Page 77 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

R ain lashes from a darkened sky, soaking through me, turning the earth beneath me to slick, sucking mud.

My boots are heavy with it, each step a strain—but I’m close now.

Minutes from the Third. My heart hammers like war drums in my chest, but all I can think about is her.

Not the guards. Not the plan. Just her. I don’t care how I get in—only that I do.

But recklessness won’t save her. Dying here won’t change a damn thing.

Breathe, Zel. Breathe.

I press my back to the cold stone ruins scattered along the path, lungs burning as I try to slow my pulse.

A sudden rustle splits the air. It’s close.

I spin, grabbing the nearest shard of rock, fingers white-knuckled around it like it’s a blade.

A small shape pushes through the bushes the dry shrubs.

Then a sound. That familiar screech. My heart stutters.

“Sarga,” I whisper, sinking to one knee. Relief crashes through me so hard it nearly knocks me over.

She hops toward me, wings half-spread, feathers soaked and drooping, but alive. I reach for her. She flutters once, then lands on my thigh, pressing close. She coos, soft and low and sad, like she knows I need this more than air.

“I thought I lost you,” I murmur, fingers brushing through wet feathers, my throat tightening. “Where have you been?” I look around, wondering if there’s anyone who brought her here or someone she’s with. But there’s no one. It’s just me.

“I need you to stay hidden,” I say, giving the soft warning click of my tongue. “I need you safe.”

She puffs up in protest, feathers flaring—but I click again, firmer this time. She huffs, hops to my forearm, then takes to the air with a reluctant screech. I watch her vanish into the gray. I can’t afford to lose her. Not tonight. Not when everything else is already at stake.

Guards are weakest at night—worse when it’s raining. The perfect time for me to get myself inside the Third unnoticed. At least not by the outer guards. Inside will be crawling with tight security, and I’m unsure if I’ll get myself out. But I have to try.

I have to get to my quarters. Retrieve my crossbow.

Find Nida. And rally what’s left of my unit—if their minds haven’t already been drowned by lies the Corps loves to recite.

No matter what, I have to make sure everyone knows the truth.

The Corps isn’t what they say they are. Maybe with enough soldiers from within we can take them down.

A rebellion—against what I’ve always believed to be the right side of the coin.

Damn it.

I even sound like Valous.

But at least it’s without innocent villagers in harm’s way.

Rain trickles down my neck, the soaked-earth aroma filling my senses.

I wipe my eyes, briefly clearing my vision as I tilt my head upwards.

The towers loom over me, and no guards have spotted me yet.

For the first time, I feel powerless against the forces that tread within those walls.

I feel weak and stripped of hope. There’s no way I can climb that high.

Not when the venom can claim my life at any moment.

But I refuse to give up. If I’m going to die, I want it to be with a blade in my hand buried deep in the General’s throat.

I don’t want to risk entering the Hold through the larger entrances. Who knows what could be on the other side? But I’m certain the kitchens won’t be guarded at this time. The general would put his limited man-power somewhere else.

I press my ear against the wooden door, pausing to catch the faintest sound on the other side—a breath, a shuffle of feet, a throat clearing—anything that says someone’s there. Nothing. It’s silent.

Still crouched, I place my hand on the handle, closing my eyes to slow my breath. Just as I brace to break it down, I press the handle down, and the door creaks open.

It’s not locked.

I push the door open with my index finger, just enough to peek inside.

Empty dustbins, bowls scattered across wooden tables, and embers fading in the cooking hearth—but not a single soul.

I step over the threshold, eyes sweeping the room before moving forward.

The silence is complete, and my heart slows.

Taking a deep, I dart through the archway leading to the hallway, toward my room.

The torches flicker low—a clear sign no one’s passed through here in a while. I have to move fast.

It’s quiet, but shouts—and sometimes sobs—echo in the distance. I press myself against the cold, stony wall, using the shadows as my only companion, for the light is my greatest betrayer. I get closer to the corner of the wall and peek over my shoulder.

A subtle clicking noise behind me catches my attention—freezing me in place. Slowly, I turn around. A woman with light brown eyes squints at me, a crossbow clutched in her hand. Eryca.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she sneers, her bow aimed right at my chest. I slowly raise my hands in defense. The last thing I need right now is to piss her off more than she already is.

“Eryca,” I say, my eyes shifting between her and the sharp end of the bolt.

“Zel?” she retorts.

“Mind lowering the bow?”

