Page 29 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The winged woman comes closer, drawn by my hatchlings’ vocal despair. Privy to humans’ depravity, I struggle to free myself but remain trapped.

All I can do is watch as the female descends on deep red and gold wings, her hair the color of the sands in shadows. Her curiosity transforms into concern as she spies my chicks ensnared in jagged stone.

Though I hiss and shriek, she spares me only a quick glance before focusing on my young. She attempts to alight upon the rocks, and the sharp edges rake her flesh. Blood trickles from lacerations on her legs and feet.

She withdraws and tries again. Blood wells in the spot where she slices her hand. Before long, numerous injuries and scratches crisscross her skin.

Despite my respect for her doggedness, despair stabs me, the pain intensifying with each of her successive wounds.

She is but a human. Even if she is the best of her kind, determination and courage have limits.

I’m already starting to mourn when, with an agonized groan, her fingers wrap around the first chick. Leaving behind a strip of flesh, she extracts one of my precious babies from his stony prison and cradles him in the warmth of her cloak.

Again and again, she plunges into the abyss, each rescue paid for with strips of flesh.

The woman’s limbs tremble as she gathers the last of my chicks. With the brood secure, she approaches me in the dwindling daylight. A steady drip of scarlet marks her path over the rocks.

“Shh, easy now. Let’s see if we can get you back to your babies.”

Her pain seeps into me as gentle fingers wrap around my foot. After careful maneuvering, she finally frees me.

A moment later, she collapses beside me, her strength waning and her eyes dimming.

My own eyes brim with tears from profound gratitude.

My little ones weep as well, onto the woman’s lacerated skin. As their blood and tears mingle with the winged human’s blood and tears, a magical confluence occurs.

In a spectacle of regeneration, her wounds knit together, radiant flesh replacing torn sinew and muscle in moments.

Shock registers on the human’s face. Then I feel it. Even my young feel it.

A connection never before forged between phoenix and human.

The human invites us to take refuge in her home. She leads us across a river, to a beautiful swathe of gardens surrounding an immense dwelling. The male humans guarding the dwelling rush to act on her orders, and my chicks and I are offered shelter at the palace

Over time, my trust slowly grows when nothing is expected nor demanded of us and our freedom remains uninhibited.

The friendship between phoenixes and winged humans blooms, and a bond forms.

In time, word of the sanctuary spreads its wings, reaching phoenixes far and wide. Each avian family that seeks refuge under the gilded eaves of the palace is welcomed with warmth and respect.

The vision shifts, ejecting me from the phoenix’s head and zipping years into the future. I plunge back into the past, only as a spectator rather than a participant, and witness history unfold.

I recognize the land, the buildings. It’s Yorla, the Lost City, full of people and life. The woman is clearly the princess, and her crowned father works with her to construct the necessary changes to the capital and palace.

The humans of the kingdom help weave nests, fortify perches, and learn the art of care without capture. The sight becomes common. Majestic birds nestled alongside those who walk the earth, a testament to the bond forged by the princess and the phoenix mother.

Years flit by as the human princess matures and her children sprout up around her like tender saplings. The palace thrums with life, both human and mythical. Phoenix song intertwines with the laughter of humans, a harmony that speaks of an era of peace.

This harmony draws in the dragons too. The princess, her soul a deep well of empathy from the bond, extends her emotions toward these winged titans.

A bridge of feeling spans between them, and the dragons, enamored with this silent communion, decide to linger. The connection between creatures of flight and walkers of the land strengthens.

Yet, amid this idyllic coexistence, sorrow finds its way to the heart of the kingdom.

The princess ages and becomes queen. During her reign, she welcomes all phoenixes and dragons who wish to form a bond with them. Humans fly with and upon the dragons. Phoenixes fly with and upon the humans. The three races live together in amity, each bringing their own strengths to the alliance.

When at last the queen breathes her final sigh, it is quick.

The wave of grief that cascades through the palace drenches every stone and ruffles every feather. Dragons and phoenixes, united in their mourning, fill the air with cries that resonate across the lands of Tirene.

