Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
I gape at my flight instructor. “Is that…allowed?”
He can’t be serious. As far as I know, only the dragonriders and a few high-ranking officers have permission to feed these powerful creatures, and for good reason. Such as not getting barbecued or cooked into a bite-sized dragon appetizer…like human tartare.
He shrugs. “It is now.”
“Are you always so flippant with the rules?”
“No more than you are.” His mouth twitches into a hint of a smile, and my ridiculous heart stutters. “Come on. I’ll show you what to do.”
I swallow hard. Although I’m surprisingly not terrified, I’m still cautious.
Approaching an oversized iron door, Thorne nods at the guard standing off to one side. The man proceeds to unbolt the bars locking the structure in place. The door creaks open and releases a gust of air that smells like a mix of hay, smoke, and, more disturbingly, raw meat. In the dim, windowless interior, my eyes adjust to the flickering mage lights on the walls. Thorne shuts the door behind us and leads me to the right, the walkway skirting some sort of giant paddock.
I’m not sure why, but the atmosphere inside the aerie reminds me of a giant tomb. Depressing. Smothering. I can almost feel an invisible entity leeching my energy with slow, steady sips, draining my strength bit by bit.
I stifle a groan. Thank the gods Thorne can’t read minds because my imagination just dove headfirst off the deep end. Not a huge surprise considering the life-altering events of the past several days. Stress exacts a toll on the mind, and the heavens know I’ve had plenty to stress about lately.
Even before we reach another large iron door, cold nips at my skin. Plumes of frigid air snake out from separations in the jamb, leaving a thin layer of frost on the metal.
I shiver. “What is this place?”
“Cold storage. It’s where we keep animal carcasses for the dragons to eat.”
For some reason, I had assumed that the dragons ate oats and hay like the alicorns. Not a high point for me, intelligence-wise. “How do you keep the temperature so low?”
His lips curve up. “How do you think?”
Magic. Of course. Probably his, given his ability to wield ice.
As he opens the door, frosty air billows out, stinging my cheeks. Goose bumps pebble my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d brought my heavy cloak.
Thorne steps away. Before I can turn to see where he went, he returns and drapes something over my shoulders. A maroon blanket. Standing too close for comfort, he tugs the ends together and knots them to fashion a cape.
The thick wool instantly helps to banish the cold, stopping my goose bumps and toasting my skin. This thoughtful act causes a different kind of warmth to bloom in my chest. I stare up into his gold-flecked eyes, breathing in his minty exhales, fighting my body’s urge to lean toward him the way a plant reaches for the sun. “Thank you.”
I’m uncertain of my own facial expression, but his eyes flash with heat at whatever he sees before he clears his throat and backs up. “Your teeth were chattering. You never know what will set the dragons off.”
Turning away, he opens the door. I roll my eyes at his back. “Right. You brought me a blanket because the dragons don’t want me to be cold. You know, it’s okay if people discover that you can be nice sometimes.” He throws me a dark look. “Or not.”
I bite back a snicker. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to poke the bear, but I can’t help myself. Getting under Thorne’s skin might just be my all-time-favorite new hobby.
He piles what appears to be large deer carcasses into two wheelbarrows. He grabs the handles on one and gestures for me to grab the other. After closing the iron door, he pushes his wheelbarrow to the right.
I fall behind with my load, pausing a moment to shamelessly note the way his back muscles ripple against his shirt as he exerts himself.
He glances over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Feigning innocence—despite my hot cheeks—I catch up with him. “Don’t dragons prefer fresh meat?”
“Yes.”
I wait a beat for him to elaborate. “Very elucidating, thank you.”
A grunt, followed by a sigh. “Fresh meat is better, but apparently, it’s too big of a hassle for Flighthaven to bother with all the time. They get it occasionally, but frozen is more convenient.” His tone tells me he doesn’t agree.
Along with an occasional clank, huffs and snorts grow louder as we curve around the interior paddock and reach a series of cells. Each tall, wide enclosure reminds me of a dungeon, featuring iron bars along the front. A leaf-colored mountain flashes between the bars of the first cell. I stop in my tracks as a giant body moves and a pair of gold eyes fixes on mine.
My heart stops. Restarts. Gallops. Instinctive fear floods my veins, accompanied by an odd flicker of an emotion I can’t quite name. The pen keeps the dragon contained, but there are gaps between the bars. Big gaps. Plenty large enough for the dragon’s fire to burst out and char us both to a crisp.
“Thorne…” My attention darts to the dragon’s mouth. That’s when I see the iron wrapped around the beast’s muzzle and head, holding its massive jaw shut. Despite my initial reaction, a tight ball forms in my gut. My throat burns as a wave of despair flushes out my fear. “Oh, no.”
