Chapter 17
brYNN
“Your family will notice you're missing,” Nyssa whispers as we slip through the eastern gardens, keeping to the shadows of half-collapsed statues.
“I’ve left a note in my room,” I mutter, ducking behind a hedge as a patrol of darkbloods passes. “Said I’m depressed and to please respect my privacy.”
“You think that will work?” Nyssa frowns.
“Well, hopefully it doesn’t have to work for long.”
Nyssa and I are supposed to be consulting on “dragon matters,” but I consider this technically part of that category.
We pause at the edge of the tree line, the shimmering dome of our reconstituted spirit barrier visible just ahead.
It’s designed to keep people out, not keep people in—that’s always been its purpose, and I tested it earlier just to be sure that’s still the case.
I was able to step outside. Nyssa should have no issues either.
I’ll just have to help her get back in again.
Nyssa nods, tension evident in the set of her jaw. “Iron Peak is a day's flight from here. If Anees has retreated there with his remaining forces, we'll need to be extremely careful. It's an ancient stronghold, built among mountain peaks.”
Iron Peak—that’s where Nyssa says Anees is keeping prisoners. So that’s where we have to head.
“I packed supplies.” I pat my satchel. “And a few tricks. We'll manage.” I made it into Draethys. This time I have an actual dragon helping me.
The cool night air stings my lungs as we sprint across the open ground toward the barrier.
My heart hammers against my ribs as we reach it.
Taking a deep breath, I grab Nyssa’s arm so that we step through together.
For a moment, I'm surrounded by the intense chill and chaos of the imprisoned clearblood spirits bound to our shield.
Suspended between worlds, the pressure builds in my ears until, with a soft pop, I emerge on the other side with Nyssa.
I glance at her, stumbling slightly as she emerges.
“Okay?” I ask.
She nods quietly.
“Now we get clear of the perimeter.”
We run for the cover of more trees. Once we're hidden among the pines, Nyssa stops and turns to me.
“Stand back,” she says. “The transformation isn't... gentle.”
I nod and take several steps back, watching as she steps into a small clearing. Moonlight spills over her skin as she removes her borrowed clothes, folding them with surprising care and placing them at the base of a tree.
The change begins with her eyes. The amethyst irises expand, consuming the whites until her eyes glow with an internal light. Her skin ripples, seeming to harden and shimmer beneath the moonlight. Then comes the sound—a soft cracking that grows in volume as her bones begin to shift and elongate.
I've read about dragon transformations in dusty tomes, but nothing prepared me for the reality.
It's beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
Her human form stretches, expands, her limbs reconfiguring as silver scales erupt across her skin.
Her face elongates into a sleek muzzle, teeth sharpening into gleaming daggers.
Wings unfurl from her back, membrane stretched between elongated digits, spanning wider than our family house.
Where Nyssa stood moments before, a massive silver dragon now crouches, her scales catching the moonlight. Her amethyst eyes fix on me, intelligent and familiar despite their alien setting.
“You're quite magnificent,” I breathe.
She dips her head in what might be embarrassment or acknowledgment, then lowers herself to the ground, extending one foreleg like a ramp.
Right. I'm supposed to climb on. Onto an actual dragon. This is my life now.
I pick up her discarded clothes and put them into my satchel, then approach cautiously, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for her scales.
They're warm to the touch and smoother than I expected, like sun-heated metal.
I hoist myself onto her back, settling between two ridges of bone that run along her spine.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“Okay,” she projects the word mentally.
I’ve read about draconic telepathy—how their vocal cords are shaped for bellows and roars, forcing them to project intent directly into a listener’s consciousness.
It’s not mind-reading, exactly, but a broadcast of thought.
Seeing it in a textbook is one thing; feeling Nyssa’s mind tap against my own is another entirely. My brain is her sounding board.
I grip the forward ridge tightly, my knuckles white.
“I'm ready,” I say, though I'm absolutely not.
Nyssa's muscles bunch beneath me, powerful as steel cables.
She launches upward with a single, explosive beat of her wings, and my stomach drops as the ground falls away.
The forest shrinks beneath us, trees becoming a dark carpet of needles.
The wind tears at my hair, cold enough to make my eyes water.
I've never flown before, not like this. I've been on planes and vampires, but nothing compares to the raw, elemental power of riding dragonback. There's nothing between me and the vast emptiness of the sky, just Nyssa's warm body and my own terror-stricken grip.