The queen’s children prepare a farewell fit for one who bridged worlds. They lay her body out in the courtyard, where dragons and phoenixes alike can pay homage.

As the day wanes, the last rays of sunlight kiss the queen’s serene visage, igniting a blaze that engulfs her form. Flames erupt, fierce and wild, consuming this vessel of unyielding love and compassion. The fire burns with a radiance that mirrors the birth of stars, and the people of Tirene bear witness to an ending that is also a beginning.

The courtyard of the palace in Yorla thrums with magic. As the phoenix mother tilts her head toward the sky, recognition sparks within her ancient eyes.

She knows. All the phoenixes know without a doubt that the magical flames consuming the queen are not an end but a glorious rebirth.

Her heart soars as she communicates her revelation to the gathered dragons. Joyous roars reverberate through the air, harmonizing with the crackle and pop of the fire.

Amid this jubilant cacophony, the human onlookers, initially paralyzed by shock, gather at the courtyard’s edge, expressions morphing from fear to awe as they witness the spectacle before them.

From the fiery pyre, the queen re-emerges.

She steps out with the grace of one untouched by flame. Her body now glows with the freshness of youth. She appears only a few years older than when she first met the phoenixes.

Whispers ripple through the crowd.

The royal family of Tirene has been touched by the mythical, their lineage forever altered.

The dragoncallers rise, a name given new weight as the children and their descendants will carry the ability to touch minds with dragons and phoenixes and ease suffering with their empathic gifts.

Dragoncallers, born from kindness and nurtured by bonds stronger than any magic, stand as a testament to the enduring spirit of the Tirenese people.

But nothing good can last forever.

The sun casts long shadows over the palace in Yorla, and the courtyard rings with the clanking of armor and the roar of dragons.

And the heart-wrenching wails of the wounded returning from battle.

The horizon seethes with dark sails as ships of war approach. These invaders, driven by greed, are the descendants of the very people who decimated the phoenix population in distant lands. They come now to Tirene, lusting for the magic they believe can be wrung from phoenix tears.

Dragons take to the sky, their fire a protective wall to guard their smaller friends.

Alongside them, winged men and women draw swords. The queen, her eyes reflecting the fiery determination of her ancestors, stands at the forefront. But the forefront draws ever closer to the palace and farther from the shores.

The lands of the non-winged are much larger than Tirene. The sheer amount of soldiers they send to war wears down the Tirenese fighters.

The queen, first friend to the phoenixes and first of the dozens of dragoncallers born from her line, knows what must be done. She issues a heart-wrenching decree.

Phoenixes cannot fall into the hands of these merciless hunters.

They must part ways with their friends and flee their sanctuary.

Long before, the act of a single woman bonded three species into one glorious kingdom.

But on this day, the trinity is split into thirds.

The queen leads her troops into the largest battle with the flightless human invaders to distract them.

Dragons fly north with the phoenixes and their chicks to help them search for new homes.

A much smaller group of dragons heads south. Finding the vale, they destroy all traces that phoenixes were ever kept there.

All signs of their existence must be erased to ensure their survival.

The oldest of the phoenixes wants the story preserved for future generations. In one last act with the Tirenese and their magic users, she beseeches that this tale of sacrifice and unity be etched into memory.

The vision ends as a phoenix feather is plucked and readied for enchantment. It’s entrusted to the dragons heading to the valley, who will protect the legacy of friendship forged by compassion.

Rocky edges bite into my palms as I return to the present, to myself, huddled by the lake with the magical feather now slick with my tears. My chest heaves, each breath a shudder of misery from the vision that grasped me.

“Lark!” Bastian shakes my shoulders. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

The valley floor trembles underneath us, a prelude to the sudden rage that slams into my being. The tempest burns hotter than any fire I’ve ever conjured.

It’s the collective anger of an entire flight of dragons.

“I’m fine. I had a vision,” I gasp out as raw fury floods me. “But something’s wrong with the dragons.”