Chapter 22
Sevrin
The ocean at night is flat, endless, and hard enough to kill a person if they fall from this height.
That’s the first thing that runs through my mind when the moon rises over us as we fly on our dragons’ backs.
Our dragons. The moon washes Harper and the princes in silver light, making them look softer and more dreamlike.
The brothers, Gareth, Lucien, and Alaric, are flanking Harper in a protective triangle, their dragons gleaming against the night sky.
She’s out front, as always, hair streaming and face set on the horizon, the kind of hope on her face that only a person who’s never watched their friends and loved ones die can feel.
Behind us, the dragon females are trailing in a loose spiral.
I’m not sure if they complain, but if they do, my dragon never tells me.
Rosanthra, my dragon, surges beneath me.
She’s more restless than the others, especially since leaving Volcaris.
I think because she’s finally found her mate, but we all have to be focused on the journey at hand.
But even though my thoughts are often on my mate too, I’m also thinking about Volcaris. About my two families meeting.
The experience warmed my heart and broke it all at once. I know I’m not coming back. Not for a long time. Whether this thing works or not. And I’ll miss my family and my people. But I’m also looking forward to my new life with my mate.
You’re quiet tonight, Rosanthra thinks, nudging my mind with a twist of dry amusement.
“I’m thinking,” I say. I run my hand along her neck, feeling the heat from her scales. “Do you miss the Island of Dragons?”
It was never home. Just the place where I was born.
Home, for me, had always been with my people and my family.
But when I decided to make this offer of peace to the Dravari, hoping it’d be linked through marriage, my family and I discussed the probability that I’d have to stay with the Dravari for a time to secure the peace treaty.
My eldest sister stepped up and agreed to lead in my place, at least when it came to the daily workings of my people.
And since I’ve been gone, she’s done a wonderful job. I knew she could handle it, even though I’d miss the weight of the responsibility of my people on my shoulders.
Leaving everything I’ve ever known behind feels like a massive sacrifice.
But when I look up and see Harper’s silhouette against the stars, the ache in my chest is almost too much.
I want things I never let myself want before.
I want to make her laugh, make her scream in pleasure, make her mine until there’s nothing left but our bodies, tangled and sweating in some forgotten corner of the world.
It’s embarrassing, how easy this love is. How easy she makes it.
I glance back and catch Lucien watching me. He looks away when our eyes meet, but not fast enough to hide the knowing smile curling at his mouth. I can’t hide what I feel for Harper. Not from them.
Since the wedding, since all of this, there’s a new softness between me and the princes. It’s more than a mutual agreement not to kill each other. Maybe even a real friendship.
I can work with that.
The wind picks up, and suddenly Gore Rock is looming out of the night, the walls of the fortress slick, grey, and unwelcoming. How many times did I fight above this island? How many of my men have I lost? And how many dragon riders have I killed?
Too many.
This is a place of death. Of war. I doubt peace will ever truly touch its lands.
The fortress is built for defense, not beauty: no banners, no flowers or gardens, just the bone-white gleam of the watchtowers and the threat of a thousand arrows waiting to fall.
Last time I was here, I lost two friends to those arrows.
They bled out on the landing field and we couldn’t even retrieve their bodies to bring back to their loved ones.
I don’t tell Harper that. I will never tell her. There’s no point in filling her mind with the shards of glass that seem to keep cutting me as I try to forgive my enemies, knowing they’re trying to forgive me too.
“Gore Rock!” Lucien shouts.
“Almost there!” Harper says, grinning.
We close in, the Dravari dragons roaring their arrival to the sentries.
The fortress answers with a ripple of light, signal fires pulsing along the walls to communicate our presence to the rest of the dragon riders.
The female dragons fan out above us, nervous, and I realize they don’t like this island anymore than I do.
“I’m going to sleep for days!” Gareth shouts, voice carrying even through the rush of air.
I pull Rosanthra in tight, wings angled for a controlled dive. We cut through the air with the female dragons behind us, attempting to land, and as we hit the rocks, every eye on the fortress is locked onto our group.
They still don’t know what to make of me, riding a dragon, or the female dragons behind us. I don’t blame them. All their lives have been focused on finding and killing Hollowborns. They’re not prepared for any of this. Especially peace.
