Page 8 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

Lost in my own thoughts, I become suddenly aware of movement between my claws. My grip relaxed while I was festering in my own misery, and the young woman I captured is writhing, wriggling, trying to break free.

By this time, it is dark, and we are gliding above the ocean through low-lying clouds.

“Stop struggling,” I tell the young woman. “There is nowhere for you to go.”

“I’ll die before I let you eat me,” she says.

“I’m not going to—ah, fuck! Be still!”

She’s slipping between my claws, and even as I tighten them, I can feel her body emerging from my hold. She clings to one of my claws for a moment, and then, with a faint scream, she falls.

I dive after her through the fog and the darkness. Opening my throat, I let the glow of my frost-fire shine faintly over the heaving surface of the ocean. The light would be brighter if I actually released my frost-fire, but I don’t want to risk accidentally killing the woman.

Frantically I scan the dark, churning sea. I can see nothing but undulating black waves laced with pale foam. When I dip lower, dangerously close to the water, a wave crests and smacks me in the snout with cold spray.

“Woman!” I call. “Where are you?”

The other dragons have continued onward. I don’t think any of them realize what has happened, what I’ve done.

I fucking dropped the woman I captured. The panic and shame of it crush against my heart, joining the weight of grief.

For hours I hunt for the farm girl, nearly swamping myself in the waves.

The ocean can be dangerous for a dragon.

Once it ensnares our wings, it will drag us down.

There is nothing to push off from, no way to get airborne again.

Some of us can swim for short distances, but most of us are too heavy, and with the drag of our giant wings, we cannot remain afloat for long.

In my search for the girl, I come closer to drowning than I ever have in my life. But she is nowhere to be seen, and at last I admit to myself that she is gone. I lost her, and she has perished in the waves.

Even though she fought me and fell, I take full responsibility for her death. Rather than being far away in my own thoughts, I should have spoken with her. I should have reassured her that she would not be eaten or harmed.

I failed her. I should have left her alone by the well. She was simply living her life, and I destroyed her.

Exhausted and grieved nearly to the point of death, I land on one of the beaches of Ouroskelle.

I drag my body higher on the sand, out of reach of the tide.

I think I am weeping, although my scales are too coated with saltwater for me to tell.

I cannot bear to encounter any others of my kind, not yet.

Not until I have rested and gained some measure of self-control.

For a moment, I think of alethia. I crave the sharp sting of it, the spicy sweetness of its leaves melting on my tongue. I ache for the way it helps me see the