Chapter Thirty-Three #2
“Today, mortals. Bow to Tarrakai, Ender of Kingdoms, before you become ash on the wind,” the dragon rasps down the tether.
Finally, I look to Kael. His eyes are fixed on the beast before us, and his face beams in awe. Slowly, the man who bows to no one, drops to his knee.
“To Ronyn, the first god metal archer of Aevryn, and Tarrakai, the most powerful dragon in the known realms,” Kael breathes, awed.
“All realms, all dimensions,” Tarrakai corrects tersely, as if Kael’s insulted him.
Kael suppresses a laugh, but stays kneeling.
The rest of us follow, bowing to the dragon with reverence. With ancient recognition of what this means.
Dragons are real.
I’d swear this image was conjured by a Venomshade, if I weren’t able to hear the truth of it in my mind.
“I can’t believe my Starsdamned eyes,” Correk stammers.
“I’m gonna say this one last time: what the fuck, Kael?” Daelen mutters under his breath, still holding his sword in Tarrakai’s direction.
“Tell the mortal with the pointy piece of tin that I’m hungry, and I’ll use the weapon to pick his bones from my teeth if he doesn’t put it down and bow,” Tarrakai grumbles.
Kael’s mouth breaks into a smirk, and he huffs a laugh. “Put down the sword, Dae, or Tarrakai will use it to pick your bones from his teeth,” Kael taunts, and the blood drains from Daelen’s face.
“I want Ronyn back,” he huffs petulantly, and Tarrakai huffs a steamy breath through his nostrils that drench the air in a cloudy mist.
The others stumble back, but I cut through their panic. “He’s still in there. We can hear him… through the tether,” I explain, though my voice sounds wistful, ungrounded.
My knees nearly give out with relief.
“Ronyn’s still there?” Seren clarifies, eyes wide in raw emotion. And the air fills with gasps from the others.
I nod and she breaks from the group, slowly approaching Tarrakai, her hand outstretched.
Tarrakai lowers his head, dropping onto his belly in submission. Seren glides her hand between Tarrakai’s nostrils tenderly, stroking the beast.
“Old blood. You were once allies of my kin, despite how it all ended. I like this mortal,” Tarrakai acknowledges through the tether, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten.
I make to question him about the Veilborn, how it ended between them and the dragons, but Daelen begins approaching, too, hoping to make peace with Tarrakai. But the beast works his jaw, opening it into a cave of jagged teeth built for destruction, and snaps it in Daelen’s direction.
Daelen stumbles back, falling on his ass.
Therion suppresses a laugh, though the shake of his frame gives him away. “Probably wise not to approach the most powerful dragon to ever exist across all realms and all dimensions, Dae,” Therion taunts.
“She did!” he counters, incredulous, pointing at Seren. He throws his hands in the air as if he’s hard done by, and I can’t help but snort a laugh at his expense.
But Seren ignores him, keeping her eyes trained on Tarrakai.
His golden eyes fix on her, too. “Lady Sylvaine told me myths of the dragons. That the dragons themselves still walk among us,” Seren breathes, in that eerie way she does when she can hear the song of the wind and the stories of the elements.
“That there were old tales in distant lands that many cast aside as bedtime stories for children. But perhaps, they’re true,” she murmurs the words, tone distant, not talking to anyone in particular.
But we all lean in, edging toward her, like the very lilt of her voice is an incantation that hypnotizes.
“What stories, Seren?” Therion pushes, closing the space between them.
“Stories of Melders—mythic creatures who could take the form of both flesh and beast. Who could wear the skin of man and dragon, melding flesh and fire, scale and sinew,” she breathes the story like a sacred prayer, entrancing us.
“What in the fuckin’ Stars?” Merrik mutters under his breath, but Kael raises his hand, silencing the murmurs that take off between us.
“You’d do well to listen to this, mortals. The old blood speaks truth,” Tarrakai’s impatient grunt pushes down the tether.
“Keep going,” Kael commands.
“Lady Sylvaine believes the myth to be true—that Melders were suspended in their mortal skin, somehow, unable to Meld into their dragon form. She believes…” Seren pauses for a moment, sifting through her memories, selecting her words with precision.
“She believes they walk among us. She warned me: dragon kind would return. That when they do, this is the beginning of Melders returning to both land and sky,” she finishes, still staring at Tarrakai in awe.
“Where ruins burn and the Flame-heart sleeps,
The dragon stirs in the soul it keeps.
And in the skies where wild winds sing,
Beast and bond form a timeless ring.”
The words from the prophecy spill from my lips, unbidden.
We all stare, silent. Letting the story and the prophecy sink into our bones. I spin the words around, making sense of it all.
Rubi raises a finger in thought, mind working. “Does this mean, then… that if Tarrakai does this Melding thing back into human form… it’ll be Ronyn?”
We all look around at each other, desperate, hopeful at the thought.
“Yes, the insufferable vessel—Ronyn, as you say—will return to you when I Unmeld,” Tarrakai grunts through the tether.
“Yes! Tarrakai confirms it,” I say, hope and emotion clashing in a collision of desperation.
“Well, fucking do it, then!” Jax urges, voice breaking, and I can see the grief she’s refusing to give in to.
And for once, I feel for her. Because Ronyn has a way of making his way into the hearts of everyone he meets, and Jax—as brash and cold as she is—isn’t immune.
“Oi! El!” Ronyn’s voice careens down the tether. “Ask Jax if she wants to spend a night with a dragon shifter.” I can practically feel his eyebrows wagging shamelessly through the tether.
“Holy Stars, Ronyn. Not the fucking time,” I snap back, but there’s no bite in my words.
“Imagine if I got to keep the tail, though? The things I could do…” he trails off wistfully.
