Chapter 2
Sharp pain stabbed through Aeliana’s—no, Durriken’s—wing.
They flew over a charred city, the sting of an arrow piercing his nearly translucent blue wing.
He dove for the barren ground, not bothering to see where the arrow had come from.
It was nothing compared to the phantom pain she—no, he—constantly sensed in his severed paw.
The clarity within his mind was overwhelming, but her own mind felt fuzzy, like she only half existed while connected to him. Or maybe she was simply experiencing his memory. She still didn’t understand the brand that joined them.
An irritated rumble in her chest showed that Durriken was equally aware of the invasion in his mind. So, then, not a memory.
He ignored the men camped outside the city’s ruins.
Instead, he crossed the wall dividing forest from destruction and landed in a sprawling courtyard, his gait unsteady with his change in balance.
He limped across the broken stones that had once held a market with shops and patrons, his remaining paws crushing the scattered wares.
Only it wasn’t just wares.
Brittle bones and ashes flattened beneath his feet, the sense of the souls they’d held weighing him down further.
When he reached the courtyard’s center, he spun once, letting his tail curl in until he settled in a ball, his nose nestled beneath the curve of his scales.
Aeliana felt the Sun on his back, spreading its warmth through to the tips of his paws.
For a moment it seemed as if he’d returned to Islara just to nap in the wake of his destruction, and Aeliana would be forced to remain curled up in his mind while he did so.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of lives had been taken from the city by the fire of his breath mere weeks earlier.
He’d annihilated Islara and its residents in the span of a day, and now he wanted to sleep in their remains?
But Aeliana sensed an alertness within him, a new kind of pain that grew to surpass that in his foreleg.
Could a dragon feel sorrow? Remorse?
Durriken growled his irritation. He didn’t want her here for this moment. He didn’t want her sensing the way he mourned the people he’d killed.
She didn’t feel right about it either. Not when he didn’t want her there.
She focused on his external surroundings instead, letting her magic flow across their connection and through to the other side, but it wasn’t something she could control.
Daisies grew by his snout, but he let out a frustrated huff of hot air that wilted them into the ground.
She stretched the limits of her autonomy, attempting to divide his will from her own.
If she could make him understand she didn’t want this forced connection, maybe he would willingly exchange information.
They could remain the equals they’d been when they’d parted.
But the moment she sensed his will separate from her own, a new urgency emerged—a desire to impose her own will on his.
She fought against its pull while trying to remember what information Sylmar sought, what she was supposed to ask.
The questions remained out of reach, just beyond the haze left in the wake of her need to command him.
The effort to resist was too reminiscent of her past struggles against blood magic.
Blood magic. Mayvus. That had been her question.
The desire to know where he’d taken Mayvus after the battle flooded her mind, and Durriken stiffened as if it flooded his too.
A growl started deep in his belly, and he lifted his head, every muscle taut as if he was on high alert.
When nothing more happened, he settled his head back on his paws.
Aeliana felt his lips lift in a satisfied smirk as he pushed a memory on her.
Blood and torn flesh filled his mouth, leaving her nauseous, but she fought to let the memory continue.
The descent over a small peak in the Myndren Mountains, the desire for revenge, the throb of a freshly lost paw.
He’d circled to land in a cave, where he’d settled to gnaw on his prize.
The memory cut off too abruptly. Had he eaten Mayvus?
Left her to die? She wanted to be certain, and the urge to force his cooperation tugged at her belly.
It was what the brand had been designed to do, to control him, and yet it went against everything Aeliana believed in.
She refused to command him to give her more.
The tether between them snapped with an audible crack that reverberated through Aeliana’s head, and her eyes flew open as she gasped.
Sylmar bent before her, his perpetual frown filling her vision.
Behind him, Holm jabbed at a hay bag in the corner, but Velden must have left the training room.
Because she was in the training room in the fortress of the Myndren Mountains.
Not Islara. And not even in the cave where Durriken had deposited Mayvus.
“Well?” Sylmar asked.
