Page 33 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)
The corridors were deserted, lit only by the occasional guttering torch. I moved silently through the shadows, avoiding the few locations where night guards might be posted. The dragon stables lay on the eastern edge of the Academy grounds, and most of the handlers would be asleep by now, with only a skeleton crew maintaining watch over the dragons, and they wouldn’t turn their head at a noble entering to see her dragon.
Inside, the stable was warm and dim, filled with the sounds of sleeping dragons—deep, rumbling breaths and occasional snorts or low growls as they dreamed dragon dreams. The air smelled of hay and leather, of oil used to keep scales supple and the metallic tang of the iron collars every Academy dragon wore.
I moved quickly past the stalls holding the browns and greens, the common beasts used for basic training. Sirrax, being rather larger, was housed in a larger enclosure at the far end of the stable, separated from the others, as was Jalend’s bronze.
When I reached his stall, he was already awake, his golden eyes gleaming in the darkness like twin moons. He sensed me coming, as he always did. Our bond had grown stronger with each passing day, a connection that sometimes frightened me with its intensity. He understood me in ways no human ever had, not even Marcus.
"Hello, beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to stroke the warm scales of his muzzle. "Ready for an adventure?"
Sirrax rumbled deep in his throat, a sound of agreement and anticipation. He lowered his head to nuzzle against my chest, nearly knocking me over with his enthusiasm.
"Careful," I laughed quietly. "You'll wake the entire stable."
I ran my hand along his neck, noticing again how the iron collar around his neck seemed in even worse condition than before. It had been bothering me for days, the way it chafed against his obsidian scales, leaving raw patches that were slow to heal.
"Let's get you outside," I murmured, leading him toward the large exit doors that opened onto the training fields.
These doors were designed to allow dragons to move in and out during the day, but were barred at night. Still, the bars were meant to keep intruders out, not dragons in. With Sirrax's strength and my knowledge of the mechanism, we managed to slide them open just enough for us to slip through.
The night air was cool and clear, the sky above spattered with stars. A half-moon provided just enough light to see by without revealing us to any watching eyes from the Academy's towers. Perfect flying conditions.
I climbed onto Sirrax's back, settling into the familiar hollow just behind his shoulders, my legs fitting naturally against the curve of his body. No matter how many times we flew together, the rush of anticipation never faded—that moment of suspended potential just before we took to the sky.
"Let's go," I whispered, leaning low against his neck.
Sirrax needed no further encouragement. He crouched, muscles coiling beneath me, then launched upward with a powerful thrust of his hind legs. His wings unfurled with a soft whoosh of displaced air, catching the night breeze and propelling us upward in a steep climb that pressed me back against the harness.
Higher and higher we rose, the Academy shrinking beneath us until it was just one complex of buildings among many in the sprawling capital. The city stretched out around us, a constellation of torches and lamps, the grand avenues and plazas forming patterns visible only from above. Beyond the city walls lay the patchwork of farms that fed the Empire's heart, and beyond those, the darkness of forests and the silver ribbons of rivers.
And far to the north, barely visible in the moonlight, loomed the jagged silhouettes of the Cursed Mountains—the border between the Empire and Talfen lands.
Sirrax banked smoothly to the west, carrying us in a wide arc above the city. Up here, with the wind in my hair and the vast night sky surrounding us, I could almost forget the weight of my purpose. Almost.
Tonight wasn't for brooding on vengeance or plotting the Empire's downfall. Tonight was for flight, for freedom, for the simple joy of soaring through the darkness with Sirrax.
"Show me what you can do," I challenged, patting his neck.
He responded with a surge of speed that took my breath away, wings beating powerfully as we cut through the night air. Then, with no warning, he tucked his wings and dropped into a spinning dive that sent my stomach lurching into my throat. Just when I thought we'd plummet all the way to the ground, he snapped his wings open again, pulling us into a tight curve that bled off speed and sent us rocketing back upward.
I laughed aloud, exhilaration washing through me. This was what I lived for now—these stolen moments of pure, uncomplicated joy. Up here, I wasn't an imposter, a spy, a former slave playing at being noble. I was simply Livia, dragon rider, free as the wind itself.
We flew for what felt like hours, dancing through the night sky in patterns of our own devising. Sirrax seemed to understand exactly what I needed—speed and challenge, daring manoeuvres that required all my concentration and skill. He pushed me, as he always did, testing the limits of our bond, our trust.
Eventually, he began to tire, his wingbeats growing more laboured. I patted his neck in acknowledgment.
"Time to head back?"
But instead of turning toward the Academy, Sirrax continued northward, flying beyond the city limits toward the open countryside. I frowned, wondering what had caught his attention. It wasn't like him to ignore my suggestions, especially when he was fatigued.
"Sirrax?" I leaned forward, trying to see his face. "What is it?"
He gave no response except to continue his determined flight. I could have insisted, but something held me back. In all our time together, he had never led me astray. If he had a destination in mind, there must be a reason.
We flew over the farmlands surrounding the capital, the fields silver-grey in the moonlight. Finally, Sirrax began to descend toward a small clearing nestled between two hills, far from any visible habitation. The spot was perfectly hidden from casual observation, a natural bowl of land surrounded by dense stands of trees.