“Oh gods, Ronyn. Stop it!” I hiss back.
“But you have to admit, it’s a compelling invitation, isn’t it?” he asks incredulously.
Tarrakai expels a puff of steam from his nostrils again, as if he’s already exasperated with our human emotions and conversation.
“You exhaust me, humans. I will not Meld again until we fight for Dravara’s true monarchy. I will slumber. Regain my strength. Tell the Ronyn human to prove his worthiness,” Tarrakai commands in an aggrieved rumble.
“Will you Meld if you are called on by your queen?” I ask, imbuing my voice with authority.
He grunts in agitation. “You are not Queen yet.”
Then, the crack of bone snapping and the char of fire pluming into the atmosphere claim the moment.
Tarrakai’s beastly form contorts, snaps, breaks, bends, and remakes itself.
Scales bend to sinew.
Flames wink out in place of flesh.
Wings give way to muscle.
And in the wake of the most powerful dragon in the known realms, there’s my best friend: Ronyn.
His crumpled form emerges behind the plume of steam.
I move to run to him, to pull him into my arms, but under his shaggy mop of hair, that lop-side smile breaks free. And I know he’s okay.
Ronyn bounds to his feet, stark fucking naked, and not an ounce of shame.
“Well, go on then,” he says, throwing his arm out expectantly. We look at each other, confused. “Bow. I’m a fucking Melder and Aevryn’s first god metal archer,” he teases with that insufferable cavalier charm he possesses.
Seren shields her eyes from his bare frame, but he doesn’t baulk. Doesn’t shrink.
“A god among men,” Daelen jokes, though I notice the glassy sheen of his eyes.
“Grab some clothes, lad,” Merrik groans, turning away.
But Ronyn throws his hands to his hips with unabashed confidence. “Why? The human form is a marvelous thing, wouldn’t you say, Jaxxy?” He wags his eyebrows up and down, biting his tongue between his teeth playfully.
She closes her eyes, but her cheeks blaze red. She opens and closes her mouth as if she’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Maybe you could punish me for being a very bad boy,” he taunts Jax with reckless cheek. “Chains, whips, whatever you want. I know how you like to be dominant.”
“Oh my fuckin’ Stars, make it stop,” Merrik grouses, throwing his hands up in surrender.
Kael laughs a deep, real laugh, and despite the absolute chaos that’s ensued, we all join in.
“I’ve never seen anyone steal the bite from Jax’s bark before, brother,” he says through a wide smile. “Relieved you’re still with us.”
Ronyn’s unwavering optimism falters. Almost imperceptibly, but I notice.
I notice the way he tries to understand it all.
“So, let me get this straight,” he begins, body still shamelessly bare, “I now share thoughts, breath, and body with a grumpy old dragon, but I’m also still me, and also kind of him, too? ”
I suck in a breath. Because honestly? I think he’s right. His entire sense of self, his agency, his body is no longer just his.
I look at him with sympathetic eyes, and I feel the others do the same. “I… don’t exactly know how it all works, but it does look that way. I’m sorry, Ronie,” I say solemnly.
But his eyes spring to mine, buoyant and alive.
“Sorry? El, are you kidding? I’m a fucking dragon!
I’ve wanted to join your eclectic little team of magical wizards since Virellin.
Basically top of the hierarchy now. Who wants to take me on now, huh?
” He puffs his chest out in playful challenge, as if he’s ready to take us on right here.
“The tankard is always half full with you, isn’t it?” Therion smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Full to the fucking brim, brother,” Ronyn counters. “So, what now? The Underbelly?” He says it so flippantly—like he hasn’t just Melded and Unmelded, gone to the Final Gate and returned, been made and unmade.
Seren eyes him warily, as if she’s waiting for him to crack, but he just struts around the campfire with pride, naked as the day he was born.
“We need to get him to Lady Sylvaine and the scholars of Nymeris. We need to know more about Melders, how to control the dragon. We need to understand this,” she says, throat working with emotion.
Ronyn holds up his hand, as if he’s listening to something we can’t hear.
“Tarrakai would like you all to know that he is the one who’s in control here—he initiates Melding and Unmelding, and he doesn’t answer to mortals, least of all me,” Ronyn relays begrudgingly.
Tarrakai, no doubt, having spoken straight into his mind.
“You’re at the whim of him, Ronyn. We need to understand the mechanism of the bond you two share,” Seren pleads, desperately trying to get him to take this seriously.
“We’ll be best buds in no time, Seren. I’m impossible not to like,” Ronyn counters, waving a dismissive hand. But he pauses again, listening intently.
“What did he say?” Seren presses.
“Ahh, it’s not important. He’s just not a very good sharer, yet,” Ronyn shuts her down quickly, then he looks between Kael and me. “Is this what your little Starbound thing is like? Chats into each other's minds? Feeling stuff that isn’t yours?”
“Pretty much,” Kael confirms simply, but he can’t hide the ghost of a smirk that tugs at his lips.
“Do you ever throw a dirty joke down the tether? Just for a laugh?” Ronyn asks.
Seriously?
Kael chuckles richly, and I’m reminded again that no one is safe from Ronyn’s charms. It worked in that alley in Virellin with a bag of apples, and it’s happening in Thornewood with dirty jokes and a dragon.
Kael claps him on the back in good nature. “A tankard before we leave for The Underbelly,” he says.
“Thank the fucking Stars someone is finally speaking sense!” Rubi jests, pulling out a flask from the pockets in her skirts. She holds it out for me, offering a pull.
But for the first time since Kryntar, I shake my head.
Because The Underbelly awaits, and I know I need to be as sharp as the blade at my thigh to steal the Lunar Codex from under the noses of crooks and murderers.