Aeliana blinked, her heart pounding a rhythm faster than the thud of Holm’s fists. “Um, what?”
A sound between a bark and a cough escaped Sylmar as he straightened. “Did you sense Durriken?”
The vision of Islara’s ruins came back to her, the memory she’d received from Durriken sending a shudder through her spine. “I did.”
“And?”
“He’s in Islara.” She tugged on her braid, bringing the brown ends that hung at her waist up to her chin, letting the edges brush her skin while she debated what that might mean.
Did Durriken return just to mourn the people he’d killed?
He’d ignored the people outside the city’s walls, but she had no idea if they were fellow Recreants or if they were Loyalists who served the Vendaran crown.
At least they weren’t the Zealots who’d followed Mayvus.
Those who’d been loyal to the evil high priestess had scattered when she’d disappeared, and those who’d been freed from the brands forcing them to serve her had sworn fealty to Aeliana’s mother, Emeris, instead.
There had been a loneliness inside Durriken that still echoed within Aeliana’s chest. A feeling of not belonging.
Despite his scales and fangs and fire, it made sense for the last known dragon to hold such a hollow sensation.
But it also resonated with Aeliana in ways she didn’t want to admit as she attempted to settle amidst the Vendarans despite having grown up in Lorvandas.
Sylmar leaned on his staff, his brow furrowed in thought. “Any sign of Mayvus’ body?”
“He took her to a cave. I might be able to find the right peak to adjust our search. He seemed… pleased. But I couldn’t tell if Mayvus was alive in his memory.”
Sylmar rubbed at his short greying beard. “We know she’s dead. We just need to find her remains. Put the people at ease.”
Aeliana bit back her argument. Ever since Durriken had flown off with Mayvus in his grasp, they’d sent out daily scouts, and every day for the last six weeks, the scouts had returned without answers.
Most everyone found this reassuring. It meant Durriken had likely disposed of Mayvus in his own gruesome way before moving on to new territory. Two enemies no longer a threat.
But Emeris kept insisting that Mayvus was alive.
She also insisted they were in Celanoft, not the Myndren Mountains, most days. Her lingering confusion after being branded for so long meant Aeliana was the only one who believed her about Mayvus.
Screeches and tinkling laughter filled the air, resounding from the hall in a crescendo that stunned the training room’s occupants.
Sylmar let out a deflated grunt, then hobbled to the wall, flattening himself against its stone surface.
A moment later, a horde of silver creatures galloped into the room like playful puppies tripping and tumbling over their oversized feet.
They weren’t much bigger than toddlers, but their limbs were longer, their dual rows of teeth sharper.
Wide eyes filled their faces and sunlight from the open windows gleamed off their hairless heads.
Aeliana grinned, then kneeled down, arms wide as she let the winex at the front of the pack lunge at her. The force knocked her back, and the black tear-shaped mark on his cheek filled her vision before at least half of the others swarmed her.
“Felk.” Her voice came out muffled beneath their squirming forms. “Call them off. I concede. I’ll get your dinner.”
At the mention of food, the pack retreated, whispering amongst themselves about which meal she might have for them. They sat on their heels, wriggling with anticipation.
“It’s late,” Felk whined, pulling her back up to her knees so they were eye to eye.
Lilik scooted next to him, laying her head on his shoulder in solidarity.
Despite cycling lives with the moon, the two remained inseparable.
It was as if their fight to find and protect their eggs in their past life left them bonded in ways their life cycle couldn’t break.
Now their children had been born alongside their own rebirths these last two new moons.
Taking care of Felk as a newborn had been difficult. A dozen winex had been pure chaos.
“Iris is making soup down in the kitchen.” Aeliana stood, brushing off her blouse and skirt.
Half of the winex cheered while the others grumbled. “We always have soup,” one mumbled.
“I can take them,” Holm said. He loomed over the winex, and several of them shrank back from his height and girth even though they were quickly learning he was soft inside.
A few had figured out he was the easiest one to convince to sneak them treats from the kitchens since he was often doing the same.