Chapter 34 Brynn
brYNN
Draethys feels ripped from a legend. Were it not for the gravity of our situation, or its urgency, I’d have loved to just stick around and explore the city.
To marvel at its magnificent and humongous dome.
The braziers and the stone structure that holds this place together so well.
The towers with their flickering flames.
The memories of their past sculpted into frightening yet beautiful statues of their ancestors.
The gleam of precious stones and the ruffling of silk, the golden bands and belts, the subtle shimmer of fire dancing across their human skin.
I’ve caught glimpses of some younger dragons in their full forms, too, perched atop the buildings as their amber eyes scan the city, searching for anything suspicious.
“Brynn, try not to get lost in the scenery,” Esme murmurs at my elbow.
I force my gaze back as she nods toward the street.
“Good, he’s on the move again,” she says.
We’re crouched beneath the arched wing of an obsidian dragon—a decorative part of a cultural center’s facade, from what I can tell.
A few yards down, sliding along the shadows without any guards, is King Bemmar himself.
Cloaked in black, he’s trailing someone unknown, and naturally, we’re on his heels.
“Who is he after?” Chad whispers.
Esme narrows her eyes, watching where the lane narrows and leads up a flight of worn stone steps. “Not Byzu, he’s too big.” She shakes her head. “It’s Anees. Bemmar’s second son.”
My chest tightens. “But Anees was—he was the good one?”
Esme bites her lip. “Exactly. Which makes no sense.”
“So maybe Bemmar’s up to something else?” I suggest, heart thudding.
She gives me a patient look. “He’d never turn on his children. He’s ruthless, yeah, but he’s fair, and he loves each of his sons the same. When I told him about Byzu… he was shattered. Heartbroken, not just furious. And it seemed like something clicked for him.”
Chad leans in. “What?”
Esme shrugs. “Don’t know. But right after, he stormed out with the guards, no warning. That’s how I slipped away from the palace. And I’m convinced he let me go.”
“For you to leave, not go chasing after him,” Chad replies.
“Oh, lighten up, Valgrave. You've got two Salem sisters protecting your scared little hind,” I reply.
Chad's lips twitch, not quite a smile. It’s all I’m going to get. He’s still smarting from my spell.
Esme's already moving, her fingers weaving that shadow-magic of hers around us. The cloak settles over my skin, and I press closer to my sister's side. Magic has rules, and this one's simple: the more bodies under the cloak, the faster it frays.
Bemmar's climbing the stone steps ahead of us, not even bothering to check his six. Too fixated on Anees, who's slipping through that narrow red door up there—third one on the eastern wall, facing away from the city center. Classic villain's exit.
Behind us, Draethys is losing its collective mind. Guards overturning market stalls, dragons in human form sniffing the air like bloodhounds. All for their precious Lord Daynthazar.
Esme was right to follow Bemmar, though. It makes sense. But we’re both cut off from the spirits and from blood magic down here. I don’t like it.
“Where the hell is Anees going?” Esme murmurs when we reach the base of the steps.
At the top, Bemmar stands only a few yards ahead.
And the air feels...wrong. Like the moment before a thunderstorm.
My chest tightens as I watch him hover his hand over the doorknob, hesitating.
His profile in the dim light shows a man bracing himself.
Gods, what must it be like? Knowing your child might be plotting to burn the world down?
“What is this place?” Chad's breath tickles my ear.
We're frozen in place under our shadow cloak. Just us and the Dragon King on this empty landing.
“Shady part of town, I think,” Esme mutters. “Where the royal guards without Houses live. Orphans. The poor dragons. Service class.”
“So they've got a whole monarchy thing going on?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, an old nervous habit.
“Hardcore monarchy,” she confirms. “King at the top, then the ruling house, then the council of powerful families. Below that, smaller houses, distant cousins and such. Then all the workers. Staff. Soldiers. Suppliers.”
I bite my lip, connecting the dots. “So Anees is recruiting the have-nots for his invasion plan? Classic. Nothing motivates like promising the deprived a chance for more.”
Esme nods once. “I believe there's at least one acolyte in each of the big houses, too.”
King Bemmar clears his throat, and we all freeze.
He glances our way, and my heart skips against my ribs. Can he see us? Esme said he might sense us, but he just stands there, not calling us out…
With a grunt, Bemmar pushes his way inside. The door doesn’t slam but hangs on the latch.
We inch closer and peer through the gap.
“I knew it,” Bemmar growls.
Anees stands across the room, behind a table.
Atop, I see a map with stone figurines positioned here and there.
He’s not alone, either. Three other dragons are with him—two younger ones in military uniform, and a third in silk and gold-threaded brocade.
They’re part of the plot, surely. And Anees is surprised to see his father here.
“What are you—”
“Lord Brutus Meraxis,” Bemmar snaps.
The older dragon frowns, his face flush with… shame and guilt. “Your grace, you shouldn’t have come here.”
“Plotting against the kingdom, I see,” Bemmar replies.
“Plotting to save the kingdom,” Anees says, raising his chin in defiance. “There are more of us than you think, Father. And I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you this… but you need to pick your side.”
Bemmar shakes his head in disappointment, yet the air seems to ripple around him as unmuted rage unfurls, as the heat rises—and my heart pounds furiously.
“What is this? What are you doing here, Anees? Have I not warned you, over and over, against riling the dragons toward the world above? Have you not heard a single word that your brother said?”
