Page 26

Chapter 26

A LOUD ROAR SHAKES THE ground under my feet and vibrates through the stone bench I’m sitting on. A shadow flickers over me, the gloom devouring my perch one second and disappearing the next as a mighty acidic orange dragon streaks by overhead. I watch the majestic beast catch a current in the direction of Talon’s Reach, and then I turn around and observe the next initiate preparing for their run.

“Burner. Ash dragon,” Herm calls out from where he’s standing behind me next to a large arch covered in stunning magenta flowers.

“Na, I think he’s a Channeler. Mist dragon maybe,” Blay counters, his purple scale armor only a few shades darker than the blossoms surrounding him.

I ignore the banter, just like I’ve been ignoring it all morning, and watch as a new male prepares for his turn to showcase how quickly he can shift from his drake form into his dragon. I’ve watched a few of the other Call to Arms events this morning, but when it comes to choosing future Wing members, this one makes the most sense to me. I know better than anyone how important it is to shift, and how fucked you are when you can’t.

As a bonus, the competition is helping to keep Jori, Herm, and Blay occupied with betting and commenting on the initiates’ shifts, which means no one is asking any questions—or giving me any shit—about what happened the other day with Aeson. Which is good because I still don’t know what to make of any of it, and I’ve decided the best way to move forward is just to pretend like it never happened.

I’ve found a little garden alcove on the Render Tier that has a perfect view of the runways on Thrasher Tier, where the Call to Arms is taking place. Down below, the drake waiting for his turn to shift gets the nod from the instructor that it’s go time. He pulls in a few readying breaths, and then he takes off with a surprising burst of speed and sprints down the runway that’s been commandeered for this trial. There are a pair of yellow flags located about halfway down the strip that mark when the drake is clear to reveal his dragon.

The male crosses those flags and promptly leaps into the air. I hold my breath, waiting to see what kind of dragon he’ll shift into, but his reveal doesn’t immediately take over like it did with the others. The initiate catches good air for a moment, but when he doesn’t sprout wings, claws, and scales, gravity has no choice but to humble him.

“Oooh,” Jori groans as the drake crashes back down to the ground hard.

I wince, and the initiate rolls twice, dirt swirling around him in an explosion of limbs, dust, and failure. Just when he’s about to skid to a stop, his shift finally kicks in. Scales overtake skin, spikes replace hair, and wings rip free from the male’s back. His size quadruples and then quadruples again until the drake is gone and the dragon is revealed.

The blue-gray beast bellows an unmistakably irritated snarl and then surges from the ground with several flaps of his powerful wings. The wind kicks up as the massive creature stretches for the sky. He circles the training field once and then heads in the same direction as the orange dragon and all the others that came before them.

“Well, he got up there eventually. If he scores well for the rest of the tests, this might not boot him out of the running,” Blay observes, and Herm and Jori grunt their agreement.

“We all had our own issues with performance anxiety back in our day,” Jori points out thoughtfully.

I bite back a snicker.

“The minute you know your Call to Arms is royal, there’s a lot more pressure on everything and way more eyes watching every move you make,” he adds as he watches the blue-gray dragon weave through the sky.

“True,” Blay agrees. “I had trouble getting up and off a deck during mine. They gave us these huge loads we were supposed to shoot off mid-flight, and I really struggled.”

This time, I can’t hold back my giggle. All three of them turn their puzzled gazes on me.

“Are you three even talking about Wing trials anymore, or is that code for something I really don’t want to know about?”

My smile is wide as I tease the guards, but their faces remain perplexed like they have no clue as to why I’m tittering away over here. It makes me laugh even harder.

Admittedly, I might be a little slap happy. I haven’t been sleeping well, and the last few nights were no exception. I sigh and run a hand down my face as my laughter fades and slowly drops away. The amusement is a welcome reprieve from the melancholy that was starting to seep past my serrated edges. I should have known it was a bad idea to sit here for as long as I have, watching drake after drake do the one thing I wish I could but can’t. Reveal.

I probably should have saved myself the mind fuck and left a while ago—what started out as fun and informative has quickly morphed into something torturous and crushing—but there’s something undeniably magical about being around dragons. I’ve seen them as the enemy, as something to be feared, as the architects of my impending death. But sitting here, watching them like this, it pulls back the curtain on something I’ve never truly appreciated until now.

Dragons are incredible.

Massive and fearsome. Stunning and lithe.

They’re everything I’m fighting to have and everything I mourn.

