Page 39 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

I write the spell on a thin slab of rock that Ashvelon brought with us, grasped in his claws. Once the letters are inked, Ashvelon carves them deeper.

With the spell etched, I draw the casting circle around the stone slab and set up the crystals, sprinkling the emergent lines with a selection of dried herbs. I use one of Kyreagan’s scales this time, one that’s already loose on his left back leg.

“Sorry,” I say as I pull it free.

“It will grow back,” he assures me. “Our scales renew themselves every so often anyway, and that one was due to drop out soon and be replaced.”

Kyreagan watches with interest as I sit by the stone and weave the spell. Ashvelon sits beside him.

Since I haven’t fully recovered from the ravages of the Mordvorren, even this small charm takes everything I have, right down to the dregs, as I knew it would.

But I have a clearer perception of my limits ever since I performed the great transformation.

Thankfully, as I promised Ashvelon, the charm does not send me into a frozen, barely conscious state.

My weakness does overcome me, though, and when the work is finished, I slump to the floor, temporarily overcome.

Ashvelon darts forward with a reproachful, panicked growl, nuzzling me.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just tired.”

“Your pardon, my Prince,” he says to Kyreagan. “I must take the enchantress to rest now.”

I barely have time to give Kyreagan a few sentences of basic instruction on how to summon and dispel his horns before Ashvelon scoops me up in his front claws and flies out of the cave. He snatches my bag with his back claw.

I glare up at his armored throat. “I wanted to give Kyreagan some more advice and wish him luck!”

“You’ve helped enough. Time to rest.”

“You’re an impatient motherfucking dumbass, do you know that?”

He answers calmly, almost smugly. “When it comes to your wellbeing, I will do what I must.”

The security that statement brings me is like nothing I have ever felt. Despite how exhausted I am, I catch myself smiling as we fly.

After several minutes of silence, Ashvelon says, “If you’re well enough, I would like to accompany some of the other dragons on a venture to the Middenwold Isles, which now belong to us, according to our bargain with the King of Vohrain.”

“The same king who is buying the Princess from Fortunix?” My voice drips with suspicion.

“He signed over the islands to our clan,” Ashvelon says. “No matter what has occurred since that agreement was made, it still stands. The Middenwold Isles have abundant prey for us to hunt, and we will need that food, especially after the devastation the Mordvorren wrought upon Ouroskelle.”

I stare down at the valley far below us.

Even though I’m secure in Ashvelon’s claws, my belly rolls with terror at how high we are above the ground.

Swallowing, I focus on observing the landscape below—piles of smashed trees, rockfalls, vegetative debris, and landslides.

The beautiful green forest has been wrecked, pummeled to splinters.

The face of each mountainside has been scoured brutally.

Even the meadows beyond are swamped with mud and littered with broken trees, dislodged dragon bones, and debris.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “It must hurt to see it like this. ”

Though my voice is quiet, Ashvelon hears me and rumbles sorrowfully in response. “Yes, it does cause me pain. But my greatest joy is your survival, which soothes the pain of other wounds.”

“You’re getting better at those bits of poetry,” I tease him.

He chuckles. “I tried to think of what Prince Varex would say. He has always been skilled with words. Are you comfortable enough in my claws, or should I land so you can climb onto my back? Are you strong enough to hold on if I let you ride me?”

“This isn’t the most comfortable of positions,” I admit. “But as long as you promise not to drop me, I’ll be fine until we get home.”

His breath catches. “Home.”

“It’s just a word,” I tell him.

“Right. Just one of those meaningless things you say.” His voice is rich, warm, and loving.

A shadow passes over us, and a slender black dragon drops to our level on the right. Varex, the second prince.

Again I sense the difference in his aura, like a shiver in the air around him, like a slight, gnawing tug on my magic. It’s worse now that he’s closer to us. Something is deeply wrong with him.

“Prince Varex,” says Ashvelon. “What can we do for you? Nothing too strenuous, I hope. The enchantress is weary and needs to rest.”

“Don’t mind him, Varex,” I say. “How can we help you?”

“I need to confess something,” says the Prince. “You may have noticed how the Mordvorren left—how it didn’t move slowly onward, but disappeared abruptly.”

