Chapter 23
Stesha
Though I am forbidden from seeing Zenevieve, I learn of her suffering from the Hratha’len.
Emmeric held her prisoner for centuries.
It does not seem as though she was conscious for much of that time, because like the rest of us who were under his spell, she seems not to have aged, but however long he kept her awake, it was enough to shatter her.
I think again and again of Mirelle’s agony at Emmeric’s hands, and a knife twists in my heart.
He called me Zenevieve. Her ordeal is all my fault.
If I had not given in to my weakness for Zenevieve up on that mountain, she would have never been ravaged by lavish sickness.
She would have been strong and healthy and able to fight back.
She would have been with the dragon army.
She would have been safe with me under the mountain.
I might have been holding tight to her hand when the spell dragged us into that shadowy otherworld for five hundred years.
That thought is hammering on my skull when a wingrunner puts a report into my hands, and I stare at the words without seeing them.
The wingrunner tells me what she’s seen, and she’s already left my side by the time what she’s said penetrates my mind.
Wild dragons.
The wingrunners have spotted wild dragons, far to the east beyond a place called Bormont Valley.
I snatch the report closer to my face and read it.
The east of Maledin is a desolate, harsh place with rugged terrain and a few scattered hamlets.
At least, that is how it was five hundred years ago when Golden Terror ruled the skies.
I hear Destrin’s voice reminding me that it is nearly impossible to tame a wild dragon. Dangerous, if not downright deadly. The former dragonmaster never managed it himself. Golden Terror would not be tamed, and the Alpha protected his feral flare with violence and flames.
For the first time since I awoke in New Maledin, I feel a flicker of interest ignite inside me. With Golden Terror long gone, there may be a way to bring some of these dragons to Lenhale.
I read the report again. The wingrunners spotted a yellow Alpha male, but they do not describe his size or temperament. They would not be reliable even if they had, being merely wingrunners, but as soon as I see him, I’ll know if the Alpha and his flare can be tamed.
I have to ask Zabriel for permission to leave the capital, and he dares tell me I have a death wish for daring to embark on such a mission.
“You’re not killing yourself and leaving the rest of us to fight back against Emmeric without you. I will lock you in the dungeons before I let you walk out of here.”
I seize the king and shout in his face, “I don’t want to die. I want to kill him. I need vengeance for Zenevieve and everything he did to her. I can think of nothing else.”
I’m manhandling the king, something that Zabriel’s father would have punished me for had I ever dared put my hands on him.
Zabriel could have had me clapped in irons or whipped at the barracks for every disrespectful thing I have said and done to him since he became regent of this land.
Yet his expression is impassive, almost sympathetic.
He’s giving me grace. King Zabriel has a quality that is rare in an Alpha.
Patience.
And though he doesn’t need to, he’s showing me respect for my loyalty to Maledin, and also for my torment over Zenevieve.
It makes me wonder for the first time if perhaps he won’t be the worst king to sit upon Maledin’s throne.
Perhaps I even respect him a little in return, for not succumbing to his temper as I always do.
All the same, he’s angry that I’m leaving. “If you perish taming this golden dragon, I won’t burn knot grass in your memory. I will curse your name to hell and back for leaving me alone with this fucking mess.”
That seems fair, but despite what he thinks, I don’t wish to die. I wish to be able to look Zenevieve in the eye without feeling what a failure and an idiot I am. She loves dragons. I will bring her more dragons.
But before I go, I make sure that Zenevieve is protected in my absence.
I ask Zabriel to blade swear with me. It is a warrior’s pact, made with a fighter you esteem.
I can see the surprise in his eyes that I trust him this much.
Even while I am sunk in misery, I have noticed how strong Maledin has become these past few months.
I trust him with Zenevieve while I am gone.
As I utter the words of the oath, I know he can see how much I don’t want to leave her. But I must, for I will die if I don’t do something.
Before I depart, I give orders that all the dragonriders and wingrunners must avoid the eastern lands. It’s dangerous enough that I’m taking Nilak into wild dragons’ territory. I don’t need patrols wandering through the place, angering the dragons, and getting us killed.
