Page 26 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

I gulp as he makes his way forward and I follow. I’ve heard of this place, everyone has. No one dares to come here but the Dragorie, or dragons.

Huge bones arch this way and that as we walk beneath them, some littering the floor, some sticking up like poles. Others scatter around like something pulled them from the ground. We pass a large head next, it must have been bigger than Drogonah judging by the size of it.

“Covak dragon,” Rohan tells me as he walks ahead, back stiff. “Along with Immoral and Novid dragons, they were killed for what they were, hunted like vermin.”

Were. Because they don’t exist anymore.

“It’s not their fault they were born that way,” I reply quietly, a heaviness washing over me. I hesitantly reach out and touch the off-white bone as we pass it, and I instantly pull back from the unnatural coldness. “They can’t help who they are.”

Rohan turns sharply and we still, staring at each other. I don’t avert my gaze from his penetrating stare, I don’t lower my head or clasp my hands in front of me.

Instead, I watch him as he watches me, his gaze seeming intense, thoughtful, even.

“No, they couldn’t have helped what they are.

” Then he turns, releasing me from his gaze.

“We meet here as neutral ground, a reminder of the blood that was spilled, unjustly. Though some are glad to see the back of those dragons.” It warms me a little that he too doesn’t like how they were killed.

“This is sacred ground, and we know not to defile it no matter what our thoughts are. Morana would hold that against us and cause great harm to not only the one who displeases her, but his family, his clan.”

She is the Dragon Mother of all.

“Harm how?”

“Sickness, drought, crops dying, dragon eggs failing to hatch. You would feel her wrath for defiling her grounds. Her first children’s final resting place.”

I nod even though he can’t see me.

There must be hundreds of bones here, and it makes my heart hurt thinking about the dragons that lost their lives because they’re different.

Just like I’m different.

I reach up and brush the top of my ear without thought.

How many times did I want to cut the tops off, get rid of it so I could be like others? It was too many times to count.

Being an elf in Dracozar, I don’t fit anywhere.

I touch another bone and this time, I don’t shy away from the coldness of it. Instead I put my other palm to it and send my thoughts. That I’m sorry it died the way it did, that I understand how it feels to never be accepted. That I wish it was different.

A warm breath flows over the back of my neck, and I turn at the unexpected feel of it, my hand flying up to it. But no one is there, not a single soul, not even Drogonah.

“Come.” Shaking myself out of it, I follow Rohan, that deep sadness coming to the surface again and I rub my chest.

Drogonah rumbles above somewhere, and other dragons echo it. There’s a thudding noise as a thick fog flows around us.

Why am I even here?

“Remember what I told you.” It’s the only warning I get when he comes to a stop and drags me next to him as four other dragons land around us. “And do not even think about running.”

Five chairs are spread out in a wide circle in the center of charred ground, each adorned with different colored ribbons. Bones that could have been ribs flow further back around and curl above, almost like it wanted to cage something in but stopped midway.

Four figures are seated in the chairs, masks firmly in place, all eyes on our arrival. A single dragon sits at their backs, huffing and chuffing with what sounds like impatience as Rohan moves forward, a hand on the back of my neck.

“Kneel.” I do without hesitation at the harsh command, the ground hard as I land. The snow has melted here, like the warmth of blood flow never stemmed keeps the cold away. “Stay.”

I do as Rohan says, letting my hands rest on my knees, head bowed as I try to stop the trembling in my body.

I look at Rohan’s chair to try and center myself.

Black ribbons are woven through it, like ash seeping from burned bones that make up the seat.

Dragon’s teeth curl around the four legs at the bottom, stabbed into the ground, and the size of them makes me swallow nervously.

Definitely bigger than Drogonah’s.

“Rohan,” someone greets, and I peek up at the male Dragonbond across from him. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but rough and haggard, like most male Dragorie, I supposed. His chair has two different shades of blue ribbons wrapping around it.

