Page 7
Chapter 7
I’M NOT SURE HOW LONG I pretend to doze before the car starts to drop. We’ve reached our destination. I keep my eyes closed, not caring to discover where we are. Wherever it is, I doubt I’ll be here for very long.
“The other Flight is already back. Guess they didn’t find anything,” someone observes, but I can’t match the voice with a name.
“Let’s go, dragoness,” Ogdan orders, kicking at one of my boots to get me moving.
“You go on ahead, I’ll catch up,” I mumble and wave a dismissive hand at him.
His answering laugh is vexingly warm. “You opting for the hard way already? And here I thought you’d hold out for a little longer. Don’t make me lose the bet to Tove; her coffers are plenty full already.”
An amused snort slips out of me before I can stop it. Thankfully, a sudden onset of irritation swiftly drowns out any lingering mirth.
I will not like this drake. He is not funny. He’d slaughter me without a second thought if given the order…they all would.
Cracking open my eyelids, I sit up and find the car almost empty. Aeson is standing by the open door, and Ogdan and Jori are both looming over me. All of their demeanors are more serious than they’ve been up to this point, so I lock down my innate desire to do the exact opposite of what they’re telling me to and instead get up.
I’m escorted out of the lirocar into the waiting night. Stars wink down at me from above, just like I expected, and a pang of longing for home splinters through me. It may be brutal and desolate where I’m from, but nothing beats the view of the heavens from The Scorch.
It’s quiet wherever we are. Remote. I’m sure that’s not by accident, and it has me buzzing with uneasy anticipation. I’m led toward a large metal building with two massive sliding doors, one of which is open. Light spills past the threshold, and bugs fly around in a frenzy, searching for the source. Bats feast on the mania, swooping down through the melee to eat their fill. Three towering males step out of the building, their presence instantly chasing the feast and feasters away.
“Is this her?” one of them asks, and I can feel his eyes raking over me even though his face is hidden in shadow. “She doesn’t look in bad shape.”
“Typical healers, always getting hysterical over nothing,” another male I can’t make out grumbles. “We’ll take her in, Commander. Lorn asked that you and your Flight do a security sweep before you debrief. He’d like to leave within the hour.”
Ogdan stiffens infinitesimally, but Aeson simply nods and gestures for Jori and Ogdan to follow him. Alarms blare in my head, and every sense I possess goes on high alert. I watch the group of dragons that brought me here stride off into the dark, and even though they’re Horde and ran me down in the street like a dog, I can’t help feeling like they’re the safer option compared to the trio before me.
The strangers step from the shadows and silently surround me. They don’t say a word as they start to walk, apparently expecting me to fall into step simply because they will it. I play along—not that I have much choice—but this new group of drakes doesn’t know what to expect from me, nor I them, and it might be wiser to keep it that way for the time being.
I squint against the bright interior as I’m herded inside the building. The first thing I notice is the tall arch of a jump portal and the two sorcai standing at attention on each side of it. I don’t get much time to marvel as my eyes are drawn to the dozen or so gigantic drakes all lining the perimeter of the other half of the structure.
However, it’s the single empty chair, waiting like the open maw of a shark in the middle of the group that has the wasps in my stomach stinging the ever-loving shit out of me. My flinty stare skips from the chair back to the surrounding Horde, snagging on an alarmingly familiar male.
Neatly trimmed, stark white hair. A handsome face steeped in arrogance and entitlement. Offensively gigantic frame. And a set of bright blue eyes that, before today, I would have said were the brightest I’d ever seen. That was until I met Commander…
My brain stalls as I make a connection that should have been obvious but didn’t bite me in the ass until right this second.
Fuck.
Kill me now.
How did I not piece together who that big fucker Aeson was? Did the chase and mounting adrenaline fry my fucking mind? Because there’s no doubting it, not when I’m staring at his brother, Scion Lorn Noctis, firstborn son of King Kathal Noctis, and Crown Prince of The Dragon Horde.
What the flying fuck are he and his little brother, Aeson Noctis, doing here?
Trepidation and shock ice my insides, but my gait is smooth and my mask firm as I’m guided toward the single chair. The scion approaches the Throne of Doom at the same time I do, and I’m unsure which of us is supposed to sit in it. A hard, unyielding hand presses down on my shoulder, indicating that it’s my ass that’s expected to occupy the hot seat, and I’m too rattled to fight or even object to the unnecessary and rude manhandling.
My thoughts reel, spinning turbulently in my head as I try to make sense of this disturbing development. The Heir and the Spare, far from home just to investigate a lone female?
