Page 14 of Court of Embers (Dragonesse #2)

I sat on his back for a long, long moment, watching Kalros intently. I’d truly believed him dead once, and he’d managed to defy those expectations in a terrible way.

But his chest didn’t rise and fall, nor did he so much as twitch with a single death throe. This time…he was really dead.

Carefully, I slid from the saddle and landed on a soft carpet of moss. I re-wetted my silk bandana from the canteen, wrinkling my nose under it as I approached the corpse with Rhylan looming over my shoulder.

Larivor defend us , I whispered, making the circle of the wind over my heart with the hand that didn’t have Aela held at the ready. He looks like he’s been dead for weeks.

There was no possible way this dragon had been flying, fighting, nor skinning people and their wyverns, and yet…he had been.

He is , Rhylan added, sharing his own alarmed confusion with me. As in, he smells like a weeks-old corpse. Sera…Sera, I think I did kill him in Zerhaln.

I could only share my concept of agreement, not in words, as I examined Kalros’s body without getting too close.

Where his skin wasn’t freshly blackened with flame, it was decaying—the scales floating on a thick layer of putrescence that had once been skin, fat, and muscle.

His rib cage was nearly empty of innards, but for a strangely swollen set of bruised-looking, ripened lungs.

Bone, cracked from the heat of dragonfire, was exposed all over his body where his flesh had rotted away.

You did . I sheathed Aela, standing upright and tense, staring at the long-dead dragon before me. This was not a living dragon, not even moments ago.

As soon as Aela snapped into her sheath, Kalros shifted.

I sprang backwards, heart hammering painfully, but it wasn’t a death throe. His body began to collapse downwards, putrefying before my eyes…and those strangely swollen lungs split like over-filled sacs, spilling a flood of viscous, blackened pus to the ground.

The lush moss beneath his corpse immediately withered and died, and in a rolling reaction, the wither spread outwards, moss desiccating as his corpse settled in a puddle of black ooze.

Rhylan plucked me up off the ground, holding me in the cage of his claws as he backed away.

Give him Naimah’s burial rites , I instructed hurriedly, not wanting Rhylan to be touching the ground when that withering spread beneath us, not wanting to leave the corpse to rot Sylvaene from within.

That gut-churning smoke was rising from the ooze and decaying vegetation.

Gods only knew how long it would survive if left unchecked…

and it wasn’t my imagination that it seemed to be reaching for us specifically, flowing uphill towards our feet, because Rhylan also noticed, his alarm a bright spark within our minds.

I heard a brief cacophony in my head, Rhylan’s thoughts traveling down a hundred paths at once: doesn’t deserve it—what the fuck is that—will it survive dragonfire—can’t burn Sera—

Naimah’s rites! Hurry!

Rhylan practically tossed me into the higher limbs of the nearest tree; I wrapped my arms around the trunk, digging my nails into the soft bark as I squatted on a thick branch to watch.

Rhylan inhaled, so deeply I felt the pain in my own chest as my ribs expanded beyond their limits—and then he unleashed a final blast of dragonfire, concentrating the force of it squarely on Kalros’s body.

The flames dwindled to whispers of heat, and he inhaled again, releasing another blast.

Our throats ached from the flames; our lungs hurt. Flames boiled within us, each new ember stoked a small pain.

But when Rhylan reached his limit, throat scorched dry, even his tongue tingling, Kalros had been reduced to a fine pile of ash. The withered vegetation was so much dust; in the glistening embers, I saw nothing left alive.

I think it’s gone , he thought wearily. And I smell Malik’s flames.

So dragonfire kills it. Whatever it is . I stood on the branch, dropping into Rhylan’s outstretched forepaw and clambering over his shoulder. Once I was in the saddle, I leaned forward to rest my head on his overheated scales.

That black, puddled ooze, reaching across the ground…it was so familiar, a thought just out of reach. When I tried to reach for it, all I got was the memory of an ocean of ink. Had I dreamed of it?

I had a vague recollection of a dragon screaming, dragged into that darkness, but…it was no memory I could place at all.

And yet I remembered it.

But then, my memory was faulty. I knew this all too well, that I had blocked the gory details of Yura’s attack on me as trainees, retaining only my visceral fear and hatred of her.

Perhaps this ocean of clutching shadows was another thing I’d relegated to the deepest recesses of my mind, yet it was the kind of thing I would think I’d remember at such a critical time.

You dreamed of an ocean of this , Rhylan said softly.

You saw it clearly?

As clear as a dream could be, I suppose. But this is what it was. I didn’t realize that at the time, but the ocean, it was reaching up, dragging dragons into it. Dissolving them, feeding on them.

I blinked the acrid smoke out of my eyes, tears gathering in the corners. Rhylan may have burned it all to ash, but the heat, and the remains of Kalros’s spit, were burning my eyes. I felt them reddening, even with the breeze slowly pushing the smoke away.

I’d swear on my life I’d never seen such a thing. An ocean of devouring blackness? I’d remember something like that.

Nonetheless, you dreamed it and shared it with me. You dreamed of this exact thing .

I shook my head, not in negation, but confusion. I remembered a little of it, and the sound of a dragon’s terrible screams, and maybe…a final demand? A call?

But that was it. Nothing else came to mind.

I have no idea. Maybe I’ll dream about it again now that we’ve seen it in real life. This shouldn’t even be possible. We need to find Tyria, and help them destroy the other bodies—

She’s coming , Rhylan said, rising to stand and looking skyward. And they’re on it, beautiful. Malik’s flame-scent is strong.

I rubbed my reddened eyes, looking up as a massive green dragon spiraled overhead and came in for a heavy landing.

Like all the Jade Leaves dragons, his scales were a deep emerald, his body long and lithe, with leaf-like frilled appendages rising in a crest from his skull and trailing down his spine, exploding out from his forearms and cheeks. His flame-hot eyes were full of sick fury.

Cai. I recognized him from the First Convocation.

And Tyria was clutched in his talons. She stepped onto a stone that had gone unscathed by dragonfire, looking closely at the scorched remnants of Kalros and the ground he’d infected, fists clutched at her sides so tightly her knuckles were strained.

She sighed, but she didn’t relax. Soot smudged her hands and arms, and her dress had been tattered. But her pale green eyes turned to us, braids tinkling with the jade beads in them as she swung them over her shoulder.

“So you’ve managed to aid Sylvaene,” she said coolly.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude for the lives and land saved today. Be welcome to our hospitality. But you must come with me now to the burning of the pyres, as we’ve lost our own to this.

Now that this…this abomination is contained, we’ll perform the rites for our people.

You will participate in the prayer, Sera, and Rhylan, your flames will guide them. It’s the least you can do.”

“Of course, Lady Tyria,” I said, bowing my head humbly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said waspishly, stepping into Cai’s cupped foreclaws as she tore her eyes from the burned mass. “I expect you two to explain your damned foolishness to me, and I expect a damn good reason, or you won’t be receiving our support beyond a fair exchange of aid.”

With that, she gripped Cai’s claws, and he gave us one last, burning glance before launching into the sky.