“Come to think of it, yes,” I reply. “Do you have an explanation for that, Prince?”

“My void magic. ”

“Your void magic… oh shit.” I stare at him from between Ashvelon’s claws. “What did you do?”

Varex makes a pained sound, halfway between a growl and a groan. “Come to my cave as soon as you can, and I’ll explain.”

“She must rest first,” Ashvelon snarls.

“A very short rest,” I assure the prince. “Some water, some food, a little breathing time, and then we’ll come to you.”

“I will await your arrival.” Varex dips his sleek horned head. “And thank you for everything you have already done for us.”

He flies away before I can respond.

“I won’t lie, a little gratitude feels good,” I say, relaxing in the cage of Ashvelon’s claws.

“I’m thankful, too.”

“Have you said it in actual words, though?” I tap my lips with my finger. “I can’t recall.”

He chuckles, a deep burr that vibrates through his claws into my body. “Thank you, my love.”

“Now was that so hard?”

He scoffs lightly and sweeps into his cave, depositing me gently on the floor.

He refuses to let me go to Varex for another hour, insisting that I lie in the nest to recover.

Finally I resort to calling him a naughty disobedient dragon and refusing to look at him, whereupon he pouts like a rebuked puppy and grudgingly agrees to carry me to Varex’s cave.

Varex’s captive, Jessiva, is a white-skinned woman with bright red hair.

She’s painfully thin and seems to be very upset with the dragon prince.

After learning that he used his void magic to swallow the fucking Mordvorren, I can’t say that I blame her.

The Mordvorren is alive inside Varex somehow, and it’s causing him significant distress.

I wish I felt stronger. I wish I was better prepared to deal with something this unusual. But the Mordvorren nearly killed me, and I don’t think my magic would be much use in assisting Varex, even if I were at full strength.

“What do you think?” Jessiva asks crisply. “Will he be alright?”

I sip from my flask of restorative tonic, pondering the situation. “No idea.”

Her eyes flame. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Can’t, love. I never studied the Mordvorren in depth.

Wish I had—maybe I could have done something to turn it aside.

But as you may have heard, spellwork can go terribly awry if it’s attempted beneath the Mordvorren’s shadow.

While it hung over Ouroskelle, I couldn’t perform any magic at all.

In fact, I was not entirely myself. If the storm had continued much longer—” I clear my throat.

“Let’s just say I’m grateful to you for stopping it, Varex. ”

“As am I,” says Ashvelon.

“There’s not much information about the origins of the storm, how it moves, or why it chooses specific areas,” I continue. “What we do know is that it contains magic within itself—a twisted, toxic, arcane magic that no one today understands.”

“So you don’t know anything,” Jessiva says, her eyes sharp with pain and condemnation. “If you can’t help him, just say that.”

She’s hurting. She loves Varex, and because I can’t fix him, she’s angry with me. I understand, but it doesn’t mean I’ll put up with her disrespect or pretend that I have a solution when I don’t.

“I have no idea what containing this storm will do to your dragon, Jessiva,” I tell her calmly.

“My gut feeling is that it won’t be anything good.

It’s possible that he’ll be able to withstand its effects for a while, but eventually it will change him.

I think that’s unavoidable. It might be absorbed by his void completely.

It might be altered by living inside him, or it may change the form of his magic.

It could try to burst out of his body and return to tormenting the world. ”

“This island has endured enough,” Varex says. “I told Jessiva I plan to go elsewhere, to a distant island, and wait until my future reveals itself. She’ll be staying here.”

“I will not,” she says petulantly. “I’m going with him, even if I have to hang onto his fucking tail the whole flight.”

Varex growls at her.

“Easy,” I caution him. “God, you dragons are so volatile, so unreasonable.” Ashvelon gives a disgruntled whimper, so I pat his nose. “Not you, pet. You’re a good boy.”

He settles down, soothed by my affection, and I turn back to Varex.

“Jessiva should go with you. Tell us where you’ll be, and Ashvelon can check on you now and then.

If something happens, Jessiva can be there to witness it and tell us what occurred.

Consider this—that the information we gain through your experience could be important to destroying the storm once and for all. ”

“So even if it kills him, you’ll learn something.” Jessiva’s tone is an icy blade. “What a compassionate point of view.”

Enough with her.