Page 42 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

We do end up having to cross water, though Sheelan assures me she’s capable, and when we steal the little boat from the fishing dock, she’s far more confident in it than I am.

I hold to the sides of the small vessel with both hands, the Sun God’s daughter raising the small sail with a few tugs of cords she ties off with the expertise of the sailors I encountered on the Sea Blade and Captain Lhanin’s ship.

“Father taught me,” she says quietly as we drift down the river’s small cousin, the flow of it heading for the open ocean behind us, breeze pushing against the sail to carry us against the current at a steady pace.

“I’ve always loved the water.” She sighs her sorrow into the quiet night.

There’s still no sign of pursuit, though I anticipate it at any second, even if she’s relaxed enough.

I am not afforded such confidence. Not after the life I’ve led, or the time I’ve had in her country. Besides, it’s not just me I have to worry about now. I have her to consider. Not to mention an egg to find.

A princess and a dragon’s daughter, just what I need.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I have a vague feeling of the right direction ahead, though it’s subtle and certainly no drawn and carefully labeled map I would prefer to consult.

“Generally,” Sheelan says, her hand guiding the tiller while I watch the banks for threats.

There are ripples as crocodons slide into the water, but they don’t approach, the moonlight enough to shine from their eyes while they watch us sail past. “There are legends enough that the uncanny cliff face we call the Dragon’s Spine must be where we need to go.

” She’s managed to add herself to the task, I’m glad to hear.

It means she’s given herself a place in this, something to hang onto.

“Most avoid it, claiming weird weather and ominous dread. Still, I’ve often wondered if those excuses had cause for concern beyond the natural.

Now, perhaps, we have an answer that will lead us to the place the dragon waits for truth.

” I’m hardly the right person to comfort her, wishing more than ever that Atlas was here.

Zenthris, not so much, which makes me snort at the thought of the redheaded drakonkin rogue offering Sheelan kindness.

Then again, he’s done so for me, to the best of his ability, and I underestimate him at times.

Thinking of them does what it always does, and I’m sad, too, when the first light of morning finally lightens the sky to the east. We’re making landfall by then, Sheelan finding an old, abandoned dock, barely a pair of pylons with a few boards still attached, but it’s sufficient to tie up to and there’s a track that leads away from it, etched into the ground as if the earth beneath struggles to erase it despite the time that feels lies between its regular use and our present need.

Even the greenery is stunted where we step off, the dried grasses beyond the water’s gift stretching out and up toward the base of a stunted cliff face.

It looms over us, growing more and more visible as the dawn turns to morning, the two of us approaching what looks like the world sheared away from itself in some cataclysmic shift of stone.

“There was a great quaking of the ground a millennium ago,” Sheelan tells me when I comment on the formation.

“If you were to ride to the top, there,” she points far to the west, “where the cliff face begins, you’d find lush and fertile lands far different from this.

” She points at the dried grasses we walk across.

“They say that a massive fountain of liquid fire rose with the peak, and when it cooled, it grew crops like nothing anyone had ever seen.”

“Volcano,” I say.

She’s surprised by that term. “We call it volcenese , the Sun’s Blood.”

I nod. “Let me guess,” I say. “Your people blamed the dragon.”

Sheelan nods. “The dragon’s battle with the Sun God,” she says, now uncertain.

“But it was always just a legend, one few believed past a story that was passed down. And yet, it’s impossible now for me to doubt some part of it was true after all, if only the dragon part and not the god.

” She winces as she pauses to look at her heel.

It’s bright red and bubbled, a blister formed.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m not much for walking. ”

I wish we had time to stop and tend her. The best I can do is tear a strip from the hem of her already short robe and bind both of her heels with the cloth, cushioning the raw spots.

Flame . The dragon’s voice is barely a hiss in my mind. I look up as I finish with Sheelan’s feet, turning toward the sound, though it’s in my head. Yes, it’s a direction, too. We’re definitely going the right way.

I’m close , I say. Where are you?

There’s a flash of an image in my head. Is that a cave opening? It’s gone again, far too fast, and no amount of calling to her can raise her again.

