Page 102 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Unlike with Sangui, where my hands had been drawn to the hilt, I had no desire whatsoever to wield that blade. It looked positively ominous.

I did not even dare to lay my hands on the smooth gray stone under it. I knew what would happen if I touched the sword.

The pain would be enormous and disabling. The madness it brought with it had been known to kill even strong, healthy men.

Even if they were right about me having the blood of the gods, only the Dagda himself could wield the elderwood blade. Even Danu, the Morrigan, could not touch it.

"Careful," Io said from behind me.

I turned and just the sight of him made the tears of frustration begin to prick against my eyelids again.

He turned me away from the sword and kissed me, softly on the forehead. "It's not hopeless, Sera. They'll find another spell. Pettal said to tell you she will not stop until she gets them off. If someone was able to lock it, she says she will be able to unlock it."

I nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful despite the maudlin turn of my thoughts. I had felt out of sorts since the moment Cassius gave me his theories about the prophecy.

I turned back to the elderwood blade. "I have always wanted to see this.”

"I've always thought it a bit underwhelming."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You find one-million-year-old petrified elderwood that was once wielded by the king of the gods...underwhelming?"

He shrugged. "I always expected flames or lightning."

I laughed. "Pick it up. I'm sure you'd feel the lightning in it then."

He chuckled. "Perhaps I would. But first, I want to show you the dragons."

His smile was playful, and I knew he was trying to make me feel better.

It worked. But then, he always made me feel better.

We flew back toward the Reach.

Just on the other side of the mountain, the wide, dark mouth of a cave came into view.

It was nowhere near as large as the Meroway cavern. In fact, it looked only slightly larger than Veles' wingspan. I was nervous as we approached, imagining him running into the sides.

But he did not enter. Instead, he landed on a flattened plateau outside the entrance where I could see a narrow path leading back down to Dragon's Reach.

The Dragon's Rest, as it was called, did wonders to soothe my irritated soul.

Outside the cave, dragons rested in the snow—some old, some young, in many different colors. Some were even wild dragons, as Io informed me.

"Be careful of them, especially. They will not know you and can be very dangerous."

The dragons looked at us with only slight curiosity, but Io must have picked up on the fear his words elicited because he told me with a cocky grin, "Don't worry. You're with the Lord of Darkwatch. No dragon would dare harm you when I’m here."

I raised a brow and frowned at him.

He laughed and admitted, "Most would not dare harm you in any case, but wild dragons are not always so predictable. When you make your oath to Darkwatch, though, that will change. They will know you as lady, and even the wild ones would give their lives to protect you."

The idea surprised me—to realize that the oath was more than just words—that it had some magical connection to this great land and the beasts who called it home.

The cave was rather mundane; shadowy, with dark gray stone walls. It was nothing like the colorful city cavern. But it was still massive.

Steps and paths had been cut into the stones leading down into the darkness. Lanterns hung from metal poles jutting from the rock. They cast faint yellow light to guide our steps as we descended.

"This is one of many dragon caves throughout the mountains," Io told me. “There are many times more dragons in Darkwatch than people.”

We reached a level area where the rock was smooth.

I could see the path sloping away upward toward a rounded, elevated area where it was even smoother.

The faint light from the cave opening behind us cast a diffuse glow over the raised area so that it looked like it had been featured—placed in focus.

"What is that?" I asked.

"That is the king's throne," Io replied. I heard a loud scrape and the clatter of many small rocks raining down the incline behind us.

I let out a startled laugh as Veles hauled himself down through the cave and slid up onto the rocky prominence. He lowered his head, tucked in his wings, and curled his tail around himself as though settling onto his throne for a nice long nap.

When we passed him perched there, I asked, "So where are the other dragons?"

In answer, Io raised his hand and lazily flicked a ball of orange fire out into the shadowed cave. It flared brightly as it reached its zenith. The brief glimpse of what lurked in the shadows had me backing away.

Dragons were everywhere, curled up together in knots of what looked like ten or twenty all pressed together. Every corner of the cave—much larger than I had even realized, was covered with groups of huddled dragons.