Movement ripples through the other enclosures. Huge triangular heads press up against the bars, and multiple sets of eyes gleam, their vertical pupils unblinking as they watch me. The colors vary between iron gray, cinder black, tan, red, and wheat-like gold. Scales pattern their enormous bodies, while wicked spikes protrude from their lower spines to the tips of their pointed tails.
They’re absolutely magnificent…and terrifying. They’re also all glaring at me as if they’d much rather peel my flesh from my bones and suck out the marrow than eat the dead deer and other large prey animals in the wheelbarrows. Even so, I’m not as terrified as I probably should be. Despite their circumstances, there’s something regal about them. Something beautiful and fierce that calls to me, making me itch to run my fingers along a scaly cheek.
“Poor things. You shouldn’t be here, should you? All caged up like prisoners in a dungeon. You’re meant to be out there, flying free.”
As I murmur, Thorne observes me with an intensity that rivals the dragons’. “I take it you disagree with how the dragons are kept at Flighthaven.”
“Yes. Vehemently. This can’t be healthy for them.” I can’t pull my gaze off the one closest to us. Those golden eyes trap me, hold me still. Despair washes through me again, along with anger over their captivity. I wince as I recall how caged I felt at our castle. Compared to these dragons, I had all the freedom in the world.
A fresh wave of exhaustion crashes into me, and my head begins to spin and throb. “Do you agree with this?”
Somehow, I know the answer before he even offers his curt reply. “No.”
“Do…are all dragons kept like this?”
He shakes his head. “When dragons bond with their riders, there’s no need for jailing them.”
“So the rumors are true then. The dragons in Aclaris are no longer bonding.” I’d heard the whispers, but never knew if the rumors were true. “What about in other kingdoms?”
Thorne tenses before exhaling a forceful breath. “Not sure.”
I tilt my head as he averts his gaze. “Why do you think?—”
“Stop. We’re not here to discuss my theories on why the dragons are or aren’t bonding. We’re here to feed them. So let’s get started.”
With his wheelbarrow in tow, he approaches the door to the first enclosure while murmuring soft words beneath his breath. The leaf-green dragon cocks its head, tracking the motion.
I edge closer to the pen, watching Thorne as he hauls the carcass onto his back and dumps the mound of meat and flesh into a huge metal trough. “Do you need any help?”
“No, stay back. I need to remove the restraints on her mouth so she can eat, and it’ll look bad on my record if I get a fledgling fried in the process.”
“As always, your concern for my well-being warms my heart.” I frown. “What about you? How do you know she won’t fry you?”
“I’m much too pretty and charming to fry. Isn’t that right, Farrow?”
I snort. “Definitely not too humble, though.”
“False modesty is a waste of time.” A click follows that proclamation, and my stomach clenches as he removes the iron band from Farrow’s muzzle. “Dragons are smart, and there’s a reason for that saying, ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you.’”
Farrow opens her mouth wide, showcasing a curled, black tongue and an alarming array of pointed teeth close to my forearm in length. Thorne steps off to the side as the dragon breathes fire at the carcass, presumably warming the meal before digging in. He exits and grabs the wheelbarrow while Farrow’s teeth begin ripping chunks of flesh off the bones.
We go from cell to cell, feeding the dragons and returning to the freezer for refills. The task eats up a lot of time, and pushing the wheelbarrow grows more grueling with every step. By the second trip back and forth, the dull burn in my arm and back muscles erupts into a blaze. The longer we stay, the heavier the air becomes. Every step drains me just a little bit more, and a sense of hopelessness wraps around my body. Leesa must have hated seeing the dragons like this too. If only they could tell me where I might find her.
After the fifth dragon’s been fed, I blurt out the question on my mind. “Did you know my sister Leesa?”
Something flickers across Thorne’s face. “Of course. I was her instructor.” His gaze travels over my features. “You don’t resemble her. A stranger would never guess you’re related, much less siblings.”
I shrug. “My mother said Leesa takes after her, while I look like my paternal grandmother.”
His eyebrows inch up, but he says nothing.
“Have you heard anything about Leesa and where she might have disappeared to?”
“Guessing I’ve heard the same rumors that you have. It’s all speculation, unfortunately.”
A knot forms in my throat. “What if she’s dead?”
Thorne’s chest inflates on a sharp breath. His jaw tightens, and his eyes go blank. Then an odd emotion—maybe regret—softens his features. “Look at me. There’s no reason to believe the worst.”
I do as he asks, searching his face for reassurance. “How can you be so sure?”
“She was well liked here for the most part. People respected her. And there were no signs of foul play.”
To my utter shock, he pauses outside the cold room to grab my hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Embers spark to life at the innocent touch, the sight of his fingers on my skin zapping all my nerve endings awake. As if he experienced the same spark, Thorne jolts, dropping my hand like it stung him.
When he disappears into cold storage to grab more carcasses, I tell myself I’m relieved. I use the short break to get my shit together, reminding myself of all the very smart reasons why lusting after Thorne is a catastrophe waiting to happen.