“We have to hurry,” I say, rising and helping Sheelan to her feet. “Here.” I turn my back to her, bending at the knees. “It’ll be faster if I carry you.”

She snorts a protest, but my flash of a frown convinces her. She’s lighter than she looks, even, and when I settle her on my back, I set out at a jog. “We’re looking for a cave opening.”

The cliff isn’t nearly as close as it appears, and it takes most of the day to reach it.

I’m weary by the time we reach the base, Sheelan insisting we rest when we do.

I huddle next to her, the two of us cuddling for warmth.

As we drew near, the weird weather she mentioned has made itself known, humidity banished in favor of an odd chill that’s more biting for the contrast it delivers to what we’ve just left behind.

A harsh wind blows down the length of the stone face toward us, and for the first time, I miss the heat I’ve cursed more than once.

Whatever chills the air—dragon magic or natural influence, I can’t say—that sweeps through this part of the landscape makes us both shiver as we try to rest. I do sleep, but it’s brief and in short and broken moments, and we’re both still tired by the time the sun rises again.

I’m despairing as we set out again, no whisper or word of the dragon. Worse, I’ve lost the sense of direction that was my guide, and now I fear very much that I’m too late.

It’s Sheelan who finds the crooked pathway up the cliff, though only because I have to stop and set her down for a moment, to catch my breath and stretch.

She turns back toward the way we came, leaning into the stone, and lets out a soft gasp that has me spinning, staff ready for the inevitable chasing attack.

But she’s hurrying on her sore feet without fear, so I follow her, and when she stops at the crack in the cliff, stepping behind the clever little outcrop that hides the entry, I’m frowning.

You’re still there , I say. You may not be able to speak to me, but you’re guiding us still. I’m coming. Please, wait for me.

“It’s a stairway,” Sheelan reappears from the crack, eyes wide. “How did I even see it, Remi?”

I shake my head at her with a grim smile. “Climb,” I say. “Let’s get this done.”

She leads again, slow and steady, with many breaks as the staircase winds up the cliff face. We stop at every switchback, even my thighs straining, and it’s long past afternoon, twilight threatening, when we finally look up and see an opening ahead.

“There,” Sheelan pants, her sandals hanging from the straps in her hands, choosing to walk barefoot to save her the straps chafing. “The cave mouth you saw?”

It has to be. “Let me go first,” I say, slipping past her on the narrow stairs. “Just in case.”

I feel her hand on my back as we climb again, ignoring the burning in my legs, the tightness in my chest, the fear I carry. I’m here , I say. I’m finally here .

There’s no reply. And I know what I’ll find when I stop at the landing, looking back over the way we’ve come. There’s no hurry now. The time for that is gone. I squint into the wind that buffets at this height, glare at the distant city I can just glimpse in the valley down the river.

Too late. I feel it when I turn and walk through into the dim, quiet darkness. Not that it will stop me.

My eyes adjust quickly, the path ahead rough-hewn, though not natural, almost scooped out rather than carved. By magic? Or dragon talons, whichever, it matters not at all. Because I see her ahead, the bulk of her at the end of the tunnel, something ponderous and immobile stretched out on the rock.

Her snout is turned toward the opening, as though she had lain down in that exact spot to wait for my arrival.

Each nostril arches high, just as big as the tunnel’s exit, but no air passes from them, no grumbling greeting.

Giant teeth curve upward from her lower jaw, over the scales of her mouth.

She’s a massive golden statue covered in dust, eyes the size of ponds closed over, wings folded like giant sails furled across the spikes on her back.

Her chest is motionless, no breath stirring her ribs. She’s exactly as I pictured she might be, only more so, grand and beautiful and still.

So very still.

I’m weeping as I look up at her, my heart breaking despite myself. I did my best , I say, knowing she won’t hear me. I’m sorry, I tried .

Her scales are cold under my touch when I stop in front of her snout and lean into her, the texture like pitted leather and steel bonded together. It’s so quiet, like a tomb, the nothingness heavy on my shoulders, in my chest. Wrapped around my aching heart.

I failed her, then. But I’m not done, not by a long shot. “Aurous,” I whisper, look up at the dragon whom I have only known as a voice. “Dragon, where is your egg?”

***