Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Kieran
Will dying on the rocks below do any good? Probably not. Cracking my skull open like a melon won’t motivate me and it won’t eradicate my worries and doubts.
I’ve got a whole lot of them and enough interest to give the rocks a good stare and mark the path of least resistance to the ground, then steer clear of it. I make my way to the edge of the outcrop and sit, the soles of my boots skidding over stone.
This stretch of cliff is directly across from the dragon aerie. The sharp jut of rock looks over a steep drop into the cocoon of dark treetops far below. It’s impossible to distinguish individual leaves from here.
Dangling my legs over the edge always made me wonder what it would be like to fly on my own without the help of a dragon.
I’d be a terrible dragon rider if heights bothered me. Even out here with a monstrous wind gusting like it actively wants me to tumble, I’m not afraid.
I can’t return inside yet. I’m too jittery and hyped from the meeting last night.
The small row of caverns is a secret place known only to the elite in this place. Tristan never goes there, preferring the rich comforts of his bedroom when he has guests to entertain. Only the bravest find their way to the row of hollowed out indentations on the rock face.
In the moonlight, the world is a spectacular picture of silver and gray and black.
Astrid’s predictions turned out to be spot on. Baldur and Xalu, the two freshmen boys she’d tapped as tentative allies, turned out to be everything we’d hoped for and more.
They were intelligent and dedicated, with enough steel in their spine to be unafraid of what came next.
They were also sensitive to our stance.
Baldur had lost a brother to the General’s war march. Xalu’s uncle had been captured when the hydra leader was taken down at Duenden. So far, word hadn’t come on whether the man still lived or not.
They aren’t the hardened warriors I need. Yet. But with the right amount of pressure, even the most awkward lump of coal becomes something spectacular. Something priceless.
We all had work to do and a part to play.
Now, if I could multiply Xalu and Baldur and have twenty thousand more of them…
We’d be in a much better position, Mozi supplies.
His voice in my head is louder as he dips through the air overhead on his way back from feeding. I lean back on my elbows, the stone sun warmed and heat sinking in through the cracks of my leathers.
This is where Mozi and I come to talk. He’s swiftly winging his way home. The air in my bedroom had tasted stale and stifling. I’d had to get out.
Out there, with nothing but sky and forest, there’s more space to think.
Do you really think they’ll be trustworthy? Mozi growls and the sound ripples through me even though he’s at a distance.
I think it’s a good enough start. They have both lost people they care about. It’s one of the most powerful motivators.
Mozi mistrusts most humans and with good reason. We both agree on it, although generally, I find him the more cautious of the two of us.
If you are convinced, then I am as well. It is a good start, he finally concedes.
We have to proceed cautiously of course but it is a good start. Even two more members at this point counts for more than I’m willing to admit.
I sniff and my eyes tear up through the gust of a ferociously chill wind. If it heralds the coming autumn, then we’re going to be in for snow. Maybe I’ll have a legitimate excuse not to go home for the holidays, and my wish will come true.
I won’t have to see the General’s face over plum pudding.
Speaking of the general, Mozi reminds me, Astrid’s news from the castle?
My faint bubble of bliss pops immediately.
I have no clue what to do, I reply. The word from Astrid about my father, his involvement with the King…
It’s not ideal, Mozi agrees.
What’s he doing in the castle, anyway? What does he want with Lochlain? What did they speak about?
It will come out eventually, I’m sure.
A black shadow on the horizon solidifies into a familiar shape and a few minutes later, Mozi lands. His claws scrape and he adjusts his wings behind him with a leathery flap.
The King is nothing but a child and vulnerable. If he and my father are left alone for any stretch of time, I know what will happen. Roman will convince Lochlain to trust his advice above anyone else’s, either through his stellar skills or brute force.
Mozi grimaces. I see the expression in my head along with his emotions even though his lizard face does not change. We can’t worry about Lochlain right now.
He’s going to be a huge problem down the line if they do decide to join forces officially. We can’t fight against the people, too. Not if they rally.
I agree. But it is a worry for future us. Right now—
Mozi breaks off.
“Then there’s this.” I hold up the note, gripping it tightly so the wind doesn’t steal it from my hand.
Mozi snorts. Am I supposed to see what it is? The words are minuscule.
I’m not sure dragons know how to read, either.
