Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
The wind rushed in my ears as the aerial squads spread into formation, banners streaming from the lead riders.
Zander’s presence slid into my mind as smoothly as a familiar touch, steady and warm against the bracing chill of altitude.
His magic brushed mine, grounding me even as the adrenaline thrummed through my veins.
Siergen’s great crimson form circled above us, his shadow rippling over the mountains before he abruptly turned back toward Warriath.
What is he doing? I asked Zander through the bond, keeping my gaze locked on the dragon’s retreating silhouette.
He is guarding Warriath, Zander replied, his mental voice calm, sure. There are more unbonded dragons now—especially with those from the Lost Continent. While they lack our magic, they have the numbers, and the wards will aid them.
A small swell of relief loosened my chest. I’m glad we have Siergen.
There was a pause before Zander answered softly, As am I.
A new voice cut in a moment later—deep, sharp-edged, and threaded with dry humor. If you don’t stop thinking about the king, I will throw you off. I am your dragon.
I almost laughed aloud. Hein’s sarcasm was enough to pull the corners of Zander’s mouth into the slightest smile. I am very thankful you chose me, Hein. I’m just surprised that Siergen…
…treated you as if you were his own, Hein finished for him without hesitation.
Yes, Zander admitted. Especially since I wasn’t his rider.
I held my breath, grateful to be included in the conversation. I suspected Kaelith’s sharp curiosity had something to do with that—her attention was fully fixed on every word, and Hein clearly didn’t mind.
Siergen has done many things the horde hasn’t understood at the time, Hein went on, including taking a shunned prince under his wing. But he saw something in you that I admit… I didn’t. Not until that fae tried to assassinate you and you used Dark Fire to kill him—before you were bonded to me.
What? I blurted, my shock carrying through the link like a flare.
Zander’s voice came through the bond quieter now, as if the memory pulled at something deeper. I was feeling… left out. Emlem was always training my older brothers, but never included me. I started sneaking out of the castle to find my own adventures.
I shifted slightly in Kaelith’s saddle, tightening my grip on the reins. What happened?
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Siergen was watching me, Zander continued. But I was near the Hollow, and he believed me safe—even though I was outside the wards.
A chill worked its way down my spine. A fae attacked you?
Yes. Keep in mind—I was fifteen years old, and no fae had been seen this close to Warriath since the last war. But the Blood Fae was looking for something in the Hollow and spotted me. He assumed I’d be an easy kill and thought no one would ever know a Blood Fae had killed me if he used a sword.
I felt my stomach turn. He told you that?
Oh, he told me everything he planned to do to me. He used an immobilization spell first so I couldn’t move, then taunted me. Cut me.
That’s horrible.
It was, he admitted. But when he was about to run me through, Siergen screamed in my mind. Power flared through me, and my Dark Fire exploded out of me.
I stared ahead at Hein’s dark, powerful form slicing through the sky ahead of us. How?
Zander’s mental tone softened, almost hesitant. I’m not exactly sure. Maybe because Siergen is the king—though I had no idea about that at the time.
Hein’s rumble cut through the bond, dry and certain. It’s because Siergen connected us. It was brief, but he knew exactly who you would belong to. You tapped into my essence for a moment, and that explosion was the result.
Explosion? I echoed.
Zander’s chuckle was low, self-deprecating. That’s one way to put it. My Dark Fire burst out of me like a bomb. The fae was incinerated—as were my clothes. Siergen had to help me navigate my way home since I was running naked through the woods. Not my finest moment.
A smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness of the story. Did Hein know you were his rider since that day?
Zander was silent. It was Hein who answered. Yes, but I didn’t tell him. Siergen didn’t want his true identity exposed to the crown. So I never told him that I watched him play… and train.
I blinked. Wait. Who trained you if it wasn’t your father?
The bond pulsed, and a weight settled over my chest—thick, heavy, and cold. It wasn’t mine.
It was Zander’s.
Pain. Quiet, sharp-edged, and buried deep.
Zander’s voice in my mind was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something softer—reverence, maybe even grief. His name was Galen. He was old for a rider, in his mid-seventies when I was fifteen, but Siergen told me he would train me in secret… and he did.
Images came with his words—an older man with weathered skin and eyes as sharp as cut glass, his posture still proud despite the years. I could almost hear the rasp of his voice, feel the way his presence filled a room without demanding it.
We trained away from the castle, always.
At dawn, in the high passes where no one would think to look.
He taught me more than sword work and riding—he taught me how to read the wind, how to feel Hein’s weight before he even moved.
And he never once made me feel… less, because I wasn’t the chosen son.
I smiled tenderly in the bond. What happened to him?
There was a pause, and when Zander spoke again, it was quieter. Galen was so proud of me the day I bonded Hein. His own dragon was a green Clubtail—Kapel—almost as large as Hein. We trained in the air for six months, and I felt blessed to have such a kind and knowledgeable teacher.
The bond shifted, a shadow passing through it. We were attacked by the Blood Fae. I didn’t see the dragon in the clouds. I would have died, but Galen intercepted the lightning bolt meant for me. He died… and I didn’t.
