Chapter 10 #2
I should’ve taken you flying every day, I said. I’m sorry I didn’t.
“We’ve been busy,” she said. “There’s been a lot to do. The archives, the Summit planning, discovering drought patterns…”
Always so quick to excuse my failings, to see the practical reasons rather than the emotional ones.
I stood, feeling her accommodate the movement, her hands tightening on my spine ridge. I spread my wings, testing the wind currents, and launched us into the sky.
Adele gasped as we lifted off, but it was a sound of wonder, not fear. I kept the ascent smooth, my powerful wing beats carrying us high above the palace, above the mountain peaks, and into the open air where we belonged.
The moment we leveled out, I felt her relax against my back, her body moving with mine as I flew.
This was different than carrying her before. Then, she’d been a stranger. A political necessity. Someone I needed to transport from one place to another.
Now, she was my wife. My partner. Someone who knew about my parents, who created blizzards when her emotions overwhelmed her control.
Someone I was falling for despite every wall I’d built.
I flew us east, following the route she’d mapped, and sent her images as we passed landmarks. The twin waterfalls that fed into the valley below. The ancient forest where my father had taught me to hunt. The hot springs that bubbled up through volcanic rock, steam rising in white plumes.
Each time, I felt her excitement ripple back to me. She loved this. The flying, the views, the sharing of my territory.
And I loved sharing it with her.
The landscape gradually changed as we flew closer to Brightmore. The lush forest gave way to sparser vegetation. Rivers that should’ve been full ran low, exposing rocky beds. Fields that should’ve been green were now brown patches.
Adele’s excitement turned to concern.
When Brightmore village came into view, the drought’s severity was undeniable. The entire valley looked parched, brown where surrounding areas remained green. Crops drooped in fields, and the main river had shrunk to a trickle.
I circled once, giving Adele time to observe from above, and descended toward the village square.
Landing required more care with a passenger.
I came in slowly, my wings spread to brake my speed, and touched down with barely a bump.
The moment my feet hit the ground, I lowered myself again, and she dismounted with less grace than she’d mounted, clearly stiff from the flight.
She placed our bags on the ground beside me.
The shift back to my usual form took only a flash, and I soon stood beside her, dressed in the tunic and pants I was wearing before I shifted. No one knew where our clothing went during a shift, but this was how it had always been for my people.
Adele took in the village with worry.
Dust coated everything. Crops in nearby fields drooped on the ground, and the few villagers visible moved slowly, their faces drawn.
“It’s worse than I thought,” I said.
“Much worse.” Adele had already pulled out a notebook and was sketching the conditions. “The soil looks completely depleted of moisture. Those crops won’t survive another week without water.”
A door opened on one of the nearby cottages, and a weathered woman came out, her silver hair pulled back in a loose knot at her nape. Her dragon eyes took us in with a single sharp glance.
“Your Majesty,” she said, joining us, bowing. “We weren’t expecting a royal visit.”
“Piper.” I clasped her forearms in greeting. “This is my wife, Adele. Adele? This is Piper, the leader of this village.”
“Your wife?” Piper’s eyebrows rose as she studied Adele with curiosity. “The witch?”
“That’s me.” Adele smiled, unbothered by the scrutiny. “Things look unsettling here. When did the drought conditions begin?”
“About six weeks ago.” Sebastian, her mate, emerged from the same cottage, his build stockier and his hair still dark despite his age. “The spring rains never came. We thought it was just a late season, but then the summer storms passed us by entirely.”
More villagers were gathering now, drawn by our voices. Quinn approached, holding a toddler on her hip. An older man leaned on a cane, his expression grave. Willa, the village’s healer, stood in her doorway watching.
“The crops are dying,” Quinn said. “We’ll lose the entire harvest if this continues.”
“We’ll starve come winter,” Willa said, joining us. “The stores from last year won’t carry us through.”
These were my people. My responsibility. And I’d failed to notice their suffering until it reached crisis levels.
“We’re going to fix this,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.
“How?” Sebastian’s question didn’t sound like a challenge, just exhaustion. “We’ve tried everything but nothing works.”
“I’m a weather witch,” Adele said, still scribbling in her notebook. She glanced up at Piper. “Would you mind if I examined your fields?”
The villagers looked at her with confusion.
“Not at all,” Piper said. “Whatever you need.”
For the next two hours, I watched Adele work.
She walked through the fields, crouching to examine the soil with her magic, crushing dried leaves between her fingers, tasting dust and making notes.
She asked about normal rainfall patterns, seasonal variations, and historical drought conditions.
The villagers answered as best they could, their initial wariness fading as they recognized her genuine interest.
She actually cared. And more than that, she understood what she was seeing in ways I never could.
I was a king. A dragon shifter. I could fight, lead, negotiate, and intimidate when necessary. But I couldn’t fix this with strength or authority. I couldn’t command the clouds to open or the rain to fall.
I needed her expertise. Her knowledge. Her magic.
“The topsoil’s been depleted for weeks,” she said, crouching near a withered stalk. “But look at the subsoil.” She dug deeper with a flick of magic, exposing darker earth beneath. “There’s still moisture here. The problem isn’t groundwater. It’s the atmospheric delivery system.”