Every day I spend here in Four Tiers opens my eyes to what I’ve been missing for no other reason than I haven’t taken the time to see it. My focus has been fixed for so long on surviving and trying to break this bloody curse, that it’s given me blinders to everything else. But broken or not, I am a dragon inside, and I’m starting to see and understand what that means.

Another dragon whips past us, and just like with all the others, I turn my head toward the sky, close my eyes, and wait to see if my dragon will react to the other’s presence. I search my depths for the shattered pieces of what I am, hoping against hope that they’ll magically awaken and I can be one step closer to being whole…but nothing happens.

My eyes flash open and I exhale an annoyed breath. I wanted to see if all of the roaring, trumpeting, and revealing might have an effect on me. If it might call to my dormant other half the way Aeson’s been able to since I got here. It was worth exploring, but so far, there’s been nary a stir or a peep of anything in me other than frustration and a growing headache. A fact that’s really killing my theory that my reactions could be a proximity-to-dragons thing and not specifically an Aeson thing.

Unfortunately, it seems like that fucker is special. I just wish I knew how and why.

“Scion Noctis approaching,” someone declares loudly, like an ancient herald demanding everyone rise to pay respects to the incoming royal.

“Think of the devil and he shall appear,” I mumble peevishly, ignoring the flutter that starts in my stomach.

I don’t turn around to greet the commander, still not quite ready to see or speak to him after what happened yesterday. I’m not even sure what to say. It’s just my luck that the only instincts that seem to be waking up from their long cursed sleep are the insatiable horny dragon ones and not the big, scary, scaled kind.

Part of me is tempted to call Aeson out for setting me up, for wanting to use me. And another part of me is tempted to let him…to see if riding his cock will release my dragon.

I snort out a laugh.

What if the key to breaking the curse isn’t based on blood and bloodlines like we thought? Maybe the solution is of the fairy-tale variety—only it isn’t true love’s kiss that sets us free, it’s dragon dick.

I shake my head at myself. I really need some sleep. At least one night free of any nightmares or jolting awake in a panic until I realize that I’m not in a cell anymore. Maybe then I’d be able to get my head on straight and stop thinking about Aeson…and his lips, his voice, that possessive way he looks at me, his body…

“My brother will be glad to hear that you’re taking the selection of your Wing so seriously.”

I jolt in surprise and turn to find Lorn Noctis standing over my shoulder. My lurid thoughts hastily skitter away at the sight of the heir, and I bat at the irritating buzz of disappointment that tries to dive-bomb me.

“He was worried you’d still be difficult even though you lost your…little agreement,” Lorn continues, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“Me, difficult?” I chirp. “That doesn’t sound right at all.”

Lorn tilts his head like he’s conceding to my point, but his grin is cheeky. “You’ve certainly been quiet since you got here. I expected at least one escape attempt by now.”

I don’t bristle at the implication that he’s had eyes on me. I knew I was being watched—hence the being quiet—but it’s still vexing as fuck that he’s so comfortable with brazenly pointing it out. What’s worse is that I can’t tell if he’s simply being factual or reminding me not to step out of line.

I wave off his comment. “I considered it, but then the royal chef introduced me to her boysenberry cheesecake, and I decided it might be worth sticking around for a bit.”

Lorn chuckles. “That’s Aeson’s favorite dessert too,” he tells me, and I like that even less than the reminder that I’m always being watched.

“I never said it was my favorite; I just said it was worth delaying my plans for a day or two,” I correct while casually examining my nail beds.

Lorn’s eyes glitter with amusement, but it’s not the same kind of gleam that tells me he’s into this kind of back-and-forth. It’s the look of a predator that thinks it’s diverting to watch its prey put up a fight. The cat is happy to let the mouse struggle. It might even let it go a few times for the entertainment of watching the mouse frantically try to scurry away before being caught again. But eventually the cat’s going to get bored and bite the little mouse’s head off, and that will be that. I wonder when Lorn will flash his teeth at me?

“I’ll have the cooks send up their almond tart next, or maybe their chocolate fudge cake. See if we can convince you to give us a few more weeks of your time,” Lorn teases, moving to the end of the bench I’m sitting on, but he doesn’t sit down.

I think he likes the height advantage it gives him, not that I’m any closer to bridging the gap even when I’m standing. Both Noctis brothers are huge.

“Not a lot of cheesecake down in The Scorch?” Lorn asks evenly, like it’s a throwaway question meant to keep the conversation going and nothing more.

I know better.

