Chapter 55
Dain
I should’ve been miles away from here right now.
It was something I’d thought about more than once, but seeing my brothers kiss Fern consolidated that need. Going to bed last night, I had it all planned out. Get a good night’s sleep, pack my gear, then throw it on Argent’s back before getting clear of the keep.
So why was I still here?
Not because I wanted to sit beside Lance and Fern as they kissed.
If I’d had any sort of indication that was how I’d spend my day, nothing would’ve stopped me from flying with Argent away from Wyrmpeak.
Watching the lieutenant slide his fingers into her hair and wonder how that felt.
Was her hair as silky as it looked? Then there was the moment when her eyes went wide in shock, when surely she’d slap Lance for the imposition, but instead…
She melted into him, into his embrace and his kiss, and I was left staring.
Listening to every little sound she made, waiting for the inevitable grunt of disgust and unable to work out what the hell to do when it didn’t come.
The carriage came rolling to a stop, but it felt like I was still floating forward, untethered.
Misery was a black dog and it nipped at my heels, following me out of the carriage and onto the university campus as I trailed after the others.
All because I’d had another vision about Fern.
When I blinked, I caught glimpses of it.
Usually my visions were distressingly crisp, showing me every detail of what would happen with little interest in how it affected me.
The fact that last night’s dream was just a random jumble of things somehow made it worse.
Dragons so big, they blotted out the sun.
Scales glittered, fangs flashed, and where was Fern?
Standing there like a frightened rabbit, frozen in their path.
Which meant I was left to scan the buildings and the crowds rather than making a break for it.
Nothing will harm your mate. Argent’s certainty was a perfect counterpoint to my own fears. Not dragon, not human.
The possibility of it. The fact that every vision I had came true unless I worked hard to avoid fate. That’s what had me following them deeper into the complex.
“Gods, what kind of beast was that?”
Now. Now was the moment when disaster would strike.
My head jerked up as my heart started to race.
Hand already on my sword, I fell into a loose stance, ready to tackle whatever danger had suddenly appeared.
My teeth ground together when I saw what Lorien meant.
The sign said this was the Centre for Dragon Studies, and the entrance was fashioned from a skull far larger than any I’d seen apart from Drathnor’s.
To visit the place you had to walk through the open jaws, entering the building where the beast’s gullet should’ve been.
I shook my head as I straightened up and then used that rush of adrenaline to march past.
“A big one, idiot.”
All that anger disappeared when I took my first step in between the jaws. As I looked up, it wasn’t white bone I saw. A gaping red maw. Needle sharp teeth. Burying themselves in Fern and then—
“Rawr!”
I was jerked out of the vision by Lorien launching himself at me, but his smile died when I whirled around to snarl at him. It felt like I was the dragon now. Fury roared through me, corrosive and hot and ready to melt my brother’s flesh from his bones.
When he stumbled back.
That stare, I knew it well. With a few blinks, I was willing to bet the white film that formed over my eyes when I was having a vision was fading.
“What did you—?” he started to ask, but I couldn’t stay here and answer him. Instead I whirled around, marching through the entrance without incident, to emerge into a huge foyer.
“Gods…” Kael hissed. “Look at that.”
A massive skeleton of dragon was hanging from the ceiling, perpetually frozen in flight. I stared into the empty eye sockets, willing it to tell me what the hell my vision was about, but I got nothing.
“What about this?”
Lorien rushed forward, planting his feet into the fossilised remains of a dragon’s foot print. His whole body was dwarfed by the impression.
“Or that.”
With a slight frown, Lance followed Fern as she moved towards a large sculpture.
It was then my vision started to flicker.
I saw Fern, but there were multiple versions of her.
Lance, as well. All of them moved, but not just the four other people.
The room was filled with variant after variant of each person, and all converged around the stone artwork.
Dragonstone.
Milky pale and glowing now in the filtered sunlight pouring in through the skylight, I started to walk, then run. A shout was swallowed down, because what could I say? Beware the ancient sculpture? The rational side of my brain fought hard to stifle the instinctive part.
The bit that knew with all certainty that Fern should not touch the carved stone.
“Fern!”
The others turned around as my voice rang out across the foyer. They stared, wanting answers, but I couldn’t give them one yet. People personified fate, calling her a lady, assuming they could put those vagaries down to a feminine temperament, but I knew different.
Fate was a swift running river. It swept you up in its current, forcing you downstream whether you wanted to go or not.
Pushing past Lorien, then Kael, I lunged forward, but I was too late. Fern’s eyes went wide and staring, right before her hand slapped down on the stone.
And so did mine.
We weren’t here, that much was clear. The centre had been replaced by a dark, cavernous space, the only light pooling on a raised stone dais.
Fern was there, dressed in clothes no woman would wear now, but it wasn’t fashion that had me starting forward.
Her hands were tied to two stone pillars, each one intricately carved.
The details were of no interest, because she was fighting her bonds.
A whimper of fear had me appearing before her.
“I’ll get you out of here,” I said, reaching for my belt knife, but of course, I didn’t have one. Dressed merely in a loincloth, I didn’t have a sword either. “Fern?” She didn’t look at me, wrenching her body harder and harder, trying to break her bonds. “Fern, look at me.”
Desperation, need, it was what got through to her. Blue eyes stared into mine, mutely pleading for help.
“Don’t worry.” My voice contained a note of certainty I didn’t feel. “I’ll get you free. Whatever it takes…”
My speech was cut short by a sharp intake of her breath and then she wasn’t looking at me at all.
Those slow, thunderous steps, the way the stones themselves shook, pebbles showering down upon us, let me know we weren’t the only ones here.
The dragons’ throat rattle was so loud I initially thought this was an earthquake.
Only to turn around and see the three of them step forward.
Drathnor and her sisters.
The one leading the way was the mother of my dragon. I saw some of Argent in the shape of her head. My dragon had never loomed over me, getting taller and taller until the size of this space made perfect sense. It was barely big enough to house the three of them.
“Triple goddess.” A man in long, white robes moved closer. Holding out a staff with a piece of carved dragonstone attached to the top, he led the procession of people entering to the cave. “As prophesied, you have returned! On this blessed day, we make this offering.”
“No…” There was a hysterical note to Fern’s voice that forced me to focus back on her. “No!”
“She is young, fertile, a fitting sacrifice made in recognition of your continued protection.”
Did Drathnor and her sisters agree? It was impossible to know. My mind reached out, trying to connect with theirs, but the dragons weren’t actually here. This wasn’t a dream, but a memory.
“No…” Fern shrank back as the dragon’s heads reared up, up, up, readying themselves to strike. “Nonononono… NO!”
Fern’s shriek was what broke me out of the haze I was in. My arms snapped out, wrenching her free as I turned my back, my shoulder blades itching in anticipation of feeling the dragon’s fangs sink into my flesh.
Only for the blow to never come.
“Can I help you?”
An officious looking man in a tweed jacket pushed his thin-rimmed spectacles further up his nose before scowling as he looked at the lot of us.
Perhaps because while the others stared, unable to understand what was happening, I stood there with the real Fern clasped tightly against me.
Letting her go was agony, but I did it, stepping free and seeing that we were back in the centre’s foyer again.
“We’re looking for a Professor Neal Sinclair,” Lance said, and I stifled a hysterical laugh as he thrust out a creamy white calling card.
“You’ve found him,” Sinclair said, then took in our uniforms and Lance’s badges of rank. “What can I do for the Royal Riders of Nevermere?”