Nilak is eager for us to be on our way. I cast one last look toward the Flame Temple.
I haven’t laid eyes on Zenevieve since she was dragged away to the dungeons.
I don’t know when I will see her again, but I hope that by then, I will have done something to deserve holding up my head in her presence.
Nilak’s white wings flash in the morning light, and we fly eastward.
Over several hours, the scattered towns and rolling farmland below gives way to rugged moorland, and then rocky terrain punctuated by scraggly woods and narrow valleys. Fog lies low over marshy ground. Here and there are clustered farmhouses and cottages, but they are few and far between.
There’s no sign of any dragons.
Finally, I put Nilak down by a hamlet and leave her glaring at the mud that’s squelching around her pristine talons. I approach a farmer digging in a field with a boy who looks to be his son.
I lift my right hand in a wave, to show him that it’s empty and I mean no harm. “Have you seen a yellow dragon?”
The farmer looks me up and down, leaning on his shovel. “Who be you?”
“The dragonmaster of the king’s flare.” These words mean nothing to him, but I don’t care to explain further. “I’m looking for a yellow dragon.”
“Will you beat us if we say we have seen this monster?” the man asks suspiciously.
“Why would I?”
“Because we’re not allowed to say we’ve seen dragons.”
“I’m riding a dragon,” I point out through clenched teeth.
He considers Nilak for a moment. “Ah. So you are. We’ve seen a big, yellow beast now and then, but we avert our eyes. We don’t want no trouble.”
“From which direction does he come?”
“Couldn’t say. We don’t look.”
“Thank you for your help,” I mutter, and turn away.
The man calls after me. “If you’re from the capital, you can tell the witchfinders to stop coming this way. We haven’t had a witch around these parts in a long time.”
“There are no witchfinders in Maledin. The new king has outlawed the practice.”
“Shows what you know,” the man says darkly, and goes back inside his cottage.
I don’t care to know. I’m looking for dragons, not witches.
You would think it would be easy enough to spot an enormous yellow dragon when it has the tendency to fly through the skies, but wild dragons can be crafty.
Nilak and I are still searching the rugged landscape weeks later with little to show for it except a few livestock carcasses that have been gnawed on by a dragon.
But I can feel he’s close. I sense a dragon’s eyes on me.
I set out on foot one morning to investigate a valley that’s not far from where we’ve made camp. It’s a crisp, clear winter day, and I want to get my blood pumping to warm me up. I head along a ridge and look down into the valley below, and I finally see what I’ve been searching for.
Dragons.
Many dragons. A whole flare. My heart pounds with excitement as I count wings and heads as the creatures stretch in the morning light.
There are several large dragons with yellow wings and at least one scarlet Alpha.
There are probably smaller dragons as well, but I can’t see them through the scrubby trees.
I wonder how many Betas and if there are any Omegas.
I can’t see a male Alpha with Golden Terror’s coloring, so I wonder where he is.
Sleeping, lying prostrate on the ground? I’ll have to move closer to find out.
I call to Nilak in my mind, telling her where I’m going but warning her to stay back so the wild flare doesn’t startle.
I climb down into the valley and approach the flare, gazing at all the strong, beautiful dragons.
I’ve never seen so many wild dragons in one place, many in shades of yellow and red, but others silvery like granite or a deep forest green.
It will require every ounce of my knowledge and skill to tame even one of them, but I itch to get started.
So many new riders will be able to bond with these and strengthen our country.
The wind blows from the southeast, and it carries a powerfully sweet scent. I stop dead and breathe in deeply.
An Omega.
A human Omega.
She smells like ripe blackberries and crisp autumn leaves.
I haven’t crossed paths with another person since I spoke to that farmer, who is a hundred miles away by now.
The last place I expected to find someone was this close to a wild flare.
I look around and see that there’s a small, dilapidated cottage a little way off through the trees.
