Chapter 37
Raven
Orpheus and I laugh as we walk through campus, the afternoon sun warm on my shoulders, the scent of blooming jasmine drifting from the gardens nearby.
Nova giggles in my arms, her tiny fingers tangling in a long lock of my hair.
She tugs with surprising strength for someone so small, and I wince at the sharp pull against my scalp.
“I can’t believe you’re a mom.” Orpheus bumps his shoulder against mine, his gold eyes bright with amusement. His black hair catches the sunlight, gleaming like raven feathers.
“That makes two of us.” I wince again when Nova pulls harder, her mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. She knows exactly what she’s doing, the little troublemaker. “I can’t believe I can use your basilisk gifts in human form.”
I flare my eyes wide, letting them shift for just a moment—the familiar tingle behind my irises, the brief flash of power—and my brother’s gold eyes go comically round before we both dissolve into laughter.
“I can’t believe you used them on me.” He shakes his head, his expression caught between outrage and admiration. “How rude.”
Our phone’s buzz simultaneously, the vibration humming against our thighs. Orpheus pulls his out first, his thumb swiping across the screen. I watch his face change—the laughter draining away, replaced by sharp alertness.
The message is from Abraxis. A single flame emoji.
The signal for battle. Or impending battle.
My blood runs cold.
Orpheus takes Nova from my arms without a word, cradling her against his chest with the protective instinct of an uncle who would die before letting harm touch his niece. I use the find my phone function, my fingers flying across the screen, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“He’s at his old outpost.” The words come out steady despite the fear coiling in my gut.
I lean over and kiss my daughter’s forehead, inhaling her sweet baby scent—milk and warmth and that underlying note of smoke and spice that marks her as Solaris’s child.
Her mismatched eyes blink up at me, one amber, one split between sapphire and amber, and for a moment I want nothing more than to hold her and never let go.
But Abraxis needs me.
I point toward the eastern gardens, where ancient willows drape their branches like curtains of green and gold. “Go hide with her under the willow tree we used to play under. As soon as Solaris hears me, he’ll come looking for her.”
I kiss Nova’s forehead one more time, letting my lips linger against her soft skin, memorizing the feel of her. Then I hug my brother, wrapping my arms around both him and my daughter, breathing in the familiar scent of him—scales and something sharp and clean, like winter air.
“Be safe,” he murmurs against my hair.
“Always.”
I watch them long enough to see Orpheus slip inside the gardens, his tall form disappearing into the shadows beneath the willows trailing branches. Only when I’m certain they’re hidden do I turn away. As soon as my twin and my daughter are safely concealed, I spread my wings wide.
The black leather membranes catch the wind, stretching taut between bone fingers, and I feel that familiar rush of power as the air lifts me from the ground. Three powerful beats carry me above the rooftops, above the spires and towers of the academy, into the open sky.
When I clear the school grounds, I shift.
The transformation rips through me—bones cracking, muscles tearing and reforming, my human skin splitting to make way for scales. The pain is brief and exquisite, swallowed by the overwhelming rightness of my true form. I am black dragoness. I am death incarnate.
I roar.
The sound shakes the sky, echoes off the mountains in the distance, and carries across miles of territory. It’s a summoning roar—a call to battle that every dragon within range will feel in their bones. Come to me. Fight with me. Bleed with me.
Every beat of my wings drives me higher into the sky as I turn north, toward my territory, toward my nest Father, who sent a single flame emoji and now might be fighting for his life.
I feel the moment Corvus joins me—his presence a familiar weight against my awareness, his war drake cutting through the air like a silver blade. A half-dozen students rise to follow us, their smaller dragons dwarfed by my massive wingspan but their determination burning bright in their eyes.
Slowing to a glide, I roar for the smaller dragons to land on my back. They comply without hesitation, their talons finding purchase on my scales, their weight barely noticeable against my bulk. We’ll travel faster this way—my strength carrying them until we need their numbers.
As we approach the border of my mother’s territory, I roar again.
The summoning call rolls across the land like thunder, and dragons rise to answer.