“I heard every word,” Anees calmly replies. “The humans are fractured. Fighting among themselves. Weakened by their own greed and hubris. It’s the perfect time to strike and take the skies and the earth back.”
“At what cost? Our younglings aren’t equipped for long-distance flights. We don’t know what the clearbloods and the darkbloods are truly capable of. A peaceful solution was still a potential—”
Anees cuts his father off with a snarl that makes my skin prickle. “For when?! A thousand years from now? You think humans will just hand us a peace treaty with a pretty bow? Gods, you're as deluded as Dayn. And twice as spineless.”
Bemmar squares up, and I can see why he’s been king for so long. Even in his human form, he’s massive. “Watch your mouth. My son or not, I will not tolerate disrespect.”
“You’re weak,” Anees says. “Your own council doesn’t trust you.
” He points to Brutus Meraxis. “Case in point. The head of House Meraxis, the scholars, long-term advocates of peaceful resolutions… here, discussing a different path ahead. It’s time to face the truth, Father.
Asking the humans nicely for our world back was never an option. ”
“And Draethys was supposed to be a temporary solution,” one of the uniformed males says with a furrowed brow.
“What would you know about that? You weren’t even born when we descended into this city,” Bemmar scoffs at the uniformed man.
“My point exactly,” the dragon replies. “So many of us have never seen the sky. The world above. We weren’t made for the caves, for the darkness. We were made to soar into the heavens, unafraid and all-powerful.”
Bemmar's voice drops. “But you’re not all-powerful.”
A cold smile plays across Anees's lips. “The weak will fall. The strong will claim what's rightfully ours.”
“I forbid this,” Bemmar says. “Whatever you're planning ends now. And you will leave your brothers out of it.”
“Too late. Byzu stands with me. Arrynth will follow.”
“And what of Daynthazar? Your future king? What have you done with him?”
That’s the billion dollar question. One glance at Esme, and I can tell she’s holding her breath.
Anees waves dismissively. “Temporarily... indisposed. Don't worry, I haven't harmed your precious heir. But he is no future king. He’d lead us deeper into ruin and self-abandonment, just like you.”
“Anees, stop this at once. Don’t make me stop it,” Bemmar warns.
The uniformed dragons stiffen, their eyes darting between father and son. Even Brutus shifts uncomfortably, but Anees is still.
“You can't stop what's already in motion,” he says. “We’ve been working toward it for far too long. Daynthazar's return only served to fast-track everything. We have what we need. Support. Dragons willing to fight. Resources aplenty. We’ll get the rest of the kingdom on board too, soon enough… I just need to make a few adjustments.”
I hear it before I see it. A tiny projectile slicing through the king’s throat.
Blood erupts and spatters across the stone floor.
Bemmar crumples to the ground, dead before he hits the floor.
It isn’t an ordinary bullet but a marble of pure flame, held together by potent dragon magic.
It clatters on the stone and vanishes in a puff of black smoke.
Bemmar’s eyes stare wide, the light snuffed out.
Brutus Meraxis clamps a hand over his mouth, aghast. “My lord, you shouldn’t have—”
“I had no choice,” Anees interrupts, shaking out his hand, fingertips still glowing gold from the spell. He moved with such quiet precision. So deadly, so schooled in ancient dragon lore. “I did what was necessary to save our kingdom.”
The guards exchange uneasy glances rather than relief. Their hesitation betrays inner turmoil where I’d expected nothing but obedience.
“What now, my lord?” one of them murmurs.
“Leave him here. Stage the scene, we rehearsed this,” Anees says. “You know what must be done.”
Brutus falters. “My lord, this will provoke the other houses—”
“They don’t need to know,” Anees snaps, his fury more terrifying than Bemmar’s bulk and rank.
I can't tear my eyes away from him, with that politician's smile that never reaches his eyes.
The kind of guy who'd pat your shoulder with one hand while the other slides a blade between your ribs.
And he just did exactly that to his own father.
“Go. Summon your family to the palace. I want an audience before nightfall.”
Brutus’s jowls tremble; his head bows. “And you?”
“I have a decision to make about my wayward brother,” Anees exhales, surveying the terrace. “We’re done here.”
Esme, Chad, and I melt back into the darkness, instinctively distancing ourselves as the traitors scatter. The guards march deeper into the run‐down district; Brutus slips away in the other direction. A few blocks on, a stairwell leads into another quarter of the city.
Anees takes the steps he came up on.
A few seconds pass in heavy, sobering silence, as Esme removes the shadow cloak and takes a deep breath. I feel her tenseness before she rushes to Bemmar’s side.
Esme kneels next to the fallen king, her fingers hovering inches from the wound. “Clean shot. Perfect aim.” Her voice catches. “He never stood a chance.”
Chad crouches next to her. “What kind of weapon does that?”
“Dragon fire magic,” Esme whispers. “Rogon described it once, condensed flame that burns from the inside out. Only the most powerful can wield it.”
She touches Bemmar's cooling hand. “He wasn't…bad.”
“Few are,” Chad murmurs. “They're just scared, like us.”
Esme's head snaps up. “We should follow Anees. He’s probably headed straight for Dayn.”
When Esme stands, something's changed in her stance. My sister—who once almost gutted a man for stepping on her shadow—looks…worried.
I've never seen her like that over anyone except family.
My Salem blood tingles with warning. Whatever's between her and that dragon goes deeper than alliance… even if she’d die before admitting it.