Chapter 24
“Where we need to go?” several of us ask variations of the same question.
“We’re all flying on her?” I blurt.
I stare at the void drake. She's not small, but we’re twelve people in total. And there’s no saddle on her back.
She remains perfectly still, her milky eyes unblinking as she watches our group. Her docility seems impossible. I've only ever seen adult dragons restrained by chains or under the control of handlers with shock prods.
Did Selen tame her? Where did she even find her?
“We’ll fit,” Selen says, her tone leaving no room for argument. She points to the drake's forelegs, which end in claws big enough to double as farming tools. “Veyra, Byron, you two will be carried in her hands.”
“Hands?” I repeat, my voice rising in disbelief as I stare at those powerful talons. Each claw is longer than my leg, curved and sharp enough to slice through flesh with minimal effort, or crush a mortal fae in a heartbeat.
“Orphara has carried passengers this way before,” Selen replies smoothly, as if being scooped up by a dragon is a completely normal mode of travel. “The rest will ride on her back.”
I glance at Byron, expecting at least a flicker of doubt, but to my surprise he gives the barest nod and steps forward.
Orphara lowers her foreclaw, her talons unfurling with slow precision, the sheer size of them enough to make my stomach knot.
The scales on her palm glint in the light, dark, ridged, as tough as armor.
Byron hesitates just a fraction of a second, then sets his foot onto the makeshift cradle.
The dragon’s claws shift ever so slightly, flexing beneath his weight, and for a heartbeat I’m sure he’ll flinch or freeze.
But Byron only tightens his grip on one of the ridges, his jaw set, refusing to let any fear show.
I hold my breath, waiting for something to go wrong.
The drake gently curls her claws around him, careful to leave enough space for him to breathe and move.
He looks completely at ease in the creature’s grip, as if being held by a dragon is the most natural thing in the world.
And Orphara looks like she’s done this a hundred times; her eyes half-lidded, movements deliberate, as if she’s perfectly aware of the power she holds and is content to play along.
I wish I could say I shared their confidence. My heart’s pounding so loudly I half-expect the drake to turn and shush me.
Selen nods approvingly, then turns her expectant gaze to me.
“Your turn.”
I hesitate, staring at the drake's left foreclaw as it opens for me. “Where are we even going?” I ask, trying to mask my nerves with indignation.
“You'll see soon enough,” is all Selen offers.
Cautiously, I approach Orphara's waiting claw. The drake watches me with those unsettling milky eyes, her head tilting slightly as if curious about my hesitation. I take a deep breath and try to let my instincts take over. I step into her palm, tensing as her talons begin to close around me.
The sensation is strange. Her scales are warm and surprisingly smooth against my skin, her grip firm but gentle. She holds me securely but with enough space that I don't feel trapped.
“See? Nothing to worry about,” Selen says, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “At least not for you and Byron.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, glancing at the male fae.
“Let’s say you share a similar affinity.”
With that, she grabs hold of the dragon’s scales and swings herself up behind the neck, like she’s just mounting an unusually scaly horse.
Meaning Byron and I both have a connection to beasts? Selen appears to as well, judging by the ease with which she handles the creature.
I look over at Byron again, who sits still in the drake's other hand, his expression passive.
“Have you done this before?” I ask him, trying to get a little more comfortable in my claw seat.
Byron turns, his storm-and-amber eyes meeting mine. There’s a flicker in his expression—something like acknowledgment or maybe amusement—but he doesn’t speak.
I hold his gaze a beat longer, curiosity flickering. Whatever his answer, he keeps it to himself, perfectly at ease in the silence.
Meanwhile, the others are arranging themselves on Orphara's back under Selen's direction.
“Ellis, sit directly behind me,” Selen instructs as she settles at the base of the drake's neck. “Hold onto my waist. Lira, behind Ellis. Then Nyx, Sariah, and Vex. Talyra and the rest of you, fill in the remaining space.”
“This is insane,” Lira grumbles as she climbs onto the drake's back. “If we fall from this—”
“Then don't fall,” Nyx cuts in, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her tone. “Just hold on tight and pray to whatever gods you believe in.”
