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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“ T ell him what you told me,” Tristan said, flaring his blue-black wings.

The midmorning light in the church ruins glimmered across his feathers and cast shadows in the folds of Nemosyna’s marble robes.

Cael turned toward Trophonios—fucking Trophonios himself —and tried to keep the awe off of his face.

High Gods, he wished Xenia were here. The journals they’d poured through in Thalenn had showcased the ebony-skinned male’s quick, exacting mind. Cael could only imagine the conversations Trophonios and Xenia might have together.

“Aedelmar Burkhardt,” Cael began. “You know who he is?”

Trophonios sliced cunning teal eyes toward him. “The leader of the Cynn Drakan?”

Cael told Trophonios—and Tristan, who’d already heard this news via windwhisper this morning when Cael had arranged the meeting—about how Arran had kept the dragon captive all these years.

Trophonios’s eyes had grown wider and wider as Cael spoke, and at the end of the tale, he turned to Tristan with a smirk. “Now I know why you wanted to come see him so badly.”

Cael shot a confused look at Tristan, who spilled everything the Teles Chrysos had learned from the Compendium.

“This is all well and good,” Cael said, “but even if you wanted to break into Tartarus to find Burkhardt—and Cassandra—how in Ethyrios do you hope to do it?”

Tristan pulled two lidded graphite crucibles from the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Do I even want to know what those are for?” Cael asked.

Tristan nodded. “You do. Because one of these is for you. Dragon-fire is the solution to both our problems. It will allow me to temporarily breach the wards of Tartarus and will help you de-activate the tracking device in Xenia’s neck.”

Hope blazed bright in Cael’s heart, then dimmed slightly. “Will it hurt her?”

“Badly,” Trophonios grimaced. “But if you share some of your blood, she’ll survive it.”

Cael smiled—a broad, goofy grin. He couldn’t help it. They could remove the device. And Xenia would survive. They could finally escape Stoneridge.

Together.

He could still feel her soft, delicate fingers stroking his wing, could feel her lips and teeth at his neck as her perfect body shuddered beneath him. An imitation of the act he’d been waiting to perform with her since, well, since he’d met her, if he were being honest.

“So,” he said to Tristan, “what’s the plan?”

Cael sat before the rusted metal desk in Leonard’s office, the two crucibles heavy in his pocket.

The two males were sharing a simple lunch—cold meats, cheese and bread, plus mugs of ale. It had become something of a routine for them. Every time Cael visited Typhon Mountain, he’d meet with the administrative staff first, then tour the forges, then spend the afternoon with Leonard and the dragon.

Outside Leonard’s office, the keepers sat along the cave wall eating their own lunch, their shouted conversations mingling with the clang of the forges. In the center of the pit, the dragon rested, smoke puffing from her nostrils with each exhale.

“So,” Cael said, breaking off a piece of cheese and popping it into his mouth. Trying to seem casual, though his palms were clammy and his voice was tight. If Leonard noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Tell me more about how you came to be the dragon’s caretaker. How did you meet my father?”

Cael thought if he asked about Leonard’s history, he might be able to lead him toward the subject of freeing the dragon. It was an insane thought, but something about the chats they’d had these past weeks told him it wasn’t completely off the table. But he didn’t want to press the issue too quickly. Wanted to ease the old Beastrunner into it.

Leonard sipped his beer, froth catching in his white moustache. “Fought with him during the war.” Pride brightened his wrinkled face. “In every single battle leading up to that final one in Akti, after he’d summoned her. I was the only of his commanders brave enough to help him care for the beauty.” He huffed out a laugh, then leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell him, but I think she’s always liked me better.”

Cael chuckled. “No offense, but that’s not a hard contest to win.” He flared his sole wing, and Leonard’s sympathetic glance passed over it. Cael still hadn’t corrected Leonard’s assumption that he’d lost the wing to Arran. Nor would he do it today. His plans hinged on exploiting the lingering animosity between Leonard and his father. “Why did you stay with him after the war? Didn’t you have family to get back to?”

“Nah.” Leonard waved knobby knuckles. “ She’s my family. And she needed an advocate. No one else was clamoring for the job.” Affection crinkled the corners of Leonard’s eyes as he gazed out to the pit floor.

Cael’s heart squeezed. If he achieved his goal, was able to bond with the dragon, he’d be stealing Leonard’s family. His purpose . And though Cael felt guilty about that, a part of him wondered if Leonard wouldn’t welcome such an outcome.

“How has my father been able to control her all these years?” Cael asked, as nonchalantly as possible. “I’ve always wondered. He’s never talked to us about it.”

Leonard quirked a bushy, skeptical brow. Cael kept his own expression neutral, then tried to fake a semblance of surprise when Leonard confirmed everything he already knew. “Emperor Leonin gifted him a relic that he used to summon her from deep within the mountain. A flute, imbued with the power of the Fallen Goddess. Heck of a show, that.”

“You were there when it happened?”

Leonard nodded. “Thought the mountain itself was going to crumble to dust. Half the forges were destroyed when she burst through the rock that day.” Awe stole across Leonard’s ancient features. “Never saw anything so beautiful or magnificent in my life. All those shimmering white scales, wings that spanned nearly the entire cave.”

“So, Arran summoned her using the flute, and then what?”

Leonard frowned. “He whispered something into his palm and sent the gust toward her. I could see the fight leave her body. After that, she obeyed any order he gave. Like he’d woven some kind of spell over her.”

“Did he ever reveal it to you?” Cael asked. “What he’d whispered?”

Leonard shifted, uncomfortable with the question.

Cael placed his forearms on the table. “I would never tell Arran any of this, you know. I appreciate everything you’ve shared with me on these visits. I feel a kinship with her. I know what it’s like to wish for the sky.” Leonard softened at the wistful look on Cael’s face. “I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t some way to free her.”

