Page 13

Chapter 13

Cyrus

T he night sky is exhilarating. Chilly. Bright with stars. Full of possibilities. I don’t feel like shifting, but I stretch my wings to the widest they can go within this version of me. The ground below blurs, and soon I’m back at the ruins.

I want to see what Kaya saw—a dragon shifter ghost.

Wind moans through the gate as I pass under the old, rusted portcullis that’s permanently stuck in a raised position.

“Hello?” I call out, feeling foolish. My wings shudder as if a part of me knows this is reckless. “I mean no disrespect. I’m a dragon shifter, and I would love to know more about my kin. About you.”

The courtyard holds a few dilapidated structures. I pass them quickly, keeping my head on a swivel, and I continue into the longer building that stands against the northern wall of the castle. This is where Kaya said she thought she saw me. The corridor is long and dark, only a thin film of starlight illuminating the ghostly place. A chill runs down my body, from my horns to my toes inside my boots.

“Seems like you might want some company in a cold place like this? Want me to start a fire? I could light up what’s left of that wagon in the courtyard?”

A grumble echoes down the corridor, and I force myself to keep walking.

“I wouldn’t bother you, but you see, I’ve never known any other dragon shifters. I know nothing about our past. Our rituals. Our fire. If you could guide me or teach me in some way, I’d be forever grateful.”

Although the place is indeed terribly creepy, a sense of belonging suffuses me. This is a place built by my kin. There are small details that reiterate that fact. The corridor is wide enough that I can stretch my wings out, at least in what Kaya calls my human-esque form. Dragon-head shaped windows look onto the courtyard—divots and curves carved into the stone openings give the appearance of a dragon’s horns and prominent cheekbones. I didn’t know until this minute that all dragon shifters must have the same facial structure as me. A smile tugs at my mouth.

A gust of cold air blasts me, then heat rises in front of me. Light shimmers in the dark and a form appears from the sparkling magic. My heart crashes against my ribs. The form has glittering black scales. Bright green eyes appear.

A dragon shifter ghost.

I move my mouth, but I can’t speak. The shifter’s wings shuffle and he points to a room off the corridor. The door is shut. I try the handle only to find it locked or possibly rusted shut. I test the doorknob again, but no luck.

“You want me to go in there?”

The ghost opens his jaw wide. I fall back a step. Ghostly flames pour from his mouth and engulf the door. The ground shakes, and I set a hand on the wall, my pulse pounding relentlessly against my temples.

The door cracks and disintegrates to nothing. Like it was never even there.

He faces me and gestures for me to enter the dark room. I do as ordered, checking to see if he’s following me.

“Do you know me? I can’t believe you’ve been here this whole time, and I’ve been clueless. Can I ask you some questions?”

He shakes his head and points to a torch on the wall. With a flare of his fingers—taloned fingers like mine!—he indicates I should light the torch. The thing is ancient, but it seems the tallow-soaked fabric remains and hasn’t crumbled to dust like so much of this place. The air is incredibly stale. I summon some flame from my chest and set the old torch on fire.

I turn to examine the room, but my gaze keeps going to the ghost. He scowls and opens his hand near one of the tall shelves that line the walls. Slanted desks sit in rows between the shelving, so I’m guessing this used to be the scribes’ room. Some wealthy lords and ladies still have rooms like this in their castles and palaces. Rustion even has a small version of this with one desk and his decent collection of history scrolls and agriculture books. He let me rummage around the place when I was first curious about my kind. I found nothing there, but this place, well, this is a dragon’s home. I bet it’s all here—every answer I’ve ever sought.

A wisp of blue-white light surrounds one scroll and scoots it from a high shelf. I freeze as the scroll floats toward me. I glance at the ghost, and he nods encouragingly.

I catch the scroll, then head to one of the scribe desks, roll it out with careful movements. The scent that rises from the parchment is musty. I nearly sneeze my arse off before I can go back to trying to make out the faintly inked words.

But they aren’t simply words.

It’s a map.

The river is the first thing I notice. It’s wide and labeled Greatheart River , but it takes a sharp turn past a mountain range just like our Leafshire River.

“Is this the river beside my town of Leafshire Cove?”

The ghost nods.

The mountain range leads into a valley filled with markers that appear to be villages if the triangle and two lines are indeed meant to symbolize a house. Ah, I recognize a few. There is Kingstown, represented as a city. It’s been well established for centuries.

The ghost’s nearly transparent talon lands on a spot north of Kingstown, a spot beyond a small sea that I’ve never heard of. Wingwash Sea , it says in the old tongue. The old language isn’t that much different than the modern one. They just enjoyed using more vowels and didn’t have a regulated way of spacing or capitalizing words.

Pointing again at the spot, the ghost grins. It’s not a comforting smile, but he does seem delighted about wherever this is.

“What is so good about this place?” It’s marked with more lines and dark dots. “Wait. Are those cliffs? Or a deep ravine, maybe?”

A rush of both cold and heat comes from the ghost and suffuses the air around me.

“Does that mean yes?”

He nods. Lifting his hand, he places his palm on my chest. I can’t quite feel the touch, but the odd cold and hot sensation increases there. His eyebrows lift and he stares at me pointedly. Then he jerks his chin at the map.

“You want me to go there?”

He smiles that chilling smile once more, and then he disappears.

A shiver tracks down my back and along my tail. I swallow and gather the map, tucking it into my belt as carefully as I can.

Why would a dead dragon shifter want me, the only other of his kind in the area, to run off into the wilds of the northern lands? Maybe there were civilizations there long ago, but I don’t think any settlements remain that far north. There’s an area beyond Kingstown that has always been called the Desolation. Certainly, nothing important could be past that barren land. Could it?

Excitement flutters in my stomach as I hurry out of the ruins. I don’t want to push my luck. At least now I have a lead on finding out more about my kin.

I just hope that ghost doesn’t decide to follow me home and stop my heart. Were those earlier cases of the supposed curse truly just coincidences? Or am I an idiot for risking it?

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.