My throat tightened. Oh, Zander.
Kapel lives, he continued after a long breath. Though he rarely leaves the isle. They were bonded for over sixty-five years. It takes time for a dragon to recover from that kind of loss. His voice dipped low, heavy with truth. And Galen was the kind of man that you miss.
Hein’s voice cut through the bond, deep and deliberate. It is rare for a dragon to take a second rider. Kapel was the first dragon in five generations to do so.
What? Zander’s shock sharpened the link between us.
You don’t know? I asked, glancing toward him in the saddle.
No, he said, his tone flat, almost guarded.
Kapel took a rider when he was a younger dragon, Hein explained.
That rider died when their squad was caught in an unforeseen storm.
His duty to the horde was complete, but when Galen put his hand in the bowl, his magic connected with Kapel’s.
A dragon sees inside his rider—feels their soul.
Kapel knew Galen had a destiny. Nobody knew that destiny was you until Siergen found you broken on the floor.
A low thrum of grief vibrated through the bond. Hein’s next words were softer, almost reverent. Galen was an exceptional human. You will find a way to honor him when the time is right.
Zander’s answer came with a steady resolve, even though I could feel the ache beneath it. I will.
The wind shifted, colder now as it swept over the formation. It bit through my leathers, and I shivered—not just from the chill in the air, but from the reality of the moment.
The countryside blurred beneath us, green fields and winding rivers giving way to scarred earth and churned mud.
It didn’t take more than an hour before the shadow on the horizon took shape—black dragons, dozens of them, their obsidian wings cutting jagged arcs against the pale sky.
Blood Fae riders clung to their necks like a second skin, armor dark and spined, faces masked in helms shaped like beasts.
Beneath them, the army moved at a steady, relentless march toward Warriath.
Rows upon rows of infantry in mismatched armor, crimson standards snapping in the wind.
Siege towers creaked on massive wheels, and at the rear, strange machines glinted in the sunlight—contraptions I didn’t recognize but knew were meant for destruction.
Triangular formation, Zander’s voice rang through the bond. I’ll take point.
The squads shifted instantly, wings beating in unison as we closed ranks. Hein surged forward like a living spearhead, Kaelith angling at his right flank, her purple scales catching the light like amethyst fire.
Then I saw her—Severeth, at the head of the black dragon formation. Her mount was massive, scales so dark they seemed to drink the sunlight, its eyes glowing silver. She leaned low over its neck, and when she spotted us, her dragon’s wings snapped tighter, speed surging.
The two formations collided in the air with a thunder of wings and screeches, the wind tearing at my hair as Kaelith twisted to avoid a bolt of blood-red magic. A black dragon dove at our left flank, claws raking, but Hein intercepted, forcing it into a spin.
Kaelith banked sharply, snapping her head and latching her jaws around the leg of a Blood Fae’s mount.
With a violent twist, she tore the rider from the saddle.
The Blood Fae screamed, flailing through the air before Kaelith released her grip.
The body plummeted, hitting the ground with a crunch that carried even over the chaos above.
The corpse landed among the marching army, crushing several infantry in its fall. The black dragon’s scream tore at the sky—a sound so full of anguish it scraped against my bones. It broke formation, circling once before landing beside its fallen rider.
Is there no way to save them? I asked Kaelith, my throat tight.
Her reply was like a cold wind through my mind. No. There is no way to untangle their souls from the dark ones who have perished.
The sky fractured around me—shadows and steel, the clash of claws on scales, the shrieks of dragons locked in deadly spirals. Kaelith banked hard, throwing me into the curve of the saddle as a Blood Fae rider broke from the chaos and came straight for us.
His dragon was leaner than most of the black-scaled beasts, its wings shaped like knives, each beat cutting through the wind with eerie accuracy.
The rider’s armor gleamed with wet crimson sigils, and the moment our eyes met, I felt the chill—cold magic, intense and invasive, sliding into the spaces between my breaths.
Kaelith lunged, snapping at the black dragon’s throat, but the Blood Fae twisted in his saddle and thrust his hand toward me. A surge of dark power slammed into my chest like a hammer. My breath caught, vision swimming as my magic recoiled, retreating deep into my core as if it were afraid.
The world dulled at the edges, my connection to Kaelith flickering. I reached for my own magic, but it was sluggish, as if I were trying to pull light through mud. My fingers tingled; my limbs heavy.
He came at me again, a pulse of black energy lashing out like a whip. It seared through the thin barrier of power I’d managed to summon, tearing it apart in seconds. My head rang, my muscles trembling under the weight of the spell.
Ashe! Kaelith’s voice boomed in my mind, laced with fury. She rolled us hard to the right, breaking the rider’s aim, her claws raking down the black dragon’s side. Hot, tar-like blood sprayed, the stench hitting me even through the wind.
I tried to lift my hand, to summon flame, lightning—anything—but the magic sputtered and died before it even reached my fingertips. My chest felt hollow, my pulse slowing under the oppressive weight of his power.
The Blood Fae smiled, a thin, cruel thing, and I realized with a lurch in my gut—he was draining me.