Heat increases with his nearness, sinking into the skin of my back and loosening the knots there. Being in close proximity to my mount helps both of us. The ragged edges inside smooth out but there is too much built up tension in my body for it to easily release.
The strain has sunk permanent hooks into me.
If I survive, I’ll be changed, and I know it.
“This gem?” I explain sarcastically. “It’s a monthly report from my instructors. They’ve given me top marks. All of them.”
You don’t believe them.
“Believe these lies? How can I? I think we both understand that while I’ve earned these marks, they’ve emphasized them for all the wrong reasons. They’ve painted a beautiful picture, though, one designed to get them much closer to my father’s side.”
My gut goes tight.
“I’ve received word from him, too. He’s never pleased. Even when I’m excelling. He wants the real story, and I’m sure Tristan will be more than happy to feed dear Father drivel.”
The real story? Mozi laughs. Dragon breath ruffles my hair. It would be the surprise of his life.
And everything we’ve done has been to ensure my father never hears what’s really happening. The truth will send us to the Void faster than a one-sided battle.
“He’s accusing me of slacking,” I add conversationally. “It’s nothing new, of course. I can flay myself open and he’d still find some kind of fault with the way my blood spills. It wouldn’t be blue enough.”
Somehow, it’s easier to have this conversation out in nature. My throat loosens slightly and my heart plucks a little softer. The words don’t change, their meaning is still the same, but releasing them doesn’t cost as much.
It’s just me and Mozi rather than dealing with the politics of other people. It doesn’t matter who. There are always hidden motives and personal goals at war with each other and the process of sidestepping through them exhausts me.
This time, I don’t have to worry about choosing my words with caution and care like any syllable might be the tipping point that jettisons us into ruin.
I lean my elbows on my knees. “I’m not sure what’s worse—having him push me for more success or having him distracted while we’re wondering what he’s doing with his time.”
Who knows what Roman whispers in the King’s ear, Mozi agrees.
“It’s nothing good. We know that. A fourteen-year-old king doesn’t have enough knowledge yet to discern truth from basilisk dung.”
Indeed, it tracks. The dragons have not been the same since Ragnar the Red died.
It happened back before Lochlain was crowned king, when he was nothing but a prince, and the loss of his dragon came as pure shock.
He’d been chosen by a mount early. Specific dragon bloodlines have been tied to the crown for generations.
Lochlain and his mount bonded early, only for the dragon to die young.
That kind of loss—
My lungs tighten. I can’t imagine how it feels, and I don’t want to.
“Is there anything we can do now?” I scoot closer to the edge and stare over. “Some move to make?”
Mozi creeps toward my back until his chest plate presses to me. Both of us need it.
What we are doing, Kieran. We stay the course, and we get stronger until we are able to make a move. Patience is not your forte. I understand that but you have to trust me. I know things. When the time is right, I will let you know, and we will adjust.
Patience? Does anyone claim it as a forte?
“It’s a skill I’ve had to cultivate,” I correct him. The note burns my palm and I stuff it inside my leathers, disgusted.
The personal note from Roman warns me not to be too comfortable where I am. If we’re not careful, my “lack” will draw him here, and then we’re all ruined. He’ll hold my feet over the coals and those with us will join me.
It might not be obvious now, but there is a plan. Mozi sounds agitated. Your father growing closer to the king might be something for us to use—
“Use?” I blurt out. “No. It’s dangerous.”
“What’s dangerous?”
Mozi snarls just as Evie slips to my side, far enough away from the edge to keep from seeing the view. She blinks long lashes up at my dragon and smiles like she is the pure maiden capable of taming wild beasts.
If she senses his agitation, his hatred at being surprised this way, she ignores it.
Curse her to the Void. What’s she doing and what does she want? The words are right there, a demand for her to leave and take a hint. What good are they?
Evie will never listen. Insulting her will only make worse problems for me. She’s close enough for the breeze to trail haunting fingers of her perfume right under my nose. I choke on the sugary-sweet scent and my stomach churns.
I say none of those things to her.
“Nothing for you to worry about, E.” I don’t move. “What are you doing?”
She tilts her head to the side in an obvious gesture. “I came looking for you.” She shudders. “I just don’t know how you can stand to be out here, Kieran. Doesn’t it make you nervous to dangle yourself over the edge this way?”
And there goes the peace.
Mozi snaps his jaws lightly at Evie, who ignores the click of his fangs.