“Varan. You’re well, I see.” Rohan’s tone isn’t friendly, either.

“This year’s harvest has done us well through the winter,” Varan says. “And we have two new members now.” He waves a hand forward. Two males come and stand beside him, not talking, but their whole bodies shake with fear before they kneel.

Rohan nods. “A great boon.”

“Indeed.” I peek at Varan once more, noticing the slight difference in his bone mask, but after a quick glance, I realize they’re all different in some way, apart from their mouths being uncovered, and are similar to their dragons.

Varan’s mask has two horns sticking straight up from the top, no longer than my hand, and has slash-like gaps at the cheekbones. His brown hair is tied at the back, and multiple braids flow down over his shoulders.

I look toward the white-ribboned chair. Its Dragonbond has a slender mask, its horns curling. A female, her light hair is tied in two ponytails with braids flowing into it, and smaller, more delicate braids are randomly tied in the loose hair hanging to her breasts.

Green is next, yet their mask only covers half of their face, and runs atop their forehead, its horns are short nubs on either side. A wicked scar runs across the uncovered side of his face from the tip of his eyebrow to the bottom of his jaw. His dark hair is in one single braid.

When I look to the red, I quickly lower my gaze as I find his eyes already boring into me.

His mask only covers his eyes and nose, the horns curling down and around his face, the tips coming to either side of his jaw.

His brown hair is braided from the top of his head into three braids that are tied into one.

“Enough of this useless talk!” Red says, and I flinch at the unexpected outburst.

Rohan tenses, and I feel a coldness come over him. Drogonah shuffles at his back, a deep rumbling sound coming from him in anger.

“Why have you called this meeting, Karag?” Green asks. “Winter is not long to end, we need to prepare for many things in the coming spring.”

“Dragon eggs.” Karag, the red Dragonbond replies, his dragon moving his head around at his back. “They are to be hatched in the spring, what are we doing about it?”

“What do you mean, exactly?” the female asks, the Dragonbond on the white chair. Her Dragon is slender, but the look in her eyes is no less deadly.

“Eggs are going missing, have been for years. We need to protect them.”

“And we shall,” Green says.

“And how are we doing that, Durruk?” Karag demands.

“I’m going to go to The Glade early,” Rohan says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“You are but a man,” Karag fires back.

“I’m a Dragonbond,” Rohan growls, and Drogonah backs it up with his own.

The air thickens around us as I grip the leg of the chair, nerves rising.

“You aren’t the only Dragonbond here, Rohan.” Karag snarks.

“Correct, so you will speak to me with respect.” Rohan growls.

He huffs. “We all know you don’t deserve that title.” He looks at Rohan’s arms with something like disgust before he glares at Drogonah. Rohan bares his teeth. “But you are the king’s pet.”

Rohan growls as Varan interjects. “Enough, Karag.”

“Are we all going to continue to ignore the fact that the king always keeps him behind to speak on his own at The Games? That he always favors him?”

They all look to Rohan.

“I do not enjoy his company,” Rohan grits out. “We all try to get through The Games.”

Karag scoffs. “You continue to allow it. You’re the one who set The Games in motion in the first place!”

“And what was the alternative?” Rohan snarls. “He hurts our fucking dragons? Our People? At least this way we have a chance while he still has Nighturn.”

“The king has had us by the balls for years,” Durruk says. “We can’t exactly defy an order at The Games. It doesn’t end well. We all know that.”

“I’ll leave early for The Glade,” Rohan eventually says after a tense silence.

“That will dishonor Morana,” the woman says.

“Morana will prefer we protect her children more than wait to bless spring. I can do that at The Glade.”

Silence follows.

“That isn’t a bad idea,” Durruk mumbles.

“I agree.” That comes from Varan. “Sigrid?”

The female looks around, playing with a white ribbon before nodding her agreement.

Everyone waits for Karag, and I remember hearing about how all must be in favor for something to pass with the Dragonbonds. Those that are opposed have to challenge and win for the topic to be put to rest and not to be spoken of again for one full year.