He reemerges, and I resume our conversation as though we didn’t just experience some weird hand-touching event. “Then what could have happened to her?”
“A recruit anonymously reported her sneaking out one night to meet someone.” He shrugs. “Most likely, she left of her own accord.”
No. Leesa isn’t a deserter. I don’t believe it. But maybe I should pray that I’m wrong. After all, deserting is better than dead.
I swipe at the tears in my eyes. “Thanks for telling me what you do know.”
With a grunt, Thorne shoves the wheelbarrow forward. I follow, pushing the lighter second wheelbarrow to the cell holding the black dragon. I’m not sure if it’s the dark color or the bigger size, but this one appears more formidable than the others. As we approach, my pulse climbs.
The gold pupils stare at the meat, transfixed. The beast’s quickened breaths hiss through the enclosure, and its jaw clicks. As I watch, I can almost feel his intense hunger, to the point that my own belly rumbles and a sudden desire to eat grips me. Devastation floods my veins over how trapped these magnificent beasts are. How depressing such a life must be.
Shortly after we entered the aerie, my head started pounding and spinning, and now it’s hurting worse than ever. Trembling, I rub my throbbing temples as colors, followed by fuzzy images, flash behind my eyes. I picture myself soaring through the sky. Feeling the wind whoosh past and hearing my own jubilant roar. These images bleed together, creating a dizzying array.
Thorne steps closer. “Are you all right?”
Wincing, I continue to massage my temples in slow circles. “My head is killing me.”
I sense Thorne studying my profile. “Did you take your eyril today?”
The odd question stills my fingers. “Doesn’t everyone at Flighthaven?” The evasion rolls off my tongue.
He lifts a shoulder. “At Flighthaven? Maybe. Other kingdoms? Not necessarily.”
What does that mean?
He dumps the last load of carcasses into the dragon’s pen. Through the bars, Thorne rubs the black dragon’s leg. The creature swings its massive head toward him and emits a sound similar to a purr. Even with my skull threatening to split in two, I can’t help but smile.
Thorne has a gentle way with animals that puts them at ease.
Not that it matters. Even if Thorne isn’t quite as horrible as I originally believed, he’s a distraction I can’t afford.
Especially since I need to find a way to steal an alicorn right out from under his nose.
The pain in my head ratchets up. I do my best to hide my discomfort, but I’m not sure how successful I am given the glances Thorne keeps shooting my way. Like they sense my pain, the dragons all stare at me too. I’m happy once Thorne announces we’re finished and leads me to the front door.
Outside, the vice-like grip on my skull weakens, taking most of the dizziness with it. Thorne’s observant eyes continue to bore into me. “Feeling better?”
I nod. “Weird, right? Maybe damp air and the smell of dragon bodies just doesn’t agree with me.”
“Has that triggered a headache or one of your dizzy spells before? Damp air and certain scents, I mean.”
“Not sure. There often doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to them.” Not exactly true. Since starting at Flighthaven, I’ve noticed a link between my weak spells and my attempts to either access or suppress my magic. Not like I can share that information, though. “Now that you mention it, I do seem to get headaches more often around animals. Maybe it’s an allergy or something.”
“Maybe.”
His tone lacks conviction, and I hastily change the subject. “Anyway, thank you for bringing me to visit the dragons. I know you didn’t want to, but I really appreciate it. It means a lot to me.”
As I beam at him, I can almost see the walls go up. His mouth thins into a line, and his jaw tenses. “Don’t do that.”
I frown. “Do what? Thank you?”
“Paint me as something I’m not.”
With that enigmatic line, he pivots and starts striding off. Perplexed, I holler at his back. “Like what?”
“Like the kind of guy who does things out of the goodness of his heart. You’ll end up disappointed.”
I watch him stalk off, torn between irritation and sadness. Irritation, because I find his mood swings from decent human to total asshole tough to follow. Sadness, because he seems to believe he’s the worst sort of man. Granted, he can be a real dick sometimes, but there’s more to him than that. Beneath that outer layer of pure jackass, Thorne possesses some admirable qualities. When I consider the notion that he might not agree, my chest aches a little.
Despite our rocky beginning, I actually like him. At least, I do when he’s not going out of his way to act spiteful. With all the free time he’s devoted to my remedial training, his patience and care with animals, the way he protected me from harm when those two absolute dickbags attacked me during magic class, and the genuine pain in his eyes when he put the dragon out of its misery, how could my heart not soften? It pains me that he might not see what I see.
By the time I remember that I wanted to ask him about the process of obtaining a pass to leave Flighthaven, he’s disappeared. I sigh. Probably for the best. With the way he stormed off, I doubt he was in a very obliging mood.
Here’s to hoping Olive can help me out.
Crossing my fingers, I go in search of my roommate.