly avert my gaze and hold my hands up in surrender, hoping he won”t turn me into a block of ice.
Sylvane furrows her brow and clears her throat, garnering my attention. ”What are you doing?”
”I looked him in the eye, and I hope I didn”t offend him.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sweet sound echoes through the building. ”Oh, don”t worry about that. That might have been the case with Fire Breathers, because they were notorious for having an attitude problem, but Frost Dragons are different. They crave eye contact and interaction. They”re basically giant dogs.”
”With razor sharp fangs,” I point out, standing straight.
”Even dogs can kill, Aurelia – I mean, Shaye.” Her face reddens, but I move to the next pen hoping to squash her embarrassment. I know my birth name is Aurelia Basilius-Sol, but I”m not quite sure if it suits me. For now, I”ll remain Shaye, because it”s what I”m comfortable with.
”And this one?” I slip in front of the second dragon who looks exactly like Drexel but significantly smaller.
Sylvane seems to have gotten her stride back and points out dragons two and three are Bellatrix and Syrinx, a mother and daughter. ”My younger brother, Faolin, rides Bellatrix, and his daughter Kamari is bonded to Syrinx. Both even tempered, until you cross their riders.”
”Duly noted,” I say in reverential fear, moving on to the fourth dragon”s pen.
Enormous and positively stunning, the male dragon is named Artax and his rider is none other than Prince Thrane Basilius. I should have guessed the pairing from the skeptical side-eye and judgmental disposition Artax sports, but there”s something in his confident body language that makes me wonder, if beneath the scales there”s a soft and caring heart.
Beside Artax are two empty stalls.
”Are those dragons still out?” I crouch to look out the open backside of the pen but there aren”t any dragons flying.
Sylvane shakes her head slowly, meeting my gaze. ”Drax and Elexus died in the Great War, along with their riders. My brother, Eiran, who was Thrane and Hael”s father, and his dragon Drax were shot out of the sky, but not before they wreaked havoc on Drogon”s army for months. Elexus and my Aunt Anwyn sacrificed themselves by protecting a battalion of Dwarven soldiers who had been cut off from the rest of our allies. Had she not taken on Drogon”s minions, over three hundred Dwarves would have perished. From my understanding, the Dwarves erected a statue of her and Elexus in Durne, honoring their courage and sacrifice.”
”Oh,” I clear my throat. ”I”m sorry to hear they died.”
”Don”t be,” she says simply. ”They died warriors” deaths and are remembered for their bravery.”
We stare at one another in complete silence and so many questions swirl in my head, but I”m too cowardly to ask any of them.
”I thought I counted five dragons flying?” I break the tense silence.
”We currently have seven dragons.” Sylvane composes herself and moves passed the two empty stalls and comes to another male dragon. He”s definitely younger than Thrane”s dragon, Artax, but not by much. ”This is Mandrax. His rider is Prince Hael, Thrane”s younger brother. They”re both quiet and prefer to be by themselves.”
”So, do the dragons take on the personalities of their riders?” Atlas finally chimes in, startling my mother, as if she had forgotten he was with us at all.
She nods. ”In some ways, yes. Frost Dragons sense when a Basilius is pregnant, and the need for another dragon spurs one to be created. Dragon and babe are bonded from birth, and they tend to take on similar qualities. However, they also take on some of our shortcomings. We must be in tune with ourselves and maintain balance within, so our dragons pick up on that as well.”
”I didn”t know that,” he admits, his childhood love for dragon lore rears its head. ”Thank you for sharing.”
”You”re welcome, Tronovian.” She tilts her head in respect, before moving on to the next pen. ”Did you know” – she glances at me – ”that only members of House Basilius are paired with a Frost Dragon?”
I bob my head. ”Only descendants of House Basilius are granted dragons because they are the only Frost Elves blessed with magic.”
Sylvane smiles with pride radiating from her eyes. ”That”s right.”
