Chapter 35 Flame & Shadow
Flame & Shadow
Dawn bleeds pale through the curtains. I saddle Brimstone before anyone can stop me. I need space, air, something that doesn’t reek of rotting stone and invincible curses.
I need to outrun the echo of Cassy’s scream.
So, I ride. Past the gates. Down through the orchard. Into the wild fields below the cliffs, where the trees twist and the wind whispers secrets to the grass.
At the stream, I dismount. Brimstone drinks, breath misting in the cool morning air. For a moment, the world is still.
Then the sky darkens. Wind coils around me, alerting me to the shadow overhead.
Black scales. Crimson-veined wings. The dragon descends.
He lands before the tree line, shaking off rain before folding himself into silence. Two thunderous steps, and he’s before me—head high, golden eyes burning like twin infernos.
“Good morning.”
For a heartbeat, I think I’ve imagined it. Then his jaws part again—too careful, too human. I’d forgotten he could speak.
“I believe it is custom to respond when someone greets you,” the dragon says dryly.
“Good morning,” I choke out. I don’t fear him anymore, but I still don’t want to make him angry.
“I heard you last night,” he rumbles, voice like stone splitting. “Training.”
“I’m glad you found my rage entertaining,” I snap. “Have you come to give me tips?”
“No.” His great head dips slightly. “I came to make a bargain.”
I narrow my eyes. “What kind of bargain?”
“I’ll give you anything you desire, within my power.”
“Can you tell me how to break your curse?”
The dragon huffs out a thick cloud of smoke. “No, but I can guarantee that you’ll not only win the final Trial but become his queen.”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend.
“I don’t want to become his queen, and I’ll figure out the final Trial on my own, thanks.
” I refuse to take any more bargains. It still bothers me that I owe Cassian a favor.
Thankfully, he’s been busy tending to affairs in Veyora since the banquet, on the king’s orders.
The dragon makes a sound almost like a chuckle, smoke curling from his nostrils as he lowers his head to meet my gaze. “Your heart betrays you, little flame.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want is to survive this nightmare and go home.”
“Did you never read,” he asks, voice smooth and dangerous, “that it is impossible to lie to a dragon?”
My throat tightens. He tilts his head, waiting, expecting me to reply.
“My mother used to say dragons were the Creator’s first fire,” I murmur. “That they were the guardians of humankind, fostering peace.”
His eyes flare, molten gold beneath the black. “And do you believe that?”
“I used to,” I whisper. “Before you stole me from my home. Before I learned you cursed an entire kingdom.”
He studies me for a long moment, then exhales smoke like a sigh. “I see now why the king’s fire bends toward you. You are fearless.”
My pulse stutters. “What do you want from me?” I demand.
He tilts his great head, eyes narrowing. “More importantly, little flame—what do you want?”
“To go home,” I repeat impatiently. “To be done with this nightmare.”
He pauses, as if weighing my words against his powers. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to return home permanently,” he says at last. “But I can offer you one night with your sister. Before the final Trial.”
My breath catches.
“No illusions. No tricks,” he adds softly. “You will see her. Speak to her. The real her. You can say goodbye properly.”
“And in return?”
“You will come to me,” he says. “Every fortnight, on the night of the full and the new moon, until the final Trial.”
The wind shifts, and I taste ash. “And do what?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.
“Whatever I ask of you,” he replies evenly, “starting tomorrow night. Go to the library and bring me whatever book it gives you.”
I stare up at him, stunned.
A dragon. A beast that’s devoured so many. And yet… there’s something hollow in his voice. Something almost human in that hunger.
“And if I say no?”
“Then you will not see your sister,” he says simply. “And I will find other means to appease my fire. Perhaps Mariel would be more inclined? Or Vivian?”
“NO!” The word rips out of me like a blade. He doesn’t flinch.
This is madness. But I can’t sleep, anyway. And something in me—something stubborn and burning—wants to understand the creature behind the curse. The monster bound to the man bound to me.
“Fine,” I concede. “But we meet here, in the orchard. Not your cave.”