“We need to try, it’s getting worse,” Rohan says, when Karag doesn’t speak.

“I’ll help,” Sigrid says.

Varan and Durruk agree.

Karag sighs, knowing he’s outvoted. “Fine, we shall all go early and cut short the celebrations.” Then I feel eyes on me, hard, leering. “Now, who is this?”

“Mine,” Rohan says without any hesitation, his tone level and even.

“And you bring her to The Graveyard?” Karag mutters.

“As per the vows we all made to keep peace between the clans, we show our new members when a meeting arises.” He points at the two males across from us.

“And what is your name?” Sigrid asks.

“She goes by Elf,” Rohan says, and my head turns to him. His eyes silently tell me not to say a word.

I look away, feeling less of a person and more like an animal ready for slaughter.

“Interesting.” Karag says. “So, slave girl, come here and let me look at you.” I shiver at his tone.

Glancing at Rohan, waiting for him to dispute him, my shoulders slump as I rise, hesitantly walking over to Karag when he doesn’t.

I don’t dare look into his eyes, his gaze like a brutal thorn on my skin. The reddish dragon at his back huffs, and I hear the smirk in the Dragonbond’s voice. “An elf you say…”

He grabs my arm, hard enough to bruise, and a growl comes from somewhere behind me, sounding deadly.

“You will take your hand off of her, Karag, or I will take my axe to it.”

Karag’s dragon roars.

“Calm, Vali,” he says to it, and then he whispers so only I can hear. “So possessive of you, isn’t he?” Dread fills me. “I wonder why.”

I feel his eyes on my ears, and then they flick behind me.

“Are you challenging me, Rohan?”

“If I have to.”

A heavy pause.

“Let the girl go, Karag,” Durruk says. “We do not have time for this if we’re to go to The Glade early.”

Karag pushes me away from him, and I fall heavily on my side. “Away with you, Elf. Before I drag you back to the boundary myself. The king won’t be happy with this.”

“The king has no concern with who is in my clan… or any of our clans,” Rohan retorts. “As is the vow we all made in blood. Are you going back on your word?”

“You dare suggest that!”

“Enough,” Varan says. “I usually like your bickering but not tonight.”

Sigrid sighs. “And don’t push her like that, Karag.”

“She’s a slave, they are good for nothing.”

“She’s still a woman,” she hisses, and I see the hint of a blade as I rise to my feet.

“Are we finished?” Durruk huffs. “I don’t want to spend longer here than I have to.”

“Yes, we’re done. See you at The Glade,” Varan says, rising from his chair and the rest follow, parting with, “May Morana guide you.”

I gingerly walk back to Rohan where I intend to kneel, but he stops me, staring at my covered arm silently until he says. “Go to Drogonah and stay by his wing.”

I do as I’m told, preferring the dragon to the man as I walk to his right side, remembering not to get on his left.

I expect Drogonah to growl at me, or sound a vicious rumble, but he surprisingly moves a little closer to me, like he can sense Rohan’s mood.

Rohan walks over to Karag, and heated words follow that I can’t make out. Karag snarls at him, spitting at his feet and Rohan’s fingers ball into fists.

“I’ll see you at The Glade, boy, and make sure you keep that one close.” Karag leaves as Rohan stares after him, watching him take flight on his dragon, shoulders rising and falling with harsh breaths.

Rohan looks to be in his late twenties, and seems to be the youngest one here, but he’s far from a boy, just like me being twenty-three doesn’t make me a girl.

I wonder if it’s because Karag looks to be about forty, he calls Rohan boy . Either way, it was meant as an insult, that’s for sure.

A few moments later, Rohan stomps over to us, and hauls me onto Drogonah’s back without another word.

He doesn’t speak, he barely breathes as we take flight, but the tight grip he has on my waist never ceases as we fly back to camp, and neither does the anger that seems to have settled around him like a cloak.