The landing is rough, but we all manage it.
Ebron’s claws send sparks flying on the stone, and Harper dismounts like she’s done it a thousand times, hair in a wild halo and cheeks flushed from the cold.
Gareth and the others hop off, boots crunching on the frost. I slide down Rosanthra’s leg, ignoring the ripple of suspicion that passes through the assembled guards.
A moment later, the dragon riders are on us. Six of them, each one looking like they don’t know how to do anything other than kill. They wordlessly surround us, like this is a direct repeat of last time. Not quite that we bore them, but more like they just want to get this thing over with.
They all bow to Gareth, Lucien, and Alaric. There’s not a word or show of respect for Harper, and definitely not for me.
The air is knife-cold. My skin prickles.
Gareth notices first, and his mouth hardens. “Aren’t you going to greet your new princess?” he says, tone almost lazy.
The lead rider, a square-jawed bastard with eyes like broken glass, hesitates, then bows, barely. “Welcome, Princess Harper. Welcome to Gore Rock.”
Harper’s face is unreadable, but she steps forward, chin high. “Thank you. You haven’t greeted King Sevrin yet.”
The rider’s eyes flick to me, and I can see the struggle. He wants to spit, or curse, or maybe just punch me in the mouth. But he bows again, lower this time. “Of course, Your Highness. All honored guests are welcome.”
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so frustrating.
From above comes a shriek, louder than the rest, and a dragon the color of old blood drops out of the sky.
It lands with a shudder, claws digging furrows in the gravel.
The rider on its back is smaller, weaker-looking, but doesn’t wait for help dismounting.
He slides down with the efficiency of someone who has done this for a thousand years.
He steps around his dragon, and I immediately recognize him. Everyone in our group does.
Elder Thorne. The older advisor who had been at the Dravri king’s side during all our peace talks. The one who had made a point that he didn’t like me or this peace agreement.
His hair is white and as messy as his matching beard and mustache. His face is lined and severe, nose bent from a break that never healed right. His dark eyes are cold and emotionless, impossible to read.
The three princes look shocked to see him here. They stay still, staring, right up until he comes to stand right in front of us.
Gareth manages to react first. “What are you doing on Gore Rock? Aren’t your days here long past?”
Thorne’s gaze is flat. “Some things are important enough to come out of retirement for.” He steps forward, nods at the princes, then at Harper, and, finally, at me. I get the feeling he saved me for last on purpose, but I can’t be sure.
“What brings you here?” Lucien asks, not bothering to hide his confusion.
Thorne glances at the six riders, then at us. “It’s a matter of the king’s peace.” His eyes linger on me. “We have much to discuss.”
I thought everything important had already been said.
Alaric cracks his neck. “Can it wait until we’ve slept and eaten?”
Thorne’s mouth twitches. “I’m afraid it’s too important, although your bride and, uh, respected royal don’t need to be there for this.”
“Lucky,” Lucien mutters under his breath and winks at Harper.
“I’ll see you inside.” Thorne gives another bow and turns to his men. “Show them their room, then bring the three princes to me.”
The dragon riders nod, and Thorne walks away.
We’re led across the stoney rockface by a tight escort of riders with their hands near their weapons.
The female dragons head toward where the other dragons are hanging out and eating from, what looks to be, barrels of meat.
Everything both feels like something they do every day, and like nothing they’ve done before.
Inside, the fortress is almost colder than outside. Every stone is wet with mist, and the corridors are wide enough for two men to duel without touching the sides. It smells like old blood and new steel, which makes me wonder when their last battle was.
We’re shown to a different room this time. There are no windows, like every room in the fortress, but there’s a fireplace and one giant bed, big enough for a family of six. Big enough for us. The candles are already lit, a little too bright for comfort, and a fire burns in the fireplace.
“Does this meet your needs?” one of the dragon riders asks, not looking any of us in the eye.
“This will work. Thank you,” Gareth says.
He bows, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Food will be brought over shortly.” Then he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
Lucien whistles low. “Well, it’s not the royal suite, but at least we can all sleep together.”
Alaric grins. “Yeah, so I can get elbowed by you all night.”