Page 21 of Dragon Blood (Dragon Island #3)

T he matron scowled at the first barrier to her prize and drew yet another deep breath before shaking the frustration out of her hands. The first set of heavily warded doors, made of the strongest wood.

Patience. We’ve waited too long for this opportunity, and there is far too much at stake.

Opportunity not by chance, but by painstaking design that would not be understood—not for a long while. Not until after this crisis that Regina was leading them into was long behind them.

Only then would Aeleftheria thank her for her great effort to preserve the freedom they fought so hard for all those centuries ago.

The matron remembered what it was like, and she would never forget, having lost a daughter in the war, and now the other was becoming a disappointment.

She didn’t understand. How could she? None of the younger generations truly did. Oh, they’d had their skirmishes and many, many close calls since the divide and the emigration. But there were few left who’d lived under the rule of dominance.

Never again.

And although the matron’s blood was as royal as Regina’s, the accident during the previous era had seen to it that she could no longer serve as an heir to her mother’s throne. And thus the crown had passed to her younger sister, Rayna. Regina’s mother.

As a youngling at the tail end of the previous cycle, a shining meteor had fallen from the heavens, impacting too near the original Aeleftherian territory, and Zadora had been too close. Too close even for a powerful dragon royal. When she’d awakened, her deep bond to the earth had been shattered, her essence altered, and her connection to the Mother nearly broken.

The day the meteor struck their earth, she ceased to be Zadora Arakkil. She was reborn as Zadora Steelscale, first of her name.

Her mother had mourned for her heir, but renamed and reshaped her anew during the tumultuous centuries that followed as the males exerted their will more and more.

Zadora could no longer be considered for rule, but she could be the throne’s greatest protector, when she beheld the celestial rock that altered her destiny and made her other .

The Dragon Star.

Over the last few centuries, Aeleftheria slowly forgot what Zadora sacrificed. The story was buried in the annals, her lineage broken from the royal chart and started anew.

So be it. But she wouldn’t let that sacrifice be in vain.

No.

There from the beginning of the Descent, through the Divide at the lowest point of the decline, and now that they were facing the Ascension, she would see it through, as she had everything else.

These greedy males had taken nearly everything from her. Nearly.

Zadora didn’t know how much longer she had before the earth reclaimed her bones. She guessed that she still lived out of sheer will and duty.

Protect the throne, even from itself.

And if that meant removing her niece from her position as ruler in order to protect Aeleftheria and reinforce her most sacred duty to the Mother, so be it.

Zadora would do what she had to, as she’d always done.

Working with one enemy against another was just a tactic that every side employed. A gamble.

She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty so that the queen could remain pristine—as she should.

There were a few others among the councillors who secretly shared Zadora’s dedication, though none would ever conspire.

That, she did alone.

Manipulating, whispering, pressuring.

But she knew their leanings. Saw it in the glint in their eyes, the tightening around their mouths despite their greatest efforts to maintain the mask of neutrality that every councillor was expected to bear.

Behind those masks, burned a fierce resolution to maintain Aeleftheria’s sovereignty.

No matter the cost.

For Zadora, no cost was too high.

She’d groomed Kolina her entire life to follow in her wake, and she’d proudly watched her granddaughter Kymri slide right in line behind her.

Until her defiance to breed had brought the world crashing down around them.

Kymri had rebelled against the one duty that all dragonesses had to fulfill, that metal dragons could not deny. Providing a youngling to solidify Aeleftherian society. Produce offspring to secure their survival and relieve that biological necessity.

Her resistance had thrown her into an acute heat, endangering their nation when she refused to execute the heir of their greatest enemy, and instead took him to her bed, leading the enemy into the heart of their nation.

And somehow, in a matter of months, managed to turn Aeleftheria’s staunch stance against male dragons into one that now seemed to accept nearly all of them.

The change had been blistering, and Zadora struggled to regain control over the Aeleftherian narrative, holding the course.