“Not a lot of cake or indulgences of any kind, outside of the brothels,” I answer, content to stick to inane subjects instead of broaching any of the more important topics I’m sure he’s here to press me about.

“What do you get, then? Food-wise, not in the brothels,” he clarifies with a smirk.

“Snake meat and dune boar,” I answer, not missing the desert cuisine even a little.

I’m careful to select two things that won’t point to a specific region or help Lorn glean any other details about where exactly I grew up. I know The Horde is actively searching The Scorch for wyverns and anything else they can find. Last I heard, they were still coming up empty, and I’d like to keep it that way.

Lorn winces. “Sounds…gamey.”

I huff out a hollow laugh. “Accurate description.”

My thoughts wander to our makeshift settlement, and I can’t help wondering how everyone is. If they miss me. If Enslee even told them I’m alive or if she’s trying to keep a lid on it while she tries to flush out our traitor.

We certainly didn’t have much growing up. A fact that shouldn’t be true for any dragons living in Drameric. Not when our blood carries the most potent concentration of magic and therefore has the highest exchange rate on the market. But there’s a death sentence in every drop of Syphon blood, and we never risked using it. We did trade sorcai blood after our hunts, when we were in desperate need of credits, but even then, we were as careful and circumspect as possible.

Something dawns on me, and my thoughts turn dark. From the moment I pieced together that our run-ins with the Tainted weren’t random like we thought, I’ve been trying to figure out how we ended up on their radar in the first place. I figured we caught their eye somehow and that’s when the hunt began. However, now I think one of the intermediaries we used to procure credits in exchange for blood must have tipped them off. A couple were very focused on us and what we were. We offered our usual cover, which seemed to satisfy them, but now I wonder. If I’m right and our cover was somehow blown, it means the Syphons have more snakes in our nest than we thought.

Our attention has been trained mostly on The Horde. As far as we were concerned, dragons were our biggest threat. And while that still may be true, that myopic focus has kept us from spotting the other real dangers skulking in the shadows.

Shit.

I need to talk to Enslee. I need to warn her. We could have been followed, or watched, and we didn’t even realize it.

Irritation and worry overtake my thoughts. Maybe I can get Lorn to give me a com. I look over at the heir and consider my options. He’d probably be the better brother to approach about it. His countenance leans more calculating and less controlling than Aeson’s. Lorn of course would carefully monitor every call I made, but maybe Nixy could help me hack a secure line.

It would be risky, but the sudden ache to speak to my sister, to hear her voice and know that she’s okay, has me willing to chance it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lorn asks, his cool blue eyes intently studying my face.

I realize with a start that I’ve been staring at him like some weirdo as I work through a possible plan. Heat suffuses my cheeks. Immediately, I phase out of creeper mode and drop my gaze.

“I was just wondering when you’re going to tell me why you’re here?” I lie, internally patting myself on the back for a quick recovery.

“That answer was dishonest, Scion,” a large male announces out of nowhere.

I launch a glare in the direction of the Thrasher I forgot was even there. Lorn’s guards are quieter and more adept at blending in with the scenery than Aeson’s. The male’s beard and ponytail are the exact same dark brown color as his scale armor, but his eyes are a rich swirl of green and gold. The unusual hue stares me down, daring me to deny the lie he just caught me in.

Dick.

Lorn turns to me expectantly with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. I keep my eyes trained on the Thrasher, unwilling to confirm or deny anything.

“What’s your name?” I ask the giant lie-detector pain-in-my-ass.

“Selik,” he tells me, an annoying gleam in his pretty swirling eyes.

“I forgot that you haven’t met everyone,” Lorn murmurs apologetically. “This is Onalar and Lyndry,” he introduces, waving in the direction of a green-armored Channeler and a Burner brandishing bright orange scale armor.

I exchange nods with Lorn’s Wing members and then turn back to the scion.

“Really though, what do you want, Heir?”

Lorn laughs and presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Princess. Can’t I catch up with a friend, see how she’s doing?”

“We’re not friends.”

“But we could be,” he counters, not missing a beat.

I study his face, his body language, the teasing glint in his light blue eyes. He’s abandoned the crisp white suit and cape I last saw him in for a more relaxed, black-and-white fitted jacket and matching pants. It almost looks like he’s wearing fancy moto gear, but the neck of the jacket wraps halfway up his throat, and there’s a panel in the back that resembles outdated tuxedo tails. I’m sure it’s the height of men’s fashion here in Paragon City, but it looks entirely too fussy for me to truly appreciate, even if it does highlight every chiseled inch of Lorn’s gargantuan frame.