Two dozen strong flank us within minutes, their scales glinting in the afternoon sun—reds and greens and silvers and golds, a rainbow of deadly force converging on my position.
The students on my back leap off and take flight, rejoining the formation as we cross over the large freshwater lake on the western border of my mother’s land. The water glitters beneath us, reflecting our shadows like dark omens skimming across its surface.
We cross into my territory, and I feel it—that subtle shift in the air, in the land, in the very essence of the earth below. This is mine. These lands, these people, this sky. Mine to protect. Mine to defend.
Something tells me not to approach the outpost head-on.
The instinct is sharp, insistent—a warning that hums through my scales like electricity before a storm.
I bank hard, leading our forces up the eastern side of the random mountains that rise in the western lands.
We drift into my new annex, using the rocky terrain for cover, approaching the fortress from an unexpected angle.
What we find makes my blood run cold.
Giant wolf spiders have the lands surrounding the outpost covered in webs.
The silk stretches between trees and boulders and the crumbling walls of outer defenses, glistening with an oily sheen in the fading light.
The strands are thick as rope, sticky and strong, and within the webs I can see the cocooned forms of soldiers who didn’t escape in time.
But it’s not the spiders that concern me.
It’s the mages with them.
Robed figures move among the arachnids, their hands crackling with gathered power, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods.
There are dozens of them—maybe more—spread across the landscape like a plague.
The stench of dark magic hangs heavy in the air, making my scales itch and my dragoness snarl with primal hatred.
I rumble orders to the dragons with me—low, guttural commands that need no translation. Go after the spiders. Set their webs on fire. Burn it all.
They comply instantly, peeling off from the formation, their flames already building in their throats. Within seconds, the first webs ignite—fire spreading along the silk strands like racing veins of orange and gold, the spiders shrieking as they burn.
Close to the outpost, I see Abraxis’s drake.
My heart stops.
He’s bound by chains that shimmer with magical energy, the links wrapped around his wings and legs and neck, holding him immobile against the ground.
His scales are dulled with dirt and blood; his eyes wild with fury and fear.
Mages surround him—four of them, their hands raised, their power focused on maintaining the bindings that hold him captive.
Save my nest father, or save the outpost.
The choice shouldn’t be a choice at all, but in war, every decision costs something.
I study the scene below, my mind racing through possibilities.
With any luck, they think I’m my father.
Thauglor and I share the same coloring, the same skull-face markings in our dragon forms. If they believe the great black wyrm has come for them, they’ll turn their focus on me—and in that moment of misdirected attention, I can strike.
Raven, I’m coming... Thauglor’s voice echoes in my mind, carried across the mental bond we share as wyrms of the same bloodline. I can feel his fury, his fear for me, his desperate need to protect his daughter.
No, I push the word back through the bond with all the force I can muster. It’s mages. Protect my progeny.
They have Abraxis. They may think I’m you. The words tumble through the connection, urgent and raw. Please, Daddy, protect my progeny and Blackhaven. There are eggs and hatchlings there. Protect them...
I scream the last words through the bond as I narrowly evade a blast of power from a mage. The magic screams past my wing, close enough to singe the leather membrane, and I bank hard to avoid the follow-up strike.
I will. His voice is a growl in my head, vibrating with suppressed rage. Solaris and Nova are with me. Destroy them...
We owe them blood... My dragoness rises within me, her fury matching my own.
I know...
Let’s melt them...
I lay a path of acid across the ground, the corrosive liquid hissing and steaming where it hits earth and stone, creating a barrier that traps the mages from running. The acrid smell fills my nostrils—familiar and satisfying, the scent of destruction, the promise of vengeance.
I circle the grouping of trees holding Abraxis hostage, studying the formation, counting the mages, planning my approach.
We need to be smart; I tell my dragoness. I know what to do...
I do the one thing I was always told not to do.
I land.
The impact shakes the ground, sending tremors through the earth that the mages feel in their bones. My talons sink into the soil, my wings fold against my back, and for a moment there is silence—the eye of the storm, the breath before the plunge.