Page 13

13

Rhea

“A re they ready?” Vaylen asks his dragon.

Fragor’s chest rumbles.

“Good. They may approach then.”

Another rumble from Fragor, and the other two come closer. Zephyros blows air as if huffing. This creature has a reputation that precedes him. He’s one of the oldest dragons alive, rumored to be one of Heratrix’s favorite males. I still remember when he chose Merrill. We had just finished our first year at Aerie Academy, and Silas couldn’t stop talking about it. He kept saying that Zephyros was just the kind of dragon his family lineage attracted.

After Merrill’s accident, however, Silas had nothing but bad things to say. He said the animal —he actually used that word as if a dragon were a cow—didn’t know his place, didn’t know how to follow orders from his rider. He said Zephyros was a menace and should be exterminated.

The audacity of it! His family might be close to royalty—one of his cousins is married to the King’s brother—but the entire Pyrewing lot isn’t worth one dragon’s death. There are enough pompous jerks in Embernia already, and not enough dragons. It’s the reason our realm is in danger of being invaded by the Screechclaws.

I can’t help but feel there’s more to the story, something Silas isn’t sharing or something his brother is lying about. Then again… Zephyros’s reputation. It exists for a reason.

Fragor makes another sound, which Vaylen translates for us. “You may look at the dragons.”

Dammit, I don’t think I can .

I’m terrified. My knees are shaking and…

Stop it, Rhea. You trained for this.

Slowly, I raise my head. My gaze climbs up Zephyros’s black-clawed talons. They seem to go on forever. A massive chest appears, armored with silver scales, the distance between them expanding with each breath. Next comes a long neck, ridged with deadly looking spines, protrusions as shiny and polished as obsidian. I stop there, feeling my insides tremble. Zephyros’s formidable head lowers, which is topped with two perfectly straight horns as sharp as swords, and a set of pure silver eyes meet mine, one slashed across with a terrible jagged scar.

An electrifying feeling thunders down my body, jolting my back straight and setting my teeth on edge. Primal fear nearly loosens my bladder, and I tighten my legs against the humiliating feeling. I want to run, want to at least look away, but I can’t. I’m ensnared in that gaze, trapped without hope of ever being set free again.

“Oh, no!” Vaylen whispers under his breath. “Step back, both of you.”

What? I barely register the words.

“NOW!” Vaylen hisses under clenched teeth, getting in front of Gilbert and me.

Vaylen breaks the connection, releasing me from the dragon’s gaze. Gilbert takes several steps back. His face is void of all color. I retreat too. I have no idea what’s happening, but this isn’t the time to ignore orders. I throw a cautious glance over my shoulder. The edge of the plateau is still a safe distance away, but still too close for comfort.

“What’s happening?” Gilbert asks in a voice two octaves higher than normal.

I shake my head, not daring to speak.

“Fragor,” Vaylen says his dragon’s name like a plea for help.

The huge creature inclines his head toward the other two. He seems to be asking to parley. Zephyros stomps a talon down, then rakes it backward, gouging five parallel trenches on the rocky ground. Trueno shakes his head, a clear refusal to Fragor’s request.

Zephyros takes a step forward. Vaylen responds with a backward one of his own. He bats his hand behind his back, urging us to do the same. We retreat. I crouch, heart pounding. There are two angry dragons in front and a deathly drop behind. I really didn’t think this would be how the day would end.

Do the dragons find us lacking?

“I’m sure you can come to an agreement,” Vaylen says in a conciliatory tone.

Trueno balks, making a sound that indicates his clear refusal.

Come to an agreement? What is Vaylen talking about? What do the dragons need to agree on?

Zephyros roars in displeasure. Vaylen, Gilbert, and I cover our ears. Zephyros isn’t too excited about this agreement either. Trueno responds with a roar of his own, raising his head like a wolf howling at the moon.

Whipping his neck to the side, Zephyros opens his maw, exposing teeth as large as I’m tall, and snaps at Trueno’s neck. Trueno retreats, avoiding being mauled by mere inches. Shaking his head, Fragor steps aside, letting us know this conflict won’t be resolved using reason.

“Fuck!” Vaylen curses, all dragon etiquette forgotten. “Let’s get out of here.”

He turns toward the lift, but Zephyros sweeps his long tail over the ground in an attempt to knock the High Prime down. Swift, Vaylen thrusts his hands down and releases Wind Blast . The energy hits the ground and propels him several feet into the air. He leaps clear of the attack then dives, avoiding being impaled by the creature’s sharp tail spikes. Vaylen hits the ground and rolls to a standing position, while the large tail continues its sweep, driving Gilbert and me closer to the edge.

Wind buffets my back as it whistles across the plane. We’re mere feet from the edge now. My eyes rove around desperately trying to find a way out, but Zephyros and Trueno loom over us, two hulking rabid monsters that seem bent on tearing each other apart.

Dragons rarely fight each other. Why is this happening?

As the creatures face off, snapping and roaring, I search my memory, rifling over my lessons to come up with a reason for this clash. I come up blank. All I can think about is finding a way out.

Trueno swipes at his opponent, his ivory claws glinting in the moonlight. Zephyros rears back, head swiping to the side to avoid the strike. His right eye flashes, pinpointing my exact location in an instant. A whirlwind dances in the depth of his pupil, then seems to bleed out and travel along the length of his scar.

— Mine! a voice like stones grinding together rumbles inside my head.

The word seers my mind like a brand. I stagger back with the force of it.

Oh, Goddess! My Weaver skill is letting me listen to a dragon’s thoughts!

Blinking rapidly, I try to dispel a tableau that superimposes my own. Instead of the two dragons, I see Gilbert and I standing by the cliff, the sheer drop behind us. It’s as if… as if I’m seeing what Zephyros is seeing.

No! I shake my head, clearing my vision.

From the forgotten corners of my memory, the answer I tried to find moments ago leaps to the forefront. I know why the dragons are fighting.

Holy Goddess! This is bad.

At the same instant that the realization hits me, Gilbert squares his shoulders in my direction. I’m forced to tear my eyes off the dragons and look at him. His upper lip is trembling. His fists are clenched.

“You won’t ruin this for me, bitch,” he says.

What?!

I glance from Gilbert to the snarling dragons. Vaylen still stands between us and the creatures as if his presence could keep us, his Clutch members, safe, when one stomp is all it would take to flatten him into a bloody puddle.

My mind is split between the physical fight between the dragons, the mental assault from Zephyros, and now Gilbert’s threat. As if time has turned to molasses, I blink, searching the bully’s face.

“You won’t ruin this for me, bitch.”

Another alarm bell blares in my head, joining the other two already blaring too loudly for normal levels of coherent thought to take place. But finally, his meaning crystallizes: Gilbert, too, has figured out the reason the dragons are fighting.

He takes a step in my direction, murder etched on his features.

A heartbeat, that’s all it takes. My realization, Gilbert’s swift, backward glance over his shoulder to check if Vaylen is watching, and Gilbert’s brutal, explosive shove. I have no time to react. The force sends me stumbling back. The ground vanishes, and then I’m falling off the edge of the plateau and plummeting to my death.