“Meaning?” Piper asked.
“As you said, the rain isn’t reaching you.
” Adele stood, brushing dirt from her hands.
She turned to study the sky. “I need to see the larger picture to understand why. I need to go higher.” Adele looked up at me.
“Can you take me into the mountains? I need to see the wind patterns from above, how the air moves around the valley.”
“Of course.”
I shifted again, and Adele climbed onto my back, settling into position like she belonged there.
I was beginning to believe she did.
I launched us skyward, spiraling up above the valley in widening circles. Adele’s focus sharpened, her mind working through calculations I couldn’t begin to follow.
“Higher,” she said. “I need to see the full mountain range.”
I climbed until the air thinned, and we were level with the highest peaks. There, I found a wide ledge on the northern ridge and landed, shifting back to my usual form as Adele dismounted.
Brightmore Valley spread below us, a brown scar in the otherwise green landscape. To the east and west, neighboring valleys flourished, their fields lush.
The contrast was damning.
Adele moved to the edge of the outcropping, her hands already moving in complex patterns, magic gathering around her fingers.
Frost formed in the air, creating visible currents that showed wind direction.
She muttered to herself, too low for me to catch the words, her brow furrowed in concentration.
I stayed back, giving her space to work, and tried not to think about how beautiful she looked.
Strands of hair had come loose from her braid during the flight, and they whipped around her face in the wind.
Her eyes were distant, seeing patterns invisible to me.
Her lips moved as worked through problems.
She was wonderful.
“There,” she said suddenly, pointing. “Do you see the wind pattern?” She traced it in the air with frost, showing me how the prevailing currents hit the mountain range and split.
“It should flow over the valley, carrying moisture-laden clouds from the western ocean. But instead—” The frost showed the current easing around the valley, rejoining on the far side.
“The mountains create a barrier that diverts the airflow. No clouds reach Brightmore during this season.”
“Why this season specifically?”
“Because of the atmospheric pressure systems.” Her excitement was building, her words coming faster.
“In spring and fall, the pressure differential is strong enough to push clouds over the mountains. But in summer, when the pressure equalizes…” She created another frost pattern, showing how the summer winds took the path of least resistance around the valley instead of over it.
“It’s a fifty-year cycle because of a larger continental pressure pattern that shifts the base wind direction slightly.
When it aligns with the summer season like this,” she snapped her fingers. “They see drought.”
I stared at the patterns she’d created, trying to understand. “So it’s not that there’s no rain. It’s that the rain is being diverted away from Brightmore.”
“Exactly.” She turned to me, her face lit with the thrill of discovery. “The valley is sitting in a rain shadow created by seasonal atmospheric conditions that only occur once every fifty years. Your ancestors probably noticed the pattern but didn’t understand the mechanism.”
“Can we fix it?”
Her smile widened. “We can.”
Hope flared in my chest. “How?”
“Cloud seeding.” She was already pulling out her notebook, sketching diagrams. “If we introduce a certain magic into the clouds that form to the west, we can trigger precipitation and keep them from diverting around the valley. The rain will fall over Brightmore instead of being carried past.”
“And you can create this?”
“With magic, yes.” She looked up at me, and her earnest expression made my heart stutter. “I’ll need your help. I can collect the seeding material, but I need to distribute it through the cloud formations in a specific pattern. I can’t fly.”
The implication settled over me.
“You need me to carry you through the clouds.”
“While I work weather magic from your back, yes.” She bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. “I know it’s asking a lot. It could take hours, and maintaining steady flight while I’m manipulating atmospheric conditions won’t be easy—”
I stepped closer. “Adele.”
She looked up at me, and snow began to drift around us.
“You don’t have to convince me,” I said. “These are my people. If you can help them, I’ll fly through every cloud in the territory.”
“It might be dangerous. Weather magic on that scale, while in motion, plus the energy fluctuations—”
“I trust you. You won’t let me get hurt.”
Her eyes widened, and the snow turned to gentle rain, drops falling around us.
“We’re stronger together,” I said softly. “You with your knowledge and magic. Me with strength and flight. We can fix this.”
“Partnership,” she breathed.
“Partnership.”
The urge to kiss her was overwhelming. I needed to taste the rain on her lips. But this wasn’t the time. We had work to do, people depending on us.
I reached out and tucked a strand of wind-whipped hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her cheek.
“Tell me what you need,” I said.
She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back up. “I need to gather materials first. Certain mineral compounds that will serve as crystallization points. Then we’ll need to identify the optimal cloud formations and plan our flight pattern.”
“How long will that take?”
“The rest of today for preparation. We can start the seeding run at dawn tomorrow.” She stepped back, breaking the charged moment, and turned to survey the valley again. “We should tell the villagers. Give them hope. Is there somewhere we can stay tonight?”
That’s when I realized why my sister had laughed.
Adele and I were married.
I couldn’t ask for two accommodations, and there would be no sofa with a snoring Fletcher for me to stretch out on.
We’d have to share a bed.