I want to approach the dragons, but I have to know if they’ve already bonded with riders, and whether those riders can be persuaded to join my flare. Reluctantly, I turn away from the flare and approach the cottage, one hand on the hilt of my sword. A horse grazes nearby on a long tether.
By the front door, which is hanging drunkenly on its hinges, the Omega’s scent grows even stronger.
I thrust open the door, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright light of day.
The little two-room place is mostly empty apart from a rickety table and chairs, an old stone fireplace with an empty grate, and a sleeping pallet on the floor.
There’s a small figure in the bed, curled up in a ball.
Red curls tumble over a makeshift pillow.
A woman. I haven’t closed the door behind me, and she raises her arm against the light and whimpers.
In here, her scent is unmistakable. She’s in heat, and as she looks at me, I smell a sudden sharp scent of fear.
She holds up her hand and flames crackle around her shaking fingers.
Then she drops her hand in exhaustion and slumps down. “I don’t care anymore. Just make it quick.”
I hunker down on my heels and speak in a low voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I apologize for intruding. I didn’t expect to find anyone so close to the wild flare.”
The woman opens her eyes a crack, and she frowns in confusion. “You’re not wearing black.”
“Why would I be wearing black?”
“You’d better leave. He’ll hurt you.”
“Who?”
“Kane. I doubt he went far.”
“Is he your Alpha? He left you while you’re in heat?”
“You use those strange words as well. He’s not my anything, though he does keep me here. Please, just leave me alone.”
But I can’t do that. There’s something strange about this whole situation. Something I don’t like. She doesn’t know what a heat is, but I suppose she wouldn’t if she hasn’t been to Lenhale. And what does she mean, he keeps her here? “This…fever you have. How long does it last?”
“A day or two. It makes me so weak and…and stupid. What magic is this?”
“It’s not magic. You’re Maledinni.” If her heat lasts just a day or two, that means it’s a false heat, not a true one.
The woman is in her early or mid-twenties, past the age for false heats, but the dragons have only just returned to Maledin, and designations are still emerging.
This woman has no idea what’s happening to her.
She watches me warily. “Are you sure you’re an Alpha? You don’t smell like anything to me. Anything strange or captivating, I mean. Not like the other one. Why does he smell like that? How does he make it so impossible for me to defend myself? I just…give in.”
Apprehension trickles down my spine. The Alpha she’s talking about must be her fated mate, and yet she wishes to defend herself against him.
What the hell is he doing to her? I look around the cottage, which is dirty and cold and should probably be torn down.
It could very well be torn down by the wild dragons if they become spooked. She shouldn’t stay here.
So much for my determination to tame the wild dragons, but at least I know now where the flare resides.
“There’s a temple in Lenhale where you can find shelter and learn from the Hratha’len what you are. I am returning there now, and you can come with me.”
She cringes away from me, shaking her head rapidly. “No, no, no. I can’t go to the capital. They’ll kill me.”
I frown in confusion at her sudden panic, until it finally clicks. A woman expecting men in black to hurt her. The flames that crackled around her fingers. She’s a witch who has been pursued by witchfinders. The Brethren would have burned her at the stake.
“I won’t take you to a Brethren monastery. The Brethren are gone. The Hratha’len are temple women who will welcome you.”
But the woman isn’t listening to me. She’s turned chalk white, and she’s clutching her stomach in pain. Then her eyes roll back in her head, and she slumps unconscious onto the pallet.
I stare at her in shock, and then with a sudden sense of foreboding, I grasp the dirty blanket covering her and pull it back. There’s blood soaking the pallet, and her skirts. Her thighs are drenched.
My mind races. A woman who doesn’t know she’s an Omega, let alone what a false heat is. A cruel Alpha who’s impatient and won’t listen to her protests, but he knots her anyway.
Anger mounts in my chest.
I’ll kill him.
I take off my cloak and wrap it around the woman, and I’m about to lift her into my arms when darkness fills the doorway. A stranger, as tall as I am and dressed in black with pale, stringy hair. An angry rutting scent rolls off his body.
He takes one look at me about to lift his mate into my arms, and he draws his sword with a snarl of rage.