We climb higher, the air growing thin and cold. I gasp, burying my face against Nyssa's warm neck to shield myself from the worst of the wind.
“Can you hear me?” I shout over the rushing air.
Nyssa cants her head slightly, one gleaming eye rolling back to look at me. She nods.
“Good. Because this is simultaneously the most amazing and terrifying thing I've ever done.”
A sound emerges from her throat—something between a rumble and a laugh. She levels out, finding a current of air that lets her glide with minimal effort. The ride smooths, becoming almost pleasant.
Below us, the landscape unfolds. Darkbirch recedes behind us, the shimmering dome now just a faint glimmer on the horizon. Ahead, mountains rise like jagged teeth against the star-strewn sky.
“How long until we reach Iron Peak?” I call.
“Several hours.”
I settle in for the long flight, adjusting my position to something more sustainable. My legs already ache from gripping her sides, and we've barely begun.
“I've read that dragon communities used to be organized around geographic features,” I say, needing to fill the silence. “Mountain clans, river clans, that sort of thing. Before you all went underground, to Draethys.”
Nyssa nods her massive head.
“You’re thinking of your books.” Nyssa’s voice hums through my mind, amused.
“It’s a habit,” I reply, burying my face in the silver warmth of her scales to block the gale. “In a library, things make sense. There are indexes. Cross-references. Nobody turns into a ten-ton lizard or grows horns without a clear footnote explaining why.”
I feel a ripple beneath me—the draconic equivalent of a shrug. “Knowledge is a kind of hoard, Brynn. My people once spent centuries cataloging the stars from these very peaks. We didn’t need ink; we burned the patterns into our memory. We weren’t so different from your scholars.”
“Burned into memory,” I repeat, the wind snatching the words from my lips. “Sounds efficient.”
And maybe harder to lose in a fire. The thought is fleeting, mostly because my thighs are currently being tenderized by Nyssa’s dorsal ridges.
The Ide in the back of my mind—the one who’s supposed to be banished to the restricted section of my mental library—scratches at the door.
It seems interested in Nyssa’s mention of burning patterns.
“Knowledge is power,” it whispers, a cold draft in the back of my head.
“I’d love to see through the dragon’s eyes.
I remember the old peaks before they were stained. ”
I slam the mental door shut again. Maybe one day, but it is not this day, to quote one of my favorite movie lines. You stay in the basement.
It’s honestly nice having at least one friend who isn’t carrying an ancient entity around.
“How are you coping with your Ide?” Nyssa wonders.
“I don’t know. There are no benchmarks for this sort of thing. It’s like my skull has a sublet who doesn’t pay rent and keeps trying to break into the rest of the apartment,” I say. “It just said it wants to peer through your eyes, Nyssa. It remembers mountains. Not creepy at all.”
The dragon’s muscles tense beneath me, like a ripple of silver steel. “Then keep your skull locked, Brynn. The Ides are a hungry winter. They don't just want to see the world, they want to consume the warmth of it.”
“Well, that’s… vividly phrased.”
As uncomfortable as I am with the situation, I also can’t deny they saved us. We needed the dragons’ fire consumed.
We lapse into silence, the rhythm of her wings the only sound besides the rushing wind and my own erratic heartbeat. The night grows deeper around us, stars wheeling overhead as we continue northward.
Hours pass. My legs go numb, then painful, then numb again. Just as I'm wondering if I'll ever walk normally again, Nyssa begins to descend. The mountains have grown from distant shadows to towering monoliths that block out the stars.
“Is that it?” I whisper, pointing to a particularly jagged peak ahead.
Nyssa nods, banking toward a forested slope on the mountain's eastern face. She descends rapidly, making my stomach lurch, before landing with surprising grace in a small clearing. I slide from her back, my legs buckling as they hit the ground.
“Damn,” I breathe, stumbling against a tree trunk. “I’m fairly certain I’ve lost the use of my legs.”
Nyssa makes a quiet rumbling sound, then steps back. The transformation reverses—scales receding, wings folding into nothing, limbs contracting until the human Nyssa stands before me once more. She retrieves her clothes from my satchel and dresses quickly.
“You did well,” she says, her voice slightly hoarse. “Most humans would have fallen off or vomited.”
“Give me a moment,” I mutter, working feeling back into my thighs. “The night is young.” I glance up at the looming black mass above us. “So this is what you call ‘Iron Peak’?”