Page 47 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

I tip my head back, peering upward as Ashvelon presses his nose to the skull. Clinging with three legs, he uses the sharp claws of his forepaw to wrench a few teeth from the jaws of the skull. One by one, each tooth lands on the grass near me with a muffled thud .

He’s taking three pieces of bone-tribute from her. One for Kyreagan, of course, and one for Mordessa’s family. The third tooth must be for himself. Something by which to remember the friend who helped him break his dependence on alethia.

I stoop low in the grass and touch one of the teeth.

It’s lightly grooved, not pure white but a sandy color.

When I close my eyes, I can sense the potential in it, the latent breath of dragon magic.

Mordessa had lightning, and each time she used it, her teeth absorbed a little of the power.

This tooth would be a powerful aid to the working of spells. But that isn’t its purpose.

“You deserved better,” I say softly, running my fingertips along the curve of the tooth.

I press my palm lightly against the sharp point.

“Thank you for everything you did for him, Mordessa. I can’t promise to love him like he deserves—I’m too much of a mess, truth be told.

But I vow to love him with everything I have, until the day I die. ”

I have never believed in ghosts, afterlife spirits, or cycles of repeated lives.

And yet, crouching in the grass, with my eyes closed and my palm against Mordessa’s fang, I could swear I feel the faintest crackle of her presence in the air—lightning and a flash of gold, like sunshine on the sea.

The rush of sensation takes my breath away.

Ashvelon lands heavily at my side. “Are you alright?”

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. “What color were her scales, Ash?”

“Golden.”

“Of course they were,” I whisper.

“We should go.” His voice rumbles by my cheek, his muzzle brushing my hair.

“We have what we came for. Perhaps in the future we can return and lay them all properly to rest, but for now, I am content with this. I am more than content—I am so fucking grateful to you, Thelise. You know I would have gone anywhere with you today, and the fact that you wanted to come here, to do this—it means more than you will ever know.”

A flush of heat rises to my face, mingled with an anger I can’t quite define, except I know it’s centered on my father.

“Your clan deserves some peace,” I say tightly. “After everything, you deserve to have the honor of reclaiming your dead.”

He traces the curve of my cheek with his tongue. “I’m sorry there was nothing left of your friend.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

It’s not the same thing, not at all. That isn’t what any of this is about. That isn’t why I’m weeping silently, holding Mordessa’s tooth in my hands. Katlee isn’t the reason I lean against Ashvelon’s shoulder and tilt my forehead against his scales and allow myself a quiet sob.

“All the power I possess, and still I can’t fix the sorrows of the world,” I whisper.

His sharp ears twitch backward to catch my words. “And yet you try. There is beauty and redemption in the work that you do.”

“Is it even worth it, though, if the goal is never really achieved?”

“My darling, of course it is.” He swerves his horned head to look at me.

“Mordessa taught me the same thing about alethia. That battle is never fully won. It will always be there to tempt me. Even if I am not tempted today, this month, or this year, the compulsion may try to seize my mind and my life again. Its resurgence does not mean I am defeated. It means I am a warrior for my best self. There is courage and value in the effort, even if the victory is never truly ours.”

The burden of the bones proves too much for Ashvelon to safely carry across the sea to Ouroskelle that evening.

As we head for the coast, he has to keep landing to rest or to adjust the position of the barrels and bundles he’s carrying.

We’re both exhausted, dirty, and smelly from hours of digging through refuse and remains.

“We need to find somewhere to spend the night,” I tell him. “You’re tired, and you’re going to switch to human form soon. We can hide the bones somewhere, then look for an inn. Tomorrow you’ll be rested, able to carry the bones to Ouroskelle.”

“I hate waiting uselessly,” he growls. “I should be helping my clan rescue Kyreagan and Serylla.”

“You’ve been anything but useless, pet. Have you already forgotten that you saved the poisoned dragons and all the women from being dinner for starving fenwolves?”

His only answer is a disgruntled rumble .

“We’re near the Resting Cliffs, aren’t we?

” I ask. “We’ll find a good spot to hide the bones, maybe a thicket in those woods over there, and then we’ll look for an inn.

If your clan returns to Ouroskelle, they’ll probably head back along this route, and you’ll either hear them overhead or you’ll catch their scent tomorrow.