“I don't believe in gods,” Lira mutters.
“Then start,” Vex retorts, settling behind Sariah.
Once everyone is settled, Selen leans forward, whispering something to the drake that I can't quite catch. Orphara responds with a low rumble that vibrates through her entire body. Selen is… an actual dragon whisperer? Before I can process that, she calls, “Hold tight!”
Orphara crouches, her powerful muscles bunching beneath her scales. I feel her claws tighten around me, enough to firmly encase me, thankfully not to crush. Then, with a sudden surge of strength, she launches into the air.
My stomach drops as we rise, the ground falling away beneath us at a dizzying rate. The drake's wings beat powerfully, propelling us higher and higher.
I can't help the gasp that escapes me as we soar above the treetops.
The sensation is unlike anything I've ever experienced: terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
The wind rushes past, whipping my hair around my face despite the hood, carrying with it the scent of pine and distant mountains.
As a child in the Lower Wards, I'd watched dragons flying high overhead and wondered what it felt like to be so free, so untethered from the earth. Now I know. It feels like being reborn. Like every limitation I've ever known has suddenly dissolved into nothing.
A wild, breathless laugh escapes me. For the first time since my capture, I feel something like joy, pure and uncomplicated.
It seems impossible that I'm experiencing this now of all times, after being dragged to the Ironhold.
Flying was a privilege reserved for nobility and champions during ceremonial games—never for someone like me, a nameless girl from the slums.
As we gain altitude, the Ironhold comes into full view below us, and I'm struck by its true scale for the first time.
The fortress isn't merely large. It's monstrous, a sprawling complex carved into and built upon the mountainside like a parasite.
The main structure vaguely resembles a dragon's head with its jaws open wide—the notorious Dragon's Maw entrance—but extending from it are countless towers, barracks, training yards, and what must be dragon pens, identifiable by the plumes of smoke rising from their depths.
From this height, it feels less a fortress than a living thing, a monstrous hive clinging to the mountainside, patient and eternal. A curse, a scar, fae-ruin given form.
The sight curdles my exhilaration. How many prisoners are trapped within those walls? How many have died there? How many more will follow for the rest of time?
I tear my gaze away as Orphara banks to the west, her powerful wings carrying us away from the mountains. To my surprise, I realize we're heading toward a distant smudge on the horizon, a smudge that gradually grows into the unmistakable silhouette of the imperial capital. The Crown City.
“She's taking us to the city?” I call to Selen, but my voice is lost in the wind.
We soar over the dry scrublands that separate the Ironhold from the city: a barren stretch of dust and sparse vegetation that serves as a buffer zone, ensuring no settlement grows too close to the emperor's prison fortress.
As we draw closer, the sprawling metropolis takes shape beneath us.
It spreads across the landscape like a vast spider's web, with the imperial palace at its center and concentric rings of districts radiating outward, each more impoverished than the last.
Did our ancestors really want us to live like this?
I crane my neck to look down as we pass over the outermost ring: my former home.
From this height, the slums appear almost picturesque, their squalor disguised by distance and sunlight.
But I know the reality: narrow alleys choked with refuse, crumbling tenements packed with the desperate and the dying, smoke that never quite clears from the air.
“Home sweet home,” I murmur to myself, a complex mixture of emotions tightening my chest.
As we continue inward, the contrast between districts becomes stark and unmistakable.
The middle ring, with its merchants' quarters and craftsmen's guilds, boasts orderly streets and tiled roofs.
Beyond that, the upper ring gleams with marble facades and private gardens.
And at the center of it all, rising like a monument to excess and power, stands the imperial palace.
I've never seen it up close—few from the Lower Wards ever do—but now, as Orphara flies directly toward it, I'm struck by its imposing grandeur.
The palace isn't a single structure but a complex of buildings, towers, and courtyards, all surrounded by massive walls of polished black stone.
The central dome, plated with gold that catches the afternoon sun, dominates the skyline, flanked by fourteen slender spires that represent the current fourteen provinces of the empire.