Page 31 of Court of Embers (Dragonesse #2)

Chapter

Sixteen

T he wind was a quiet whisper in my ears, my own eyes nearly blind but for the crescent moon overhead. But I saw through Rhylan’s as he flew, no more than fifty feet above the ground.

As soon as we’d left the Krysiens, he’d dropped to such a low altitude I felt I could reach out and touch the treetops with my fingertips. But this was a mission meant for secrecy and silence. The sky was enemy territory now.

If all went well, Yura’s Court would be chasing shadows—Maristela and Gaelin to the west, Doric to the east. Cai and Kirana would be heading south with all speed.

I hoped Yura would believe we were holed up in Jhazra, but if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that hope was futile when it came to my sister.

But we’d seen no other dragons thus far. We cut well away from any towns and cities, remaining in the wilds. A few feral wyverns had given me a start, but they weren’t speaking of our passing to anyone.

It was the hour before dawn as we approached Koressis, the tower growing larger with every beat of Rhylan’s wings.

Well before we reached royal grounds, he slowed his pace, dropping to the ground and jogging a mile before he slowed to a walk. I don’t want to approach on wing. There’s something about this place I don’t like.

I slid from the saddle, ducking under his chin. We’d made it to the same pavilion we’d used to prepare for the First Convocation; no lights gleamed in the distance. The waning moon reflected off the bright white tower, and all else was shrouded in darkness.

The tower itself seemed almost too quiet. There was an Ascendant inside, along with many Historians as part of the royal staff. Looking at the tower now, all silent, it was hard to believe anyone was there at all.

They’re sleeping , I said, but even my thoughts felt doubtful.

Someone will be awake. Someone on watch . Rhylan’s claws scraped the dirt, and he lifted his head, breathing deeply. Nobody else is here. It’s now or never.

My mouth was oddly dry. I drank from my canteen, replacing it on the saddle, and focused on the base of the tower.

The royal doors were on the other side of the tower, two grand double-doors carved of the same pale wood we used in Varyamar.

The door behind the tower was much smaller. I followed the tree line towards it, skirting the lake with Rhylan behind me. There was a strange rasping sound in the distance and I tilted my head, but it became no clearer.

As we drew closer, I used Rhylan’s eyes to pick out the finer details on the door. It was white ash, and the face of a dragon crowned with a thousand horns was carved into its entire surface. Not the servant’s door, then.

Larivor , I said, thinking of that crown in the shrine, and the strange sensation that I’d seen it elsewhere, once upon a time.

But maybe I was just remembering this exact door. I had played around the lakes of Koressis as a child, though I’d had no interest in Historians at the time. Maybe I’d come upon this door once.

Rhylan settled close to the door, blocking me between it and him. If anyone was waiting for us, preparing to descend from above, he’d be my first line of defense. He was still twisting his head, trying to identify that rasping noise that floated in and out of earshot.

I knocked hard three times, and stood back a step.

What is that? He mumbled. It sounds like it’s close, and then far away. But it’s not coming from the forest.

A prickle ran down my spine. I didn’t like the sound at all.

Nobody answered. I waited, nearly shaking with anticipation, and raised my fist to knock again.

There!

The rasping sound came again. Louder this time, closer. Rhylan straightened, head swiveled towards the lake this time.

Then his head slowly turned towards the door.

It’s screaming, he said numbly. Inside the tower.

I stared up at him, my heart a ball of ice. Then I sidled to the door, pressing my ear against Larivor’s smooth wooden mouth.

If one was inside Koressis Eyrie, they were within walls composed of ten feet of solid stone.

They were behind doors thick and heavy enough that it took the strength of dragons to lift them.

Standing outside with the doors closed, one might hear a throat-shattering scream as a mere whisper, if at all.

With my ear pressed to the wood, I heard the screams. Faint, but full of animal terror.

My eyes locked with Rhylan’s. We were still for a long moment, muscles flooded with adrenaline.

He picked me up in one massive hand and moved me aside, then dug his claws into the wood. I felt the strain in him, muscles flexing, bracing his full draconic body weight against the walls of the tower as he pulled.

With a groan that rose to a shriek, he ripped Larivor’s likeness from the side of Koressis. I caught a quick glimpse before he tossed it aside—the width of the door was nearly the thickness of my palm length-wise.