My eyes flick dismissively from the heir back to the event below us. “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

Lorn chuckles, not at all deterred by my rejection. He follows my gaze and turns to watch a drake run full tilt down the runway below before shifting into a lean chartreuse dragon. A weighted silence slips between us. One that breaks when Lorn finally turns back to me, his powder blue eyes filled to the brim with calm confidence.

“I have something I want to show you.” A lock of white hair dares to drift down over his forehead, and he brushes it back, his eyes set intently on me.

“What is it?” I ask, suddenly anxious.

“Let’s let it be a surprise.”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of my head. “Not a chance. I hate surprises.”

“I thought you were pretending to not be difficult?” he points out, a spark of mischief alighting in his gaze as he holds a hand out to me like he fully expects for me to take it.

“You don’t know me well enough to surprise me with anything I’d like,” I tell him, ignoring his outstretched hand until he drops it back by his side. “And even if you did…the surprise would be ruined by the fact that I don’t like surprises.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the way Lorn is towering over me, I stand up. Which might have been a better move in theory than execution, because now I’m practically pressed up against his chest, and his three Wing members all take a cautious step in our direction.

Perfect, Ever. Rub your tits on him and freak out his guards.

Way to think this through.

Lorn holds up a hand to his Wing at the same time we both move away from each other. My face is on fire with embarrassment. I keep my eyes trained on the ground and straighten my outfit while I try to calm my chagrin. My hands are clammy as I run them down the inky fabric of my nice pants to smooth any creases. The trousers fit tight on my calves, loose around my thighs, and sit low on my hips. Nixy told me to pair them with a long-sleeve top that bares my stomach and wraps around my chest and neck with various strips and straps that I managed to get tangled up in until Tove came grumbling to my rescue.

I’ve felt perfectly comfortable in the outfit all day, but suddenly I feel underdressed and unprepared to deal with the Burner heir and whatever it is that he wants.

Lorn clears his throat, and I swear the faintest touch of a blush sits just at the top of the collar of his shirt.

“Okay, we’ve established that you don’t like surprises. How do you feel about gifts?” he asks randomly, and it’s just off the wall enough for me to forget about the awkward tension and look up at him.

“Gifts?” I ask, confused. “Why does that matter?”

“You said I don’t know you well enough to know the things you like. I’m trying to fix that,” he argues.

I stare at him for a second, trying to see what angle he’s playing now, but his face and body language give nothing away. “Well…don’t.”

He barks out a laugh at the stiff admonishment. “Don’t get to know you? Why not?”

“I’m not that interesting,” I counter dismissively.

Lorn’s grin is impish. “I disagree, I find you very interesting.”

“Well…don’t do that either,” I warn, turning to walk out of the alcove and away from whatever is happening here.

Is he flirting? Does he think I’m flirting? I’m not, but maybe I should be, like I planned. Except I don’t know how effective that plan is anymore, not when I’m constantly scrambling to catch up with the Noctis brothers. Even when I think I get ahead of them, they quickly knock me on my ass and show me I was never even close.

I pick up the pace, eager to flee. I don’t like feeling as though I’m ten steps behind them; I need to regroup and think. Of course, I don’t get a minute to recalibrate, because Lorn jogs to catch up with me, his long legs eating up the distance much faster than I can create it.

“If you’re trying to dissuade me from finding out more about you, this isn’t the way to do it,” Lorn declares as he draws even with me.

“Then what will?” I snap, walking faster.

He shakes his head and surveys me as he keeps pace. “What are you running from?”

I scoff. “You. I thought that was obvious.”

“Ever, I’m serious,” Lorn declares, reaching for my arm and pulling me to a stop.

I let him, because I’m supposed to be figuring out how to get closer to Lorn, not dodging him, but it’s so much easier said than done. I feel like my hackles automatically go up whenever there’s a Noctis nearby. My finely tuned survivor instincts tell me to bolt far away and fast, but the answers I’m looking for require connection and closeness, two things that don’t exactly come naturally to me.

“Fine,” I huff after a beat, knowing I need to drop my guard at least a little—or appear to anyway. “What do you want to know?”

Lorn studies my face, his eyes flicking between mine. I’m not sure what he finds in my gaze, but whatever it is, it has the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

“Nothing too crazy, just all of your deepest darkest secrets,” he tells me casually.

I snort out an indignant laugh. “Oh, is that all?”

“That, and I’d like to circle back to the gift question.”

