Page 4 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

I hadn’t expected that.

Zander led us not to the hatchling fields or the bonding cliffs, but west, toward the jagged edge of the island where cliffs met sea.

And then I saw it.

A structure carved into the earth itself, an amphitheater, vast and solemn, its stone benches arranged in a perfect circle around a central platform. Weathered, ancient, and untouched by time.

We landed just outside the sacred ring.

Makor waited at the edge, his brown scales rippling in the morning light. Eilvin’s body was carefully strapped to his back, shrouded in deep-green silk, his hair braided, his sword laid across his chest.

We dismounted in silence, the only sound the soft thud of boots on stone.

No one spoke.

There were no words that could carry the burden of what we’d lost.

What is this place?I asked Kaelith silently.

The Riders’ Pyre. Where we honor our riders and allow them to rest until we join them once more.

Who built this place?

The first dragon rider of Warriath.

The king?

Yes. He loved his dragon very much and wanted to be close to him even in death.

King Thadal Rayne was reputed to be one of the most ruthless men ever born.

He needed to be feared to restore order for both man and dragon alike. But his dragon knew his true heart and what he gave up to secure our safety.

We entered the amphitheater in silence, the sound of our boots muted against the ancient stone. The open sky above stretched wide and pale, but the air was heavy, pressed down by grief and reverence.

Jax and Tae moved to Makor’s side, their hands steady as they unbound Eilvin’s body from the saddle. They lifted himtogether, carefully, respectfully, and carried him down the steps toward the center of the amphitheater, where a single stone slab awaited.

Zander stood at the edge of the dais, his gaze distant but resolute. “Lay him here,” he said, his voice low.

They placed Eilvin gently on the slab, the green silk catching a breeze and fluttering like leaves in a storm. His sword gleamed where it rested across his chest, a warrior’s final mark.

We stepped back, forming a loose circle, and Makor took to the skies with a low, mournful rumble. His wings spread wide, slicing through the air as he rose above us, his dark silhouette a shadow against the rising sun.

Once.

Twice.

Three times he circled.

Then he dipped low, a slow, sweeping arc, and opened his mouth. A stream of fire burst forth, brilliant, controlled, reverent, engulfing the slab in golden flame.

Eilvin’s scream tore through the air, not his voice, but something deeper. A sound that echoed from beyond, from the soul leaving its mortal shell.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

But I wasn’t the only one.

Around me, eyes glistened, Jax’s jaw clenched, Riven’s lip trembled, Cordelle wiped his face without a word.