Chapter 12
Wren
The stairs are narrow and steep, made of the same stone of the wall itself.
My legs burn halfway up and my lungs seize a little at the cold, but I cling to the discomfort as my nerves threaten to overwhelm me.
The higher we climb, the fiercer the wind becomes, whipping at my clothes and trying to find skin to sink its teeth into.
By the time we reach the top, my cheeks are stinging and my hands are tucked into the long sleeves of my blouse, fingers clinging to the edges of the material.
The wall’s pathway is wider than I expected, with a parapet on the outer edge.
I walk toward the edge and glance outward.
I stand near the center of it all atop the gate, fingers curled around the cold edge of the stone as I peer out past the wall.
Beyond the city, the land is dotted with patches of dead grass, trees clinging to their final leaves, and the dark pavement of the road that leads to the city cutting through it all.
I follow it outward toward the horizon for as far as I can see until it disappears into the rolling wall of black clouds creeping toward us.
The sky above the city is already churning with clouds in various shades of gray, completely swallowing any hint of sun.
A shiver rolls through my body at the ominous, eerie feeling that accompanies the weather.
Tensions are high and the quietness of the wall and city alike add to it, all traces of livelihood that I’ve been watching and listening to for the past week gone.
Everyone seems to collectively be holding their breath.
By now word must have spread about the dragon sighting, unleashing a wave of fear through all the humans that reside here.
A heavy lump of uncertainty settles in my throat. I can’t blame them for their fears. If I’m wrong and this isn’t Torryn’s dragon spirit, I don’t think there’s anything that can save the city—not even me.
My gaze skims up and down the walkway as far as I can see in either direction.
All along the battlements, humans brace themselves against the weather and what might be coming with it.
Guns are clenched in restless hands, with cold-reddened fingers tapping against metal.
Men squint into the distance as if they can force answers out of the clouds with sheer will.
Below, the hulking shapes of tanks emerge through the city’s doors.
Engines rumble as they form a wide line in front of the wall, their fronts aimed in different directions.
As they all settle, sitting idly now, the large doors begin to heave shut.
The metal screeches, as if the hinges have long since forgotten how to work.
As they seal shut in finality, a rumble travels through the stone and through my feet. For a fleeting moment I think it’s the earth speaking with me and I reach out, my breath caught in my throat.
Please, let me in.
My lips press together in a thin line as the endless silence greets me in return.
Beside me, Ryoden is a solid, unmoving presence. His eyes are narrowed, scanning the horizon, jaw set so tight I can see the muscle ticking from the corner of my vision.
“Spot anything yet?” he asks into the comm device gripped tightly in his hand, raising his voice just enough to carry over the wind.
“Nothing but cloud cover, sir,” the scout answers, voice crackling over the channel. “Visibility’s dropping fast. I don't think we will be able to provide any warning at this rate.”
My chest lifts with a heavy inhale. He’s right.
In the short time we’ve been up here, the storm has thickened, as if encouraged by the collective anxiety that’s brewing.
I tilt my head back and watch the clouds above us twist slowly, gathering into darker knots that bunch and unfurl.
Fresh snow starts to fall as a few tentative flakes drift on the wind, then quickly begins to thicken.
I squint against the biting cold of them sinking onto my face, watching how the flakes move.
There’s a pattern to them that doesn’t feel like normal weather, and my chest tightens.
A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature as my mind drifts to Sylvin and his Winter Court.
The way the air would shift around him before the first flurry touched the ground.
How the world seemed to funnel itself through whatever mood he was in, coating everything in his season, overpowering whoever and whatever was in his path.
My eyes track the way the snow falls heavier right in front of us, forming a dense curtain that obscures the land beyond the wall now. The air tastes charged on my tongue, cold and metallic, as if there’s lightning forming somewhere above us.
Beneath the stillness around us, for a heartbeat, I think I feel something faint and far away, like pressure building in the distance. It’s not the earth providing me the feeling and answer, but something within my chest that tightens with familiarity.
The realization settles over me like a weight and I straighten, throat suddenly dry.
I open my mouth to say something, but the sky in front of us answers before I can.