Standing in front of the next pen, Sylvane”s dragon, Corvex, rears his head and his blue eyes light up the moment he sees my mother. The enormous male has a large scar slashed across his chest, but it”s clearly old and healed. He is the only dragon to approach the barrier between us and slips his head over the lip, so Sylvane can stroke his snout and kiss him. ”Corvex and I have been through many adventures together, haven”t we, boy?”
Corvex clearly understands and bobs his head when she kisses his snout, before he stomps off to relax. They”re basically giant dogs. I”m beginning to see the similarities.
”The stall at the end of the hall is empty,” Sylvane continues. ”It will be given to the next dragon born.” We stop at the pen beside Corvex”s and I peak inside to see a female dragon, smaller than the others, lounging. Her white scales almost look purple in the sunlight, but once she stretches her wings and four legs, her coloring changes to a bluish tint. Her long neck is extended in front of her, and her tail is tucked around her body like a canine”s would be.
”What is her name?” I ask.
”That”s Seraxes.”
The mere mention of the dragon”s name spurs her eyes to fly open. She slowly pulls her head upright and lazily scans us until her piercing blue eyes fall to me. Is she… frowning? Is it possible for a dragon to scowl?
”Why is she looking at me like that? Who is her rider?” I ask, though my eyes are glued to the dragon”s.
”Seraxes is your dragon.”
”Mine?” I whip to face her. ”What do you mean?”
”I told you, every royal born in House Basilius is gifted a dragon to bond with. No dragon will be ridden by another rider and no rider will have another dragon.”
”She”s been waiting for me all these years?”
”That is the dragon way,” Sylvane bobs her head.
Guilt lodges in the pit of my stomach. Seraxes has been riderless for twenty-one years. I know it”s not my fault, but a part of me feels immeasurable remorse, and I want to make things right for her. All these years, she”s been alone. She”s watched every other dragon fly with their rider and take up their place in the Basilius household with no hope that she”d ever be seen in the same light.
My eyes slip from my mother to Atlas. There”s awe in his face when I expected to see jealousy. All his life, he”s wanted to bond with and ride a dragon, and here I am with a Frost Dragon. He flashes me one of his warm and reassuring smiles and jerks his chin toward the dragon, as if to say, talk to her.
”Do you think she remembers me?” I whisper to my mother.
Sylvane eats the distance between us and drapes her arm across my shoulders. ”Oh yes, she knows exactly who you are.”
Though Seraxes” judgmental glare is all I can focus on, there”s a pain and anger in her face that”s clearly hard to miss. She flicks her head, feigning disinterest, but I swear, if I stepped inside the pen, she wouldn”t hesitate to freeze me with one blast of frost.
”Why does she look like she”s ready to swallow me whole?”
”Seraxes is fiercely independent, but now that you”re back, she will have to learn to obey your voice and bend to your will. You will have to establish trust as her partner.”
”And if she doesn”t want me?” The question breaks my heart.
”Whether she likes it or not,” Sylvane says, ”you two need each other. Without a rider, Seraxes will never join the ranks of the Orhelle.”
”Orhelle?”
”When rider and dragon complete their training together, they join the ranks of Orhelle, an elite group of warriors.” Sylvane pulls the neck of her shirt over her shoulder and shows her ornate tattoos. ”Every Basilius rider has these tattooed on their shoulders. If you do not take your place as a dragon rider, our people will not recognize you as a true Elowen royal.”
”Wait!” My heart thunders. ”Are you saying you want me to ride her?”
She tilts her head and odd curiosity flashes across her pale face. ”What else would one do with a dragon?” When I don”t say anything, she places her hands on either side of my face and softly says, ”Whether you admit it or not, you are Aurelia Basilius-Sol, and you are a dragon rider. Take your place at our table. Be who you were born to be and do not be afraid.”
She abruptly releases me when someone calls out to her from the front door and casts me one last look as she walks away. ”Your first lesson is tomorrow. I will have riding leathers sent to your room.”
Even if I wanted to argue, she gives me no opportunity to as she disappears down the corridor.