Chapter 13
HAILEY
It’d been two days since our battle with Vaelog. Everyone’s spirits were down, so Solenne threw a party to bring back some of the smiles. But this was no party I’d ever been to. It was cooler because it had sky dancing.
Dozens of dragons gathered in circuits above the keep. The air crackled with telepathic banter, the volume rising and falling with every new arrival. Even from our perch on the upper terrace, I could feel the hum of anticipation radiating down the stone.
It was, as Solenne explained to us, a last-minute sky-dance. “A diversion, nothing more,” she had said, though the way she preened at the center of the activity suggested otherwise. “Let them stretch their wings and remember who we are, not who we are supposed to fight.”
I stood at the edge with Jax, both of us in full dragon form, neither willing to be the first to speak.
The memory of the recent battle clung to my scales, but here, now, the mood was different, lighter, almost festive.
We watched as pairs and trios of dragons soared in formation, their wingbeats perfectly synchronized, their shadows weaving complicated tapestries across the clouds.
The precision of it was hypnotic. At one point, a formation of seven, led by the moody color-shifter, wove a double helix pattern through a column of mist, not a single wingtip drifting out of line.
Jax watched them, and though his jaw was set and his eyes narrow, envy leaked through our link.
He was a man who respected discipline, even if he didn’t much care for performance.
“You see the lead’s timing?” he said, voice pitched so that only I could hear it beneath the telepathic chatter.
“He’s compensating for the crosswind by a quarter-beat. Smart.”
I nodded, though what I really saw was the joy in the movement, not the tactics. “Reminds me of a marching band. The way they practice until everyone moves the same, and then suddenly you’re part of a machine instead of a crowd.”
Jax arched a scaly brow. “You were in marching band?”
“Not even close. But the twins did Color Guard, and you don’t forget the bruises when they practiced in the living room.”
He snorted, a sound that came out as a plume of smoke, then glanced skyward. “You think they’re really doing this for morale?”
“Morale, ego, lust, whatever gets the blood pumping,” I said. “Even dragons need a reason to get up in the morning.”
We watched as the formations grew more complex, the patterns looping and folding.
Every so often, the sky would split with a boom as one group broke through the sound barrier, the pressure wave trailing rainbow turbulence in their wake.
Below, the younger dragons and those too old or too weak to fly in formation roared approval.
I spotted Flint at the edge of the hatchling platform, eyes wide as planets, tail whipping so fast it looked like a helicopter blade.
He’d been placed under the care of two older hatchlings, Shimmer and Pebble, if I remembered their names right, and though he was a head shorter, he ran their perimeter with all the bravado of a seasoned sentry.
Every time a formation zipped overhead, Flint leapt up and down, shouting.
“Did you see that spiral?!” he yelled, voice ringing clear across the stone. “I’m going to do that, I’m going to spiral and then maybe eat a cloud!”
Shimmer rolled her eyes, but with obvious affection. Pebble, a squat amber dragon with a shell-like pattern across his back, just grunted and offered Flint a chunk of volcanic rock, which he gnawed with glee.
I felt a tap on my flank, turned, and found Solenne waiting, her scales polished to a mirror shine. “You and Jax will join us for the next round?” she asked, the words more statement than question.
Jax stiffened. “Is it required?”
Solenne bared her teeth in a grin. “Nothing is required in Ayrathys except that you don’t embarrass the Queen. Which, in your case, is statistically inevitable, so you may as well enjoy yourself.”
I snorted. “Fine. But I’m warning you, I have no coordination.”
Solenne’s eyes glittered. “That is precisely why we want you. The sky is too perfect without a little chaos.”
She leaped into the air, wings snapping open. Jax hesitated, then followed, taking off in a vertical surge that left me scrambling to keep up.
Solenne led us to the group she’d been flying with. The other dragons folded around us, their telepathic voices switching from idle chatter to a disciplined hum. I could feel their amusement, their curiosity, their genuine interest in what the vampires would do next.
The pattern was simple at first. Climb, peel off, loop, and rejoin.
Solenne demonstrated, then let the lead drift to us.
Jax and I tried to match her, but it was like being dropped into a tango with no rehearsal.
His wings beat too hard, mine not enough.