And if not, we’ll head for the capital city and see what can be done. ”

“I don’t like this plan.”

“You don’t have to like it,” I say sharply. “You’re too tired to fly all the way back tonight, and as I said, you’ll transform soon. You’re landing now , pet, if I have to force you down myself.”

Ashvelon snarls and snaps his jaws, but he swoops lower and lands clumsily near a patch of forest. I help him hide the barrels and bundles among the undergrowth.

He shifts right after we finish the task, and while he’s getting dressed in the clothes I brought for him, I place a confounding charm on the area to keep anyone from finding the bones accidentally.

“The charm should last for a couple of days,” I tell him. “After the conflict with Rahzien is resolved, you can come back here with a few of the other dragons and collect the bone-tribute.”

“If any of the other dragons survive,” he says morosely.

“God, you’re in a doleful mood. Try to have a little hope, darling. Now come on. We need to find an inn or a pub.”

We walk for perhaps half an hour before we reach a crossroads.

There’s a tall post with three narrow pieces of wood tacked to it, each one sun-bleached and salt-crusted thanks to the coastal weather.

The name of the town to the north-east is illegible, and the sign pointing the way we came simply says “cliffs,” but the one pointing west says, “Murtha’s Hob. ”

“Sounds like a wayside inn,” I say cheerfully. “How fortunate that I brought coins to pay for lodging. And someone thought we wouldn’t need money.” I poke Ashvelon’s chest, peeved when he doesn’t give me the faintest flicker of a smile.

He doesn’t speak as he trudges along the lane beside me, between dark fields of whispering grass. The forest is a black blur some distance away, alive with the chirping and sawing of night insects. After I stumble twice in the darkness, Ashvelon grabs my arm and pulls it close to his side.

“Can you see in the dark, even in human form?” I ask him.

“Well enough. Better than you can.”

“You’re in such a lovely frame of mind, really. Can’t you try to—”

“Try to what?” he grits out. “Try to forget that I spent the day clawing through the bones of my dead clan members? Try to forget that one of my princes is being held captive by a treacherous king, while the other has a malevolent storm inside him? Try to forget that our clan is teetering on the edge of extinction, and that the next terrible event could push us over the cliff?”

“Yes,” I say flatly. “I want you to forget all that.”

He stops short and spins me around to face him. “You ask too much.”

“Do I, pet?” My tone sharpens. “Do you think I don’t feel the weight of those worries?

Do you think I’ve forgotten how you came to my cottage and invaded my life, intending to kidnap me and force me to do your princes’ bidding?

Do you think it was nothing for me to be threatened by dragons and nearly killed, first by my own spell, and then by the fucking Mordvorren?

Do you think I wanted to dig through dragon bones today—which, I might add, were interspersed with the rotting corpses of humans you helped to kill?

I saw more than a few victims of frost-fire. ”

“That was war,” he seethes. “It’s different, it’s—”

“And the girl you dropped into the sea? Was that different, too? ”

His grip tightens on my arms before he shoves me back a step and strides rapidly away down the road.

I go after him, trying to match his stride but tripping and cursing instead. I manage a few more steps before my toe catches on a ridge of crusted dirt and I fall headlong.

Ashvelon whirls around, marches back, and drags me to my feet, his face a breath from mine. “Fuck you for mentioning the girl, Thelise. You know how deeply that wrecked me, how much I—”

“You liked her. If you’d kept a better grip, maybe she would be sharing your nest instead of a troublesome sorceress. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“No,” he snarls. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

He’s panting, his whole body tense, heat rolling off his skin. I’m bathed in that heat, intoxicated and maddened by it.

“Show me what you’re thinking, then,” I hiss. “Do it. Unless you’re just a mild little pet, a soft puppy who can’t even—”

He takes me by the throat, and I choke on a gasp. I’m flat on my stomach on the road before I can take another breath. His hands fumble with my skirts, bunching them, shoving them clumsily up my legs, around my waist. He wants them out of his way.

Cool night air skates across the backs of my thighs.

Ashvelon yanks angrily at my flimsy underwear, then rips through it.

I inhale sharply at the painful tug of the material against my flesh as he does.

He drags the remnants off me. My cheek is pressed to the dirt, but I see the scraps off cloth flutter into the roadside grass.