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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

S weat dripped down Cael’s temple and beaded on his wing as he followed the forgemaster down a narrow tunnel.

The heat had been a constant companion throughout Cael’s visit to Typhon Mountain, the manufacturing site of both Ethyrios’s most treasured steel and the other weapons his father sold throughout the territories—stun pistols, snakebites, even those new dragon-fire missiles the Teles Chrysos had been trying to get their hands on.

Cael used to think the output was impressive. Now he just found it tragic, the sheer number of ways the Fae had invented to kill each other over the centuries.

“It’s just ahead,” the forgemaster—a short, stocky mole Beastrunner with a wrinkly bald head and lengthy incisors—grunted over his shoulder. “Mind the ceiling.”

Cael ducked down, tucking his wing and trying to ignore the forgemaster’s glance at the lonely appendage. He wished he could say it didn’t bother him. But the pitying looks weren’t the only inconvenience he’d dealt with today.

Normally, he would have taken this journey by flight. Would have enjoyed being up in the sky, any anxious, depressing thoughts ripped away by the roaring wind and misty clouds.

Instead, he’d been forced to use one of those blasted opals. Sure, it had been quick, but traveling that way made him queasy. When he’d first appeared in the forgemaster’s office, he’d nearly vomited up his breakfast. Not wanting to show weakness in front of his father’s employees, he’d swallowed it down and put on his cold, stoic mask. He didn’t need anyone questioning why he’d shown up here.

In truth, he wasn’t supposed to be here at all. He’d met with Arran this morning and convinced him that a surprise inspection of the facilities would keep everyone on their toes. Arran had offered a rare, prideful look in response to Cael’s devious proactivity.

His true reason for the visit was, of course, quite different. He needed to see the dragon for himself. He’d never had the nerve as a boy, though Arran had brought both Viktor and Tomas for occasional visits. The thought of such a majestic creature being locked up and forced into centuries of servitude rankled Cael’s sensitive nature as a boy.

It still bothered him now. But if the Teles Chrysos were right, and he could find some way to free it, he was determined to try.

“Few more steps,” the forgemaster said, his beady eyes tracking the sweat on Cael’s face. The mole bi-form didn’t display a drop. “You get used to the heat.”

Cael swiped a wrist across his forehead as he followed the small male around a corner. A fresh wall of heated steam blurred his vision as they clomped onto a metal walkway bolted to the wall high above a deep pit.

Across the cavernous space, a veritable hive of forges were carved into the stone. Each was manned by several Fae workers, their hammers clanging a metallic symphony.

“Don’t usually have this many forges running at once,” the forgemaster shouted over the din, “but High Councilor Zephyrus has insisted we maintain a high level of production, what with the rebellion and all. We’ve been running three shifts a day, many of us working overtime.” He side-eyed Cael with a hint of annoyance. “Hope it’s worth the?—”

A ground-shaking rumble tore up from the pit, the walkway rattling so violently Cael feared it would tear away from the rock. The metal railing scalded his fingers as he peered over the edge.

Down below, two enormous, membranous wings were folded against a body the size of a steam ship, covered in black scales. Two heavy chains criss-crossed the creature’s back and wings, connected to an iron collar around its neck.

Cael watched in horror as a group of workers circled the dragon, poking the soft spaces between scales on its belly and haunches with sharp metal rods.

Another bellowing roar shook the facility before an explosion of fire burst from the dragon’s maw, then flowed through an intricate system of tubes into the forges. The hammering ceased as the workers took advantage of the increased flames to heat their steel.

Cael couldn’t take his eyes off the dragon as its roar dissolved into a whimper, its wings straining against the chains. As if it were trying to protect itself when the keepers moved in again with their rods. Another powerful blast of fire surged through the tubes and Cael’s chest constricted.

“Quite a show, isn’t it?”

Cael nearly jumped out of his skin as the forgemaster shouted into his ear.

“Amazing,” the male said, looking down and shaking his head. “The fire never runs out. You could prod that bitch every minute on the minute all day long and the fire will be just as hot the hundredth time as the first.” Cael choked back his horror. “Come. I’ll show you the forges.”

“Actually, I’d rather go down to the pit floor. See the creature up close. Who here is responsible for its care? I’d like to speak with them.”

The forgemaster raised a bushy brow. “Your father never goes to check on it. Last time he did, about eighty odd years ago, she broke one of her chains and nearly melted him alive. Took twenty keepers to subdue her. Since then, whenever High Councilor Zephyrus visits, he only inspects the forges. Are you sure you want to go down there? You share his blood; she might react just as violently.”

“I’m sure,” Cael said firmly.

The forgemaster muttered, “Your funeral. Turn around. We need to go back the way we came.”