He rolled left when I was certain we were supposed to go right.
At one point, he banked too sharply and nearly clipped the tail of the color-shifting lead, who corrected with a bored flick of the wrist and a telepathic, “We must remember that not all who fly do so with grace.”
I was no better. My tail had a mind of its own, and on the third turn, I spun out, overcorrected, and found myself upside down with the entire formation watching.
The laughter, mental and vocal, cascaded through the air, but it wasn’t cruel.
More like the laughter of a big family when the youngest dumps spaghetti in his lap.
I rolled, caught the right orientation, and heard Solenne’s voice in my head. “Style points for innovation.”
Jax recovered as well. He slid into a lower position, used the updraft to catch the group, and rejoined the pattern without further incident.
The rest of the sky-dancers adjusted around us, not accommodating, but compensating with the sort of teamwork that made me feel like maybe the whole world could run this way if people tried.
After a few circuits, the routine grew more challenging.
Synchronized loops, then dives through columns of cloud that burst apart in our wake.
Solenne’s group led us in a spiral climb so tight my lungs ached, and as we neared the apex, the sky itself thinned to nothing.
For a moment, it was just us and the vacuum and the light.
Solenne snapped her wings, flipped backward, and let herself fall. The others did the same, all at once, until it was just Jax and me at the top, unsure whether to follow or hold.
Jax looked at me, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Last one down is dinner,” he said, then dove.
I chased him, tucking wings, and the air vibrated past in a shimmer. We cut through the formations below, then pulled up just above the castle, wings flaring at the last second. I managed not to overshoot and crash into the ramparts, which, in my book, was a victory.
The others landed in a staggered array along the upper terraces, some perched on stone ledges, others hovering just above. The air was thick with telepathic applause.
Solenne landed beside me, shook out her wings, and nudged me with her snout. “Not bad for your first sky-dance. Though next time, maybe practice the spiral beforehand.”
“Noted,” I said, still winded.
Jax landed and rolled his shoulders.
An elder dragon, scales the color of burnished copper, sauntered over and bowed its head to us. “Perhaps the vampire skills are better suited to ground maneuvers,” he teased, the words accompanied by a telepathic image of a vampire trying to flap its arms and failing.
Jax managed a smile. “I’d like to see you run a marathon. I bet you’d eat the dirt.”
The elder grinned, then retreated, leaving behind a faint echo of amusement.
Above us, the clouds parted, and the twin suns hit the highest towers of the castle, flooding everything with a light so intense the air itself seemed to catch fire.
The effect was unreal, almost hallucinogenic, and for a few seconds, no one moved.
Every dragon, every hatchling, every ancient perched on a ledge watched the sky as if waiting for a sign.
It was Flint who broke the spell. He scampered to the edge of the hatchling platform, spread his wings, and leaped off with the reckless abandon of a child certain he’d bounce if he landed wrong.
Shimmer and Pebble screamed after him, but he caught a lucky thermal and rode it straight into the air, shrieking in delight.
He zipped between the larger dragons, doing half-spins and barrel rolls, then cut a line directly through the formation, trailing a banner of pure joy. I watched as the older dragons adjusted around him, never swatting him away or blocking his path.
When he finally looped back, he did a kind of lopsided cartwheel and landed on the nearest terrace, panting, his face split by a grin. “I was so high up!” he said, voice so loud it echoed off the stone. “I am the best at flying!”
Pebble and Shimmer landed beside him, both panting, both clearly impressed. “You’re crazy,” said Shimmer, but there was admiration in the words.
“I’m a dragon,” said Flint, chin up. “I can do anything.”
The telepathic chorus from the adults was indulgent, bordering on sentimental. They loved the young ones fiercely.
Jax watched the scene, then turned to me. “He’s going to want to do that every day now.”
I nodded. “Let him. He’s got more family here than he ever did back home.”
The word left an ach in my chest. What if Flint wanted to stay? I mean, I’d let him, of course. These were his people. This was where he belonged.
We stayed on the terrace, watching the dragons mingle and settle into smaller groups.
The tension that had hovered over the castle for days seemed, for once, to have dissipated, at least for now.
Conversations turned to the color of the clouds, the taste of the air, the best hunting grounds for the next migration.