Not a chance.
They have people who have people for that kind of thing, or at least I thought they would. Not that I’ve ever heard of anything like this happening before. Random dragon females aren’t just dropping out of the sky, much to the disappointment of The Horde.
Then again, Enslee and the rest of us operate on dated news and questionable gossip way out in The Scorch. We have our own spies working for our best interests in Paragon City, but their reports are understandably few and far between, and they’re usually focused on bigger issues and threats.
This scenario, however unexpected, seems out of character for the Crown. Why would the king chance it? Why would he risk his sons?
“I can see you know who I am,” Lorn observes, his voice infused with authority.
So much for my impenetrable mask.
“Good. That makes things easier,” he continues, stepping away from the two drakes he was speaking with, guards probably, and moving closer to me. “With one half of the introductions done, let’s get right to what everyone wants to know. Who are you?”
Wariness moves through me like a rising tide, and I fight the need to stand up so that Lorn Noctis can’t tower over me the way he wants. He approaches me slowly, and hundreds of different scenarios play out in my mind of how I carefully need to navigate this. I pause, realizing that this time, I actually don’t need to be cautious.
It’s too late for that.
I didn’t run into The Horde by accident. I don’t need to throw them off my trail so I can slink away unnoticed. There’s no escaping this. It doesn’t matter what I do or say now; I’m caught and no sleight of hand or witty retort is going to undo it.
It’s a liberating thing to realize that I don’t have to watch my tongue or perform any mental gymnastics. Too bad that big helping of freedom comes with a side of completely fucked.
The prince of dragons stares at me expectantly, his bright blue eyes telling me he’ll wait all night if he has to, but he better not have to.
“Ever Tenebrae,” I answer after a lengthy pause.
Just as I expected, the scion’s blue eyes narrow. He inhales deeply, scenting me for deception, and then his gaze flicks to a male with black hair, bronze skin and deep red scale armor.
A Thrasher.
The subtle nod of his head confirms he’s a tracker, one who’s currently searching the air for lies.
“Your surname is an unusual one…rare,” Lorn Noctis observes, his gaze growing slightly more intense as he studies me.
“It didn’t used to be,” I goad, and an immediate edge nicks through the room.
“No, it didn’t,” Noctis agrees, clasping his hands behind his back as he starts to orbit me, forcing me to track his every step like prey would a predator.
It’s a tactic I’ve used myself when trying to unsettle someone I need information from. I never realized how fucking annoying it was until now.
“I’m going to cut to the chase, Ever. It’s been a long day and I’d like to get back to Paragon City sooner rather than later. We heard the whispers coming from the Channeler clan about King Noctis and some of his decisions recently. If this is Lord Quall trying to make a move on behalf of Duke Dowzer, he lacks the numbers and overall strength and intelligence to pull it off. Why else would he set up such an obvious trap in his own territory? King Noctis will pardon your involvement in such idiocy, but only if you reveal every detail of what the duke and the lord hope to accomplish and how.”
I’m taken aback by the scion’s little speech, filing away the helpful nuggets of information—not that I’ll ever see Enslee again to tell her. We knew there were issues amongst the dragon clans and kiths, but the Crown is good at keeping the extent and details of their infighting quiet. Enslee and her advisors would be eager to know that King Noctis thinks a Channeler duke and lord are trying to overthrow him.
All eyes are on me, and I feel the press of their judgment and silent questions. I shake my head and blow out a breath.
Here we go.
“You can shove your pardon up your regal ass, or the king’s, I don’t particularly care which. For the record, I don’t know anything about the duke or the Qualls or any plans they might have. I’m not working for them or any other members of The Horde. I doubt that means anything to you since I’m certain you’ve already made up your mind and aren’t going to believe me despite your Thrasher over there giving you the ol’ nod of approval. Save us all the trouble of a monotonous and useless back-and-forth and just kill me now. I too am tired of being here and would be happy to leave sooner rather than later.”
A rumble of disapproval ripples through the drakes around me, their dislike over my show of disrespect coming through loud and clear.
Good.
I’ll do what it takes to protect the people I care about no matter the cost. And I really am fucking tired.
The scion glances purposefully at the Thrasher, who nods even though he looks shocked to be doing so. The tracker pulls in another deep breath as though he’s second-guessing his own affinity and double-checking for even the faintest hint of deception, but we both know it’s not there.
“Do you want to die, Ever?” Lorn asks evenly.
I scoff. “No, but when has that ever stopped the likes of you?”