The snow-thick cloud cover is suddenly torn in a divided line as something massive displaces the air between them.
For a moment all I see is movement, a darker shape within the gray, then suddenly a head emerges.
Horns sweep back from his skull in sharp, curving ridges.
Scales catch what little light makes it through the clouds, scattering it along plates of burnished bronze and deep forest green.
His eyes are bright gold and searching, slitted pupils cutting across the landscape below in a sweep as if looking for something specific.
For me.
It feels like my heart forgets how to beat for a moment, stuttering within my ribcage as my lips part.
I never saw what his dragon looked like apart from the ethereal spirit form that day in the forest, but I know with certainty in my soul that this is him, by the eyes alone.
“Torryn,” I breathe out in soft disbelief.
He’s beautiful. Terrifying, awe-inspiring, and absolutely real, filling the sky in front of us.
The rest of him follows in pieces as the clouds separate further—an arched neck, powerful shoulders, wings that unfurl in slow, deliberate beats that churn the snow around him.
Each stroke of those wings sends currents of air rippling outward, stirring the storm into more chaos.
His body seems to go on forever: layered muscle, overlapping scales, long tail trailing behind him. He’s far bigger than the spirit was.
Around us, soldiers react with gasped curses and audible hisses of breath. Boots shuffle on the stone floor as rifles lift by instinct, metal rattling softly as fingers slide over safety locks.
“Eyes up!” Ryoden barks, his voice slicing clean through the rising panic. “All gunners—in position. Tanks, hold and ready. No one fires without my command.”
The response is immediate, drilled discipline snapping back into place over startled fear. Men drop behind the stone at firing slots while others brace along the wall. Below, I hear the heavy revving of engines climbing in volume, the metallic clank of turrets shifting.
Torryn angles slightly, turning his massive head toward the city. His wings tilt, bringing him into a slow, deliberate arc that lines him up with the wall we stand on. He’s flying straight for us.
My heart lurches. Every instinct I have screams that lining this wall with weapons aimed at him is the exact wrong move. I spin toward Ryoden, snow catching in my hair and lashes.
“Don’t!” I snap. “Don’t point guns at him. That alone will make him aggressive.”
He whips his head toward me, eyes sharp. “We’re not lowering weapons with a dragon bearing down on us, Wren.”
As if to underscore the threat, Torryn lets out a roar that makes the air itself feel like it vibrates around us, rattling the stone under our feet and vibrating in my ribs.
Men flinch, some ducking reflexively, abandoning their position.
A few swear under their breaths, knuckles whitening around their rifles.
Ryoden’s hands flex at his sides, then clamp into fists.
His gaze flicks between the oncoming dragon and the line of men looking to him for orders.
I can see the war happening inside him: training and instinct screaming to fire before the creature reaches the wall, and a quiet doubt that keeps his mouth clenched shut.
“Ryoden,” I say, and there’s a plea in his name I can’t quite hide. My eyes sting as frustrated tears prick at the corners. “If you open fire, you guarantee a fight. You guarantee people will die today.”
“And if I don’t, we might all die anyway,” he throws back, voice high-pitched and full of fear. “You’re asking me to risk everyone inside these walls on your word.”
Snow whips between us, clinging to the stubble along his jaw, melting on his lashes.
He looks at me like I am both his best chance and his worst mistake waiting to happen.
My eyes shift back to the sky, finding Torryn close enough now that the details on his teeth are visible when his mouth parts, lips peeling back.
Deep in his throat, a glow begins to gather. It starts as a dull orange pulse, then builds, flickering up between his teeth and along the underside of his jaw. Fire.
My chest caves around the sight and I glance back at Ryoden, reaching out to grip his forearm.
“Please,” I say, the word scraping out of my throat. “You have to trust me. Don’t fire. Give me a chance to stop him.”
He looks from me to Torryn speeding toward us, back to me. His nostrils flare as he drags in a harsh breath, his jaw clenched so hard I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. My fingers tighten on him and he glances down at the contact.
“Please, trust me, Ry,” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear my final plea through the wind whipping around us.