Regina had seemed to succumb to the poison of the outside world and let her guard down. She’d grown soft. Weak.

So Zadora had done what was necessary before she gave everything up. She had to fix what her daughters had broken.

She had another granddaughter, as dedicated as herself.

She needn’t know the depths of Zadora’s machinations, but she’d always been useful. Unwavering.

Zayli would understand. In time.

For now, all she had to do was follow orders. Zadora’s orders, by way of the Council, Zayli believed. And so far, she’d done nicely.

Now. Zadora just had to gently work her way to the inner chamber that housed the blessed seal that recognized only royal blood.

She had to get it to distinguish that she had royal blood, too. Her mother had been queen.

But she was also running out of time.

If Zadora could no longer claim the title of queen, she could at least guide the errant princess Astred on the right path. The righteous path, to protect their little nation from exploitive, destructive males.

At least until it was time for the Mother to reawaken.

Zadora could and would do that.

She just needed more time, and she’d nearly lost her advantage during her confrontation with the Consortium agent’s arrival and refusal to cooperate.

Guardian Marli Fleetwing had almost uncovered her identity.

Almost.

By some luck of the goddess, she was sure, Fleetwing had not been able to capture or identify her, and it had taken much careful maneuvering to have the investigation placed in the hands of less skilled guardians without too much suspicion.

Zadora had to be careful.

She’d grown impatient and nearly lost everything she’d worked so hard for.

Now, as she stared at the locked and warded door, she sought the connection she’d nearly lost centuries ago.

Nearly.

There was still a whisper.

The thinnest of strings tethering her to the Mother. Her destiny.

She’d given herself to the greatest of earthly treasures protected by the astral sanctuary deep beneath Aeleftheria.

The sleeping Mother. Their Goddess, who would rise in time to bring fire back to the dragons to burn the infiltrators of the other world when they came.

Zadora had been meant to lead all of dragonkind, not just Aeleftheria.

But the fall of the meteor had severed that destiny and almost severed that thread—that most fragile link to their deity.

Her own mother had seen that star fall from the heavens, transform the heir anew, and saw it as a sign that Zadora’s destiny led elsewhere.

She would give anything to feel that connection again, as she had during her youth.

Pure and powerful. A connection so deep, to a being so divine, it was indescribable. She’d longed for it. That sense of wholeness. That knowing her destiny was defined. Zadora swallowed the resentment of the stars’ interference. She’d never wanted to be the protector of the oracle.

Her life, her duty, was to be the oracle.

To bathe in the knowledge of the Mother’s light and love.

To be her voice and her will.

To wield her power and steer dragonkind’s destiny.

Her sister hadn’t been able to withstand the strain of such a soul bond. Her niece hadn’t been able to resist the illusion of peace.

Too easy . Peace was a compromise that Zadora would never give in to. She couldn’t repair the exposure, but she could ensure their solidity. The Great Mother deserved nothing less.

The wards gave way under the drop of Zadora’s blood, deep inside the lock’s finger holes.

Breath held, she turned, then turned again, heart racing.

Perhaps the celestial stone is hidden here too?

Zadora shivered at the thought of the power of the artifact, combined with her access to the Great Mother.

A faint click as the door released and hushed open, revealing the antechamber.

“Finally,” she whispered on an exhale, loud in the silence of the chamber deep below the citadel.

She just wanted to see it. The seal, secreted away for so very long.

Body quivering, the ancient dragoness stepped forward.

Spelled lamps flickered to life, illuminating the narrow room housing nothing but the next thick door bearing… nothing.

Zadora’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest and up her throat as her stomach dropped.

No.

She surged forward, palms flat on the door as she struck it.

“No!” she wailed.

Her hands slid over the vacant casement that normally cradled the Aeleftherian seal to the Mother’s chamber.

“Astred.” She seethed. “Fool!”

No one else could have taken it.