A crossbar had been lowered, blocking our path, but Rhylan batted it aside. The splinter of shattering wood rent the air.

I ducked under his arm, boots crunching on the remains of the crossbar. I knew the wide, arched halls before me, the white marble, the soft golden carpeting underfoot.

This hall was dark. The eyrie was pitch-black inside. And instead of the smells of my second home—spices, parchment, a hint of sea breeze—there was a pervasive, sweet-spoiled reek.

Sera, stay out! Run!

Rhylan barreled into the hall, barely fitting. His wings scraped the ceiling.

I’m not running . I drew Aela, keeping a step ahead of him. If this is to be my throne, it’s mine to defend. We need the Historians .

Stubborn draga , he snarled, and there was no amusement in his tone. He had known I wouldn’t go. I had promised him as much with a kiss.

I reached out, brushing the walls, until my fingertips met a sconce. In my childhood, the torches had been placed in golden brackets shaped like dragons. Nothing had changed.

I pulled the torch down, sniffing. It was coated with fresh pitch. Flames, Rhylan.

He spat a small stream of black fire, and I thrust the torch into it. It blazed to life, crackling with bright fire, and I held it aloft.

Books and scrolls had been scattered all over the hall. Doorways that branched into different sections of the library were wide open, revealing the chaotic messes within.

There was blood smeared on the bright white walls, and the iron tang was almost strong enough to drown out the stench of rot.

Sera, I am begging you to leave , Rhylan pleaded, and I looked up at him.

Don’t ask me to leave you here, because I won’t . Neither hand was free, so I stepped close enough to bump my hip into his arm. Remember what I said? Whatever is here, we face it together.

His lips drew back in a snarl, but I knew he felt the iron will in my mind. I refused to leave if he stayed.

Follow the blood. We need to know what happened. And we just need… I took a breath, feeling callous. We only need one Historian.

Wouldn’t a true Dragonesse stand her ground until she’d saved them all?

But saved them all from what?

I licked my lips, creeping further into the darkness.

The halls of Koressis were a chaotic warren. As a child, it’d been delightful.

As an adult, prowling inch by inch into the pitch-black unknown, it was terrible.

I followed the blood smeared on the walls. Sometimes it was thick, pooling on the floor below, and sometimes no more than a single smear. If we needed to run, I’d follow the blood back to the door.

There was a breath of silence, and Rhyland and I both paused. And then the screaming resumed, louder, rasping, like the throat of whoever was shrieking so wildly was bleeding and broken.

The hallway twisted around, and I paused at the corner. There was an arm on the floor.

A Bloodless arm, all smooth skin without scales, thin little pink and white fingernails. The pinks were blue now, the skin fish-belly white.

Rhylan eased closer, nostrils flaring. I smell a dragon , he said tonelessly, his fury with me barely suppressed through our bond.

I held the torch higher, examining where the arm ended: just above the elbow. The flesh and bone had been sheared clean through, the tell-tale sign of a dragon’s teeth.

Yura was here , I said bitterly.

I stepped over the arm, hoping we wouldn’t turn another corner to find its owner.

What we found was worse.

Pieces.

With the raspy screaming a nightmare symphony in the background, I stared at the remains of the Historians.

They’d been taken apart…and then arranged.

The strange, sickening mandala of body parts filled the hallway, inexplicable in its deliberation.

There was a pattern to it, but not one my eyes could make sense of.

Between all the pieces was a sea of red, and I needed to walk through it.

Another shriek blasted through the halls like thunder, so close that goosebumps rose on my skin. The pools of blood shuddered with the force of it.

If I remember right, the Great Atrium is ahead . I tried to keep my mental voice cool and dispassionate, a far cry from the primal part of me that wanted to flee whatever was screaming.

I’m going first . Rhylan’s tone brooked no argument. I felt his mind going black; he was a hair away from picking me up and forcing me out.

So I acquiesced without words, allowing him to push past and move through the terrible carnage. I followed, trying to turn my mind off and ignore the warmth around my boots, the fact that they were freshly dead, the empty sockets where eyes had been.

What was the purpose of this violation? There was no sense to be made of it.

Rhylan slowed ahead of me, coming to a halt. I pressed close to his shoulder, looking over it into the Atrium.