“I have no cave,” he huffs, offended, then nods. “Tomorrow night. Bring whatever story the library offers you, and come alone.”
And with that, he rises into the air, wings cracking thunder through the dawn.
My feet ache. My boots have rubbed raw blisters into my heels, so I slip them off and walk barefoot along the grassy path. The earth is cool beneath my skin, each step grounding me after the storm inside my chest.
The walk back to the castle isn’t all bad. It gives me time to think—too much time, maybe.
Brimstone is already in his stall, muzzle-deep in hay.
“Coward,” I mutter, unsaddling him. “You can fight off direwolves but not a dragon?”
He huffs indignantly, blowing snot all over my skirt.
I wipe it off with a groan. “Disgusting. You’re lucky you’re handsome.”
Across the aisle, Ashwing lifts her head at the sound of my voice. Moonbeam blinks beside her, legs still awkward and wobbly. The sight softens me.
“At least someone’s dreams came true,” I whisper, stroking the colt’s white muzzle, edged in gold. “You’ve got wings and a world waiting for you.”
Ashwing nickers softly, and for a moment, the ache in my chest quiets.
The following night after dinner, I find myself standing before the library doors. The moment I step inside, the air hums—alive, warm, expectant. Shadows pulse along the shelves as if the books themselves are breathing.
“Alright, library,” I murmur. “I need a story to please a dragon. What have you got?”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the floor gives a subtle tremble, like the entire room is exhaling, and a single book tumbles from a high shelf.
I catch it before it hits the floor and turn it over. The First Flame: Origins of Dragonkind. The leather cover is warm beneath my fingertips. It pulses faintly, as if it has its own heartbeat.
Well, I hope he likes mythology. Or is it history? I guess we’ll find out.
An hour later, I return to the orchard, where Brimstone stands already saddled, reins looped over a low branch. I lean close to his ear. “No running this time. If you’re good, you get carrots. If you’re not, I’m making horse stew—got it?”
He snorts and turns his head.
The dragon is already waiting for me by the clearing. He doesn’t speak, just lowers his head, eyes burning like twin suns through the mist.
“I brought the book,” I say, lifting it.
Of all the things he could have asked for—blood, obedience, flesh—this startles me most.
“Read,” he commands me.
“You want me to read to you?” I ask incredulously.
His pupils narrow. “Among other things. But for now… that will do.”
I hesitate, then sink down into the grass, cross my legs, and open the tome to the first page.
“Before there was breath,” I begin, “there was flame. And in the beginning, the stars birthed the first dragons, beings made not of bone and flesh but of starlight, meant to guard the night skies from the creeping dark.”
The dragon closes his eyes.
I glance up but keep reading. My voice winds through the orchard, low and steady.
The tale speaks of guardians-turned-wanderers, of great power warped by longing, of dragons who fell from their homes in the heavens to the earth below.
They were sent to guide humankind toward virtue…
and punish them when they strayed too far.
When I reach the part about the first dragon who chose to fall willingly, my voice catches.
The dragon’s eyes open, glowing molten gold.
“Is that what happened to you?” I ask softly. “Did you fall?”
“No, little flame,” he murmurs. “The first dragons fell millennia ago. I am but their descendant.” Then, “Keep reading.”
I obey. By the time the last page fades beneath my fingertips, the stars above have shifted, and dawn glimmers faintly on the horizon.
“So…” I ask hesitantly, “do you believe that? That dragons came to help humanity?”
A long silence follows.
“I believe,” he rumbles, “that even fallen stars can shine the brightest.”
“So, is that a yes, or…?”
He flicks his tail in agitation. “Yes, but then your kind betrayed us.”
The orchard holds its breath as we sit, silver light spilling between the leaves.
I yawn before I can stop myself. Getting up, I brush droplets of dew from my skirts. “Our night is up.”
“So it is.”
“I’ll see you in fourteen days, then?”
He gives a slow nod, his golden gaze turned toward the paling sky.
I swing onto Brimstone’s back but glance over my shoulder. “Shall I bring another book then?”
Another nod. “Until then, little flame.”
And with that, he unfolds his wings and vanishes into the clouds as I ride into the rising light.