Another dragon goes soaring by us overhead. The flap of its wings stirs the sweet scent of the flowers all around us.

“Well, you already know what I am and who I am. It doesn’t get much deeper or darker when it comes to me. The way I see it, if we’re trading secrets, you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Fair,” he concedes with a smile that’s simultaneously inviting and disconcerting. “Is there a reason you won’t tell me what kind of gifts you like? You seem dead set on not answering.”

“Why do I need gifts?” I ask, irritation whirring around me like a cloud of cactus gnats.

I have no idea why this line of questioning makes me so uncomfortable, but it does, and for some reason, he’s not going to let it go.

Lorn looks at me like I just asked the silliest question he’s ever heard. “Everyone needs gifts…and before you give me a master class in stubbornness, I’m asking specifically because tomorrow you’ll take your official place amongst The Horde. It’s tradition for your family and friends to give you presents to celebrate your Naming Day. I want to know what you like. I want to know you well enough to pick out something you’d be happy to get, instead of giving you something you have to pretend you like because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“I’m not that nice,” I snort.

Lorn’s grin spreads wider across his face. “Still, I want to know, and I’m not going to shut up about it until you tell me. I’ll hound you if I have to, cancel all of my meetings and appointments just so I can breathe down your neck and ask over and over again what you want for your Naming Day.”

Agitation warms my blood, but I can tell he means business. He’ll do exactly what he’s threatening to get his way. It will be a clash of stubborn titans. I almost want to test him, see which one of us would come out on top, but I don’t have time for this shit. Not to mention, the last thing I need is another scion all up in my business 24/7. One is bad enough.

Lorn’s determined gaze softens a little, and he reaches up to capture a strand of my hair between his fingers. I freeze, my eyes darting to his touch. And just like in the rookery the other night—when I realized it was his lap I was sitting in after my freak out and not Aeson’s—I’m confused by why he’s touching me and unsure how I feel about it.

“I know this can’t be easy,” he tells me gently. “It should be your family giving you presents and getting you ready for what’s to come. I’m sorry they’re not here to help you, the way you deserve.”

The word family bounces around the hollows of my chest. The last time I was in Four Tiers, my father intended to Name and Claim me in front of The Horde. Now it will be Lorn’s father, King Noctis, announcing my existence. It’s a fucked-up full circle moment I hadn’t thought about until now.

But he’s right, and fuck, does it hurt.

You’d think time would dull the sharp edges of grief, but it doesn’t. Somehow it stays razor sharp and ready to slice you open when you least expect it. And you will never heal, because you will never stop bleeding.

Loss is the price you pay for love. But as grief carves me open once again, I can’t decide if it’s worth it.

A forlorn exhale cascades out of me, but then an idea occurs. The flicker of thought presses my demons back, and a spark of satisfaction winks to life as I settle on an answer that will let me kill two birds with one stone—or rather a perfectly balanced dagger, if someone is nice enough to gift me one.

A wry smile spans my lips. Delight rises through my features and morphs into a clever twinkle that permeates my gaze.

“Weapons,” I finally answer. “I like high-grade weapons.”

Lorn stops walking and just stares at me for a second. He looks shocked and confused, and I spot a little concern threading through the other emotions too. Unexpectedly, he barks out a laugh. It’s not the measured snicker with a touch of arrogance that he’s already directed at me a few times, but a deep, genuine expression of stunned delight.

“I should have known,” he guffaws, shaking his head. “I thought maybe a necklace or something more sentimental, but…weapons…”

His laughter rings all around us. It rebounds off the shrubs at my back and nudges me forward, like it wants me to get in on the fun too. I side-eye the scion, but the longer he cackles, the more catching it is, and I feel the corners of my lips tilting up in response.

An air gondola glides by, its abrupt presence diffusing the moment and drawing my attention. The airboat lands in a nearby clearing, and Lorn wipes a few laugh-tears from his eyes and then gestures in the direction of the aircraft.

“Let’s go, Princess, your chariot awaits.”

“Go where?” I instantly demand, but he doesn’t answer as he starts to trudge off in the direction of the gondola. “I thought we established that I don’t like surprises,” I shout after him.

“The sooner you get on, the sooner we’ll get to where we’re going, and then it won’t be a surprise anymore,” he yells back, as though that somehow makes this all better.

I sigh and fight the urge to argue. I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to underestimating the Noctis brothers. Lorn is going to get what he wants. But that’s okay, I’ll save my fight for when it really matters. Because I too excel at getting what I want…one way or another.