“So, you’re not working with the Channelers, the duke, or the Qualls, and you want me to believe that your presence here isn’t some kind of trap?” He pauses and studies me for a long, drawn out moment.
I roll my eyes, which only serves to make him more intrigued.
“You don’t seem to like me very much. Why is that?”
I tsk. “Come now, Lorn , I can’t be the first person you’ve run into that thinks you’re a prick.”
A warning growl sounds off from behind me, and one of the large guards who escorted me in here steps closer, anger radiating off him. The scion raises a hand to keep the male from erasing any more of the miniscule distance between us, and I bite back a smile.
Excellent. I’m getting to them.
“You will address the scion with respect,” another male orders, a fulminating glare aimed at me.
“If I respected him, I would,” I snap back, matching his glower.
“Enough,” Noctis commands, and several snarls quiet instantly. “You’re baiting me,” he notes, not nearly as annoyed as I’d like him to be. “How curious.”
Apprehension tightens my throat at the flicker of intrigue that alights in his blue eyes.
Shit.
I wasn’t trying to pique his interest, I was trying to piss him off so he’d rip my throat out and be done with it before they had a chance to torture me for answers.
“First things first though. Stanzin, give me your knife,” Noctis orders, and the Thrasher steps forward, unsheathing a blade from his thigh and handing it, hilt first, to the scion.
A trill of fear resonates through me as Noctis strides closer, a wicked-looking blade in his hand. I press back in my chair despite myself.
“Hold her still. We need confirmation,” he orders as he draws nearer, and several sets of hands press down on me all at once.
Dread crawls up my throat, and in a blink, I’m no longer in a metal building surrounded by the imposing Horde. I’m back in a cell, being held down by tainted sorcai as Wistan slinks closer, his greedy gaze roaming over my body as he decides where to draw blood from this time.
I scream as I fight the hands pinning me in place. I thrash and snarl, bucking against the bastards trying to keep me down. Somehow my feet are free, and I take full advantage, wildly kicking out and reveling in the pained gasp I elicit when I make contact with someone. Bedlam explodes all around me as more bodies pour into the cell, and I battle against their bruising efforts to incapacitate me.
“What in the bloody realms is going on?” a booming voice demands, the question and the command in it momentarily breaching my terror.
The sound of people running peppers my fear, clouding it with confusion.
“We need confirmation that she’s the dragoness from the healing center. I went to get it and she’s gone feral,” an imperious male defends.
“No shit, Lorn. Did you not hear what the healers said? What the fuck did you think happened to her when she was with the blood brokers? Get away from her with that knife. Anyone touching her has two seconds to stop or lose their hands,” another male roars.
I’m suddenly back in the metal building on the ground, a chair tipped on its side next to me. My heart hammers so hard it feels like a steady hum in my chest instead of individual staccato beats. A ringing sounds in my head, and heat pervades my every pore, both from fury and shame.
Large imposing bodies scurry away, but all I can focus on is the white-haired scion and the knife still clutched tightly in his palm. My heart rages against my sternum, and my lungs are so full of panic there’s no room for air. He retreats, but my trepidation doesn’t go with him.
A towering body steps in front of me, blocking my view of the knife and its possessor. The face of an avenging angel looks down at me, his stunning blue eyes bleeding wary caution as they take me in. Black flames crawl up his throat, the tips getting lost in the dusting of dark hair across his jaw and cheeks.
Aeson Noctis.
The second-born scion raises his hands, palms out, and crouches down like he’s trying hard not to spook me. I hate the whimper that escapes as I skitter back, disoriented and unnerved by what just happened. It felt so real. I know it wasn’t. I know I’m not in the cell anymore, not physically at least, but how long will it take before my mind leaves it, before it stops pulling me back?
“It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe,” Aeson attempts to soothe, careful not to touch me.
I don’t need to find the Thrasher in the surrounding drakes to know everything he just said is pure bullshit, but the falsehoods do help to chase away my alarm and draw me fully back to where we are and what’s actually happening.
“Safe?” I challenge shakily, biting back the surging embarrassment that’s starting to inundate the last dregs of my fear. Anger helps to dam my mounting mortification, and I scowl up at the dark hulking scion in front of me. “Is a Syphon truly safe anywhere?” I seethe, and I feel everyone around me collectively go still.
“What did you just say?” Aeson whispers, the look on his face vacillating between disbelief and shock, so I hammer it home for him.
“I’m Ever Tenebrae, daughter of the slaughtered King Merik Tenebrae, and the last surviving Syphon of my massacred line. Trust me, Spare, I’m not safe anywhere, least of all with you.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7 (Reading here)
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47