He landed with unusual care, settling onto the soft grass with barely a sound. I slid from his back, my legs slightly wobbly after the long flight. The night was silent around us, the only sounds our breathing and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
"What are we doing here?" I asked, stroking his neck.
Sirrax twisted his long neck, drawing my attention to the iron collar that encircled it. In the moonlight, I could see clearly what I'd only glimpsed before—the metal was deteriorating, patches of rust forming where it pressed against his scales. Worse, the areas beneath the collar were raw and inflamed, especially where the rusted sections made contact.
"Oh, Sirrax," I breathed, carefully examining the damage.
He rumbled low in his throat, a sound that somehow conveyed both pain and stubborn pride. I ran my fingers along the edge of the collar, feeling how it had loosened. The catch that secured it had begun to fail as well, the metal pitted and weak.
He nudged me gently with his muzzle, his golden eyes fixed on mine with an intelligence that sometimes unnerved me. In that moment, I understood exactly what he wanted.
"You want me to take it off."
I hesitated, suddenly caught in a sudden storm of conflicting loyalties. The very idea sent a chill through me. Removing a dragon's collar was expressly forbidden by Academy law. The punishments for such an offense were severe—expulsion at the very least, possibly imprisonment. All our training emphasized that an uncollared dragon was uncontrollable and dangerous.
But as I looked at the raw flesh beneath the rusting metal, I couldn't bring myself to care about Academy rules. Sirrax was in pain, and I could help him. That was all that mattered.
"Alright," I said, decision made. "Hold still."
I examined the collar carefully, looking for the best way to remove it. The catch was complex, designed to be manipulated only with a special key held by the dragon masters. But the rust had compromised its integrity, creating weaknesses I might be able to exploit.
I retrieved my knife from my boot—another habit from my days with Marcus—and began to work at the corroded sections of the collar. The metal flaked away under my blade, revealing more damage beneath.
"This might hurt," I warned, working the tip of my knife into a particularly deteriorated section of the catch. "Try not to move."
Sirrax remained perfectly still, not even twitching as I dug into the mechanism. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool night air—one slip and I could hurt him, possibly seriously. The minutes dragged by as I worked, my fingers growing numb with the effort of manipulating the delicate mechanisms.
Finally, I felt something give way inside the collar. There was a soft click, and suddenly the two halves of the iron band separated.
"I think I've got it," I said, hardly believing my success. "Ready?"
Sirrax gave a soft rumble of assent. Carefully, I eased the metal away from his scales, trying not to aggravate the raw areas beneath. The collar came free in my hands, surprisingly heavy for its size. I set it down on the grass beside me, staring at it in wonder. It looked so ordinary now, just a circle of rusted iron, nothing to suggest the power it supposedly contained.
"There," I said, rising to my feet. "That must feel better."
Sirrax's entire body had gone rigid, his eyes fixed on some distant point. A tremor ran through him, so violent I took a step back in alarm.
"Sirrax? What's wrong?"
I backed away further, heart pounding with sudden fear. What had I done? Was this why the collars were never removed?
The shaking increased, and Sirrax roared as his massive body began to twist and contort in front of my eyes.
I stumbled backward, nearly falling as his scales rippled like water in a storm. His body was changing, contracting, shifting in ways that defied explanation.
Sirrax's form seemed to collapse in on itself, his massive draconic body shrinking, contorting. Scales melted like wax, bones cracked and reformed with sickening sounds that echoed across the clearing.
The midnight scales that covered his massive form began to melt together, flowing like dark liquid over a frame that was rapidly shrinking, reshaping.
The transformation continued with alarming speed. His wings folded inward, disappearing into his back. His long neck shortened, his draconic head reshaped itself. The roar that had erupted from his throat transitioned mid-sound into something almost human—a cry of pain or release, I couldn't tell which.
Where my dragon had stood moments before, a man now collapsed onto his knees in the moonlit grass, naked and trembling. A man with skin the colour of midnight, gleaming in the moonlight like polished obsidian. Broad shoulders heaved with each laboured breath, moonlight gleaming on smooth skin that bore faint patterns reminiscent of scales.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. My mind refused to accept what my eyes were seeing.
The man slowly raised his head revealing a Talfen face of striking beauty—sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, a strong jaw, full lips curved into a grimace of pain or effort. Hair the colour of moonlight fell in a tattered tangle over his shoulders and down his back. He was tall and lean, with the hard-muscled physique of a warrior.
But it was his eyes that froze me in place—golden eyes, slitted like a dragon's, yet unmistakable. Eyes that knew me, eyes that held the same intelligence, the same untamed spirit I had come to recognize in Sirrax.
"Livia," he said. My name on his lips sent a shiver through me.
“Sirrax?” I whispered.
He smiled then, a fierce expression that showed teeth too sharp to be entirely human.
"Livia," he said, his voice deep and slightly rough, as though unused to speech. "At last."
***
To continue the story, find book 3, Realm of Swords and Storms, here!