Cael stepped aside, letting the forgemaster pass by him before he followed along the walkway, then down a set of metal stairs.

As they descended into the pit, Cael realized the dragon’s scales weren’t black at all. They were coated in soot. Shimmering white streaks shone through in several places.

They reached the bottom, a circular expanse of stone floor to which the chains were bolted. The keepers gathered against the wall, chatting and laughing as if they hadn’t just been torturing the poor thing. Cael wanted to rip their limbs off.

The dragon lay on her side, eyes closed, her wounded belly expanding and contracting with her steady breaths. A substance oozed from the punctures, unlike any blood Cael had ever seen—goopy and translucent with an iridescent shimmer.

“Leonard!” the forgemaster called out. “Master Zephyrus would like to speak with you!”

An ancient Beastrunner poked his head out of a small alcove carved into the stone, then shuffled over to Cael and the forgemaster. Leonard’s thick white hair was brushed back from a tanned face lined with deep-set wrinkles. A long, scraggly beard cascaded over his protruding belly and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

He wiped his hands on his leather apron, then reached one toward Cael. Before Cael could grasp it, Leonard looked down and squeaked.

“Back up, back up!” He pulled Cael backward and pointed to a line carved into the stone beneath their feet. “That’s the range of her chains. If she catches you inside that line… Chomp. Crunch. Dragon lunch.” Leonard doubled over with hooting laughter and Cael couldn’t help his own soft chuckle.

The forgemaster turned to Cael. “If you don’t mind, Master Zephyrus?—”

“Just Cael is fine.”

“—I’ll leave you here. Need to show my face in the forges. Can’t afford any slacking right now! Leonard can escort you out when you’re finished.” The forgemaster grabbed Cael’s arm, then leaned in, his sour breath coating Cael’s nostrils. “I trust you’ll give a good report to your father? Tell him how hard we’re all working? Would be nice to see a little bonus in this month’s pay.”

Cael nodded as the forgemaster retook the stairs. Though he doubted his stingy father would honor such a request. He turned to Leonard. “I’d like to hear about the dragon’s care, please. What’s her routine like?”

Leonard cocked his head. “Really? Why? Is Arran asking?”

Cael was a bit taken aback that Leonard had used his father’s first name so casually. But he didn’t probe as he took a step forward, towering over the male.

“ I’m asking.” He speared the male with his storm-cloud glare and flared his wing.

Leonard chuckled. “Don’t need to get all dominant with me, lad. I’ve dealt with far more dangerous creatures than you.” He darted his gaze toward the dragon, then let out a sad sigh. “I begged him not to do it, you know. A magnificent beauty like that doesn’t deserve to be in chains.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “A tragedy, if you ask me. But your father always gets what he wants, in the end.” The male eyed Cael’s wing. “As I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Her care?” Cael probed, not bothering to correct Leonard’s assumption that Arran had something to do with Cael’s missing wing.

“You saw the livestock fields when you arrived, yes? She’s fed a head of cattle once a day to keep her strength up, keep her fire productive.”

“Does she ever leave the mountain?” Cael asked casually.

“Yes,” Leonard answered, brows knit warily. “Every day, if I can manage it. After dusk. She’s frightening enough if you catch a glimpse of her shadow in a darkened sky. If I let her out during the day, the Fae in the surrounding villages would probably shit themselves.”

Cael glanced toward the dragon. Her horned head rested on the stone floor, eyes closed, tendrils of smoke curling up from her nostrils. Cael could sense her pain, as if he could feel it in his own body. In his own blood.

I’m sorry they have done this to you , he thought.

One of her lids cracked open, revealing a slitted pupil inside a kaleidoscopic iris. Aimed right at him.

He cocked his head, holding her gaze, but her lid closed and she released a heavy sigh. Soft flames glowed behind her gargantuan teeth.

“Why does she come back?” Cael whispered.

“How’s that?” Leonard asked, and Cael finally turned away from the dragon.

“When you let her out. How do you get her to come back?”

Leonard shrugged, pulling at his beard. “Arran never told me how he achieved it. Think it might have something to do with their bond, but…”

Something about Leonard’s tone piqued Cael’s curiosity. “But you don’t believe that.”

Leonard leaned in, glancing around to ensure the other keepers weren’t watching or listening. “Sometimes, just before she leaves the mountain, she has this look on her face like…” Leonard trailed off.

Cael turned back toward the dragon, and his heart lodged in his throat. Her reptilian eyes were wide open, glued to Cael’s back where his other wing should have been. He could have sworn he felt sympathy in her perusal. And other than Xenia, it was the only sympathy he’d ever been offered that didn’t make him want to tear off a head or two.

“Like what?” he asked.

Leonard’s whisper shivered through Cael’s chest.

“Like she’s waiting for someone.”