They were all shapes, all colors, all sizes—all manner of terrifying teeth and scales and claws and wings accounted for in the darkness.

I thought I saw a flash of shiny white scales before Io’s fire winked out and the cave returned to shadow. I wondered if Eroa was curled up in one of those groups.

I only stopped backing away when I glimpsed the shadows behind me and realized there were, no doubt, just as many dragons behind me as before.

I was apparently endlessly amusing to the dragon mage at my side since he was laughing outright at my discomfort. I gave him a little shove and strode ahead confidently—to prove I was not truly afraid of what lay in the darkness.

I had to draw myself up short, though, as the chamber ended in a steep drop above a cavern so large it made even the Meroway cave look small by comparison.

At the bottom was a lake of bright molten orange that cast a diffuse light through the entire seemingly endless abyss.

Smoke and steam rose from the lake, filling the air with the acrid scent of burning and sulfur. I could see areas of midnight black interspersed with glowing orange cracks on the surface where the lava had partially cooled.

There were more dragons visible in the cavern. Many of them were stretched out just at the edges of the lava lake, and I glimpsed a few of them flying through the smoky air.

Io stepped beside me as I looked up. The top of the cavern was lost in the gloom, but I could see the ends of pale white roots hanging from the ceiling.

“Is that…” My voice trailed off as my eyes adjusted to the gloom enough to make out the massive network of wispy black webs suspended between tall dark-stone pillars.

“Spiderwebs,” he supplied.

The fear that I’d felt when I saw the dragons did not even come close to matching the terror that ran through me to see such large webs, envisioning the size of the spiders who wove them.

I tipped my head back, certain one of the horse-sized spiders might drop from the inky black any moment and drag me away into their web.

Io laughed again, and I gave him a dark look.

“The nesericum are a peaceful people,” he said. “And shy. You’d be lucky to see one if you came in here every day for a year.”

“People?” I said, my brows shooting up.

“Well, not precisely,” he replied. “They are sentient enough to maintain a trade with us, though. We bring them livestock for their meals. They give us their silk in return.”

His assurances did little to overcome my unease as we turned to the left and threaded our way down the side of the cliff. I had always been afraid of spiders. For no reason whatsoever, the little bastards could drop in for an appearance and make me scream like a child.

It grew much warmer as we moved deeper into the cave. By the time we reached a large, flat area near the bottom, I had to remove my jacket. Io took it from my hands, slinging it over his shoulder.

The dragon nursery was cut into the wall of the cavern. Whether natural or man-made was impossible to tell. It was tucked back behind a grate of ornate metal bars that stretched from floor to ceiling.

I heard soft singing as Io pushed the gate open.

A woman looked up from where she had her two hands wrapped around a black egg. She smiled and rose, letting the song die on her lips. "Welcome home, My Lord," she said sweetly.

Her name was Eritre, and she was Master of the Nursery, as I came to learn while she showed me around the space.

She was beautiful, just like every other fae, with wide, expressive brown eyes and tiny, perfectly heart-shaped lips.

Her blonde hair was cut short, but it fell in stylish waves on top. It made her look younger than her speech and manners hinted at.

She showed me where it was safe to step and where my feet would sink into what I could now see was thick, boiling hot mud that belched little clouds of sulfur as it bubbled and roiled.

“We keep them in the mud so they stay warm,” she explained. “They need the heat they would get from their mother’s body.”

“Why don’t they stay with their mother then?” I asked.

“Dragons do not make the best mothers,” Eritre explained, laughing ruefully. “There is always great risk in her cracking them when she is not being careful enough. And many of them simply abandon their eggs, leaving them to the elements because they cannot be bothered to sit for so long.”

Eritre pointed to a door set back into the wall. She explained that nearer to hatching, the eggs would no longer need the heat. They would be taken to a more secure room where they could hatch without worry that the fragile hatchlings would get stuck in the mud or wander out into the lava lake.

Drowning—not burning, was the concern with the lake, I realized with wonder. Dragons could not be burned, after all.

We left Eritre in the mud room and Io took me through the door into the hatching chamber. Only a few eggs lay atop long tables, nestled in wooden crates filled with soft hay.