Her lip curls slightly as if the very thought offends her. But within two blinks, she lowers it. Relief floods through my chest, my lungs returning to their regular rhythm.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snap, returning to my position near the wall, peeking around the corner. “Sneaking in.”

“Great plan.” She scoffs. “The general’s got a bounty on you,” she explains, peering through her shoulder. “They’re saying you’re a traitor to the Center, the bringer of dragons. The enemy of humanity.”

I smirk. “And you believe him?”

She blinks. “You’d already have a bolt through your head if I did. Listen, Grogol’s losing control of the soldiers. People are doubting everything he says.”

“Executions?” I ask. Doubt the Corps and you’re dead.

“He can’t kill half of his army. He needs to be strategic about it now.”

“So he decided to pin everything on me.” I sigh. Fantastic.

“Good thing there’s soldiers coming in and out from the battlements, soaking wet, or you’d be the only one leaving the trail behind you.”

“Figured as much,” I comment.

“What are you doing here?” she asks again.

I dart my eyes between her and the empty hall over her shoulder. “Grogol took Nida,” I say.

Her eyes grow wide, and for a moment she eases her grip on the bow.

“Taken?” she repeats, gripping her bow. “How? Where?”

“He found us. In Valous’ tavern. It was a matter of time before he did, but I didn’t expect it to be so fast.”

Eryca waves her hand in front of her, squeezing her eyes shut as if what I’m saying is giving her a massive headache. She hates him more than anyone. “Wait, whoa. You were with Valous ?”

I give a quick nod.

“This is too much for me.” Her brows shoot in surprise, as if giving up on the idea of working with Valous again before it even started.

“Listen, Zel. You can’t stay here. You’re a target. If Grogol finds out, everyone—anyone tied to you, anyone walking the same halls as you—will end up dead.”

I turn to her, and that genuine concern on her face makes me doubt even coming here. Getting caught means letting them die. Letting Nida die. I can’t let that happen.

Think. Think .

“I need you to do something,” I say. One quick glance around. It’s just us. For now. “Gather everyone that is against Grogol—anyone that you can trust. Sam, Ilian. None of the Lieutenants or Scouts, they’re probably on Grogol’s side.”

“All scouts?” she questions, eyes squinting.

“I saw the map in Grogol’s quarters before the expedition. There was no pattern. I have a feeling they’re the ones that falsified dragon sightings.”

She nods. “Makes sense.”

“Can you find Sam?” I ask, my hand firmly on her shoulder. She swallows, biting the inside of her cheek, but after a moment, she gives me a quick nod. “Good.” I still have no solid plan, but this will have to do for now.

A rebellion.

Valous’ voice rings in my head, and the sneer he said it with is embedded in my eyelids. He’s right—this is the only way.

This could be a mistake. This could lead to thousands of people—innocent people—dead. But if I don’t do anything, if I let Grogol lie his way out of this, control others, the blood will remain on my hands, with even more people dead.

A shiver travels down my spine, as if someone or—something—is watching me. I can’t help but glance over my shoulder, expecting eyes staring back at me. But there’s nothing. Just a shadow dancing from the dying light cast by a single torch. A faint sound of a whisper.

“Are you alright?” Eryca’s voice breaks my trance.

I blink, unsure how long I’ve been staring at a wall. My hands feel cold. Empty. “I need a bow,” I say quickly. “There’s one in my room.”

“The broken one,” she states, her voice dripping with ridicule.

“Yes, the broken one.”

Eryca rolls her eyes. “And what are you going to do with a broken bow?”

“It’s better than nothing. I need to get to my room.”

“You forget there’s armed soldiers scattered over the entire Stronghold.”

“Then I’d better be silent.”

“Zel.” She slaps my shoulder, her tone sharp, as if she’s talking to a child. Or Ilian. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” She furrows her brow in thought. “Maybe…” she trails off. “Maybe I can get you past.”

I blink.

“There’s been a riot—a small one, but enough to make everyone doubt.”

“What caused the riot?” I ask, surprised it’s gotten this far.

She shrugs, peeking around the corner again. “There’s one thing you can’t take away from a human.” A smile tugs on the corners of her lips, and then, her eyes meet mine. “Curiosity.”

“Then convince them to join us.”

“I can try, but with everything that’s happening, I’m not sure who to trust,” she says, before shaking her head as if coming back to reality. “In fact, I don’t even know if I should trust you .”