Leonard shook his head sadly. “Oh, lad. If there was any way, I would have done so myself centuries ago.”

If there was any better segue, Cael hadn’t heard it.

Time to reveal his hand.

What other choice did he have?

“What if I told you there was a way?” Cael glanced toward the pit. The keepers were chattering amongst themselves, none paying a lick of attention to Leonard and Cael. He pulled the flute from under his shirt and laid it upon the table.

To Leonard’s credit, he didn’t make a single sound. But he did go preternaturally still. Whiskers unfurled at his cheeks, tangling in his beard and twitching. As if he were sniffing the relic.

“Where…where in Ethyrios did you get that?” A croaked whisper.

Cael told Leonard everything. About how the Teles Chrysos had given him the flute and assigned him this mission. About the dragon’s name and how they intended to learn it. About their desire to use her to take back Delos from Eamon Erabis and install his brother Tristan—the rightful heir—on the Crystal Throne.

Leonard twisted his whiskers, contemplative.

Cael leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think I need to tell you how much I’ve just risked to share all this with you. And I wouldn’t have done so if it wasn’t vitally important. Everything is at stake here. Not only the dragon’s freedom, but the survival of our world. Males like my father, like Eamon Erabis, have been hoarding power for far too long. It’s time us broken, scarred misfits had a chance to rise up, don’t you think?”

Cael held his breath as he waited for Leonard to say something, anything .

The old Beastrunner swiveled his attention toward the dragon, his lips quirking up into a sly smile. “To the misfits. Long may you reign.”

Cael closed his eyes, exhaling a long, relieved sigh.

“I wish I knew her name,” Leonard said apologetically. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you free her if you’re able to learn it.”

Out in the pit, the dragon awakened, and the keepers gathered around her for the afternoon session, readying their rods.

Cael turned back to Leonard. “Thank y?—”

A strident cry rumbled through the cave. Not a roar. A wail of agony.

Leonard burst from his seat, his knees knocking the desk and rattling their mugs. He rushed out into the pit, Cael on his heels.

The dragon lay on her side, nosing at her belly and straining against her chains as she tried to shield herself with her wings. Her goopy, iridescent blood pooled out beneath her.

Icy rage frosted Cael’s veins as the keepers laughed.

“What happened?” Leonard barked, his voice firmer and more authoritative than Cael had ever heard it.

One of the keepers turned, a Windrider male with fleshy charcoal wings and a braided mohawk. He held up a rod with an iridescent white scale the size of a dinner plate skewered on the end. “Sorry, boss. My aim was a little off.”

Leonard fisted the male’s shirt, fury distorting his features. And despite the keeper’s height—a good eight inches, at least, above Leonard—he had the sense to look cowed. He raised his palms, and the rod clanged to the pit floor.

Leonard seethed, “How many fucking times have I told you to be more careful? That’s the third scale you’ve pulled off this month. If it happens again, you’re fired.”

The keeper held Leonard’s stare, jaw hardening, and his eyes flicked toward Cael. Likely worried about what Cael might say to his father.

“What does it matter?” the keeper grumbled. “She’s a machine. She’d still breathe fire if we stripped off all her scales.”

Leonard shoved the keeper in the chest. “Pick up your rod and get back into position.”

The keeper grunted, but did as he was told. He plucked up his rod and wrenched off the scale, then tossed it aside as he retook his place in line.

Leonard turned to Cael, his hands trembling. “These keepers… Sometimes I think they forget she’s a living, breathing being.”

Cael pulled Leonard into a pocket of shadow. “I will learn her name and break the spell.” He pulled the crucibles from his pocket. “But in order to achieve that, I’m going to need a few samples of her fire.”

Leonard glanced at the graphite containers, then sauntered to a metal cabinet from which he grabbed a pair of long-handled pliers. “Take some when they prod her again. Do you need gloves?”

Cael shook his head, reiterating what Trophonios and Tristan had told him. “These containers keep the fire alive while the outside remains cool.”

Leonard chuckled. “Do I even want to know where you got them?”

Cael smirked. “The less you know about the intricacies of our plan, the better.”

Leonard clapped a hand on Cael’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let me know what else I can do to help.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Cael took a position on the line between two keepers, placing both crucibles into the pliers. He eyed the dragon, swore he could feel her pain and anxiety as she awaited the next prod.

A plan coalesced in his mind.

Be ready . He sent the thought drifting toward her. Her muzzle twitched and her eyes cracked open, understanding glowing with them.

A keeper started a countdown, at the end of which the entire group poked the dragon with their rods.

She didn’t roar this time, merely spewed a long jet of flame. Cael angled the pliers into the stream, then pulled them back, flicking the crucible lids closed to keep his samples secure.

The flames dissolved and the dragon slumped back down to the floor. But Cael could sense the tension priming her muscles.

She was waiting for his signal.

Cael gave Leonard a two-finger salute, then slipped the crucibles into his pocket. They were warm to the touch, but certainly not the skin-melting temperature of the seeds of dragon-fire now contained within.

Cael strode for the metal stairs, and as he passed the mohawked keeper, he stumbled into his back.

“Oof,” Cael said, louder than necessary. “Sorry, mate.”

“Watch yo—” The keeper turned, then bowed his head. “My fault, Master Zephyrus.”

Cael looked down at the same moment the keeper did.

At the same moment the keeper realized he was well beyond the carved line.

“Oops,” Cael whispered, flicking his gaze over the keeper’s shoulder.

Pebbled lips pulled back from massive white teeth.

She’d moved so quietly, despite her chains.

Cael took to the stairs, his clomping footsteps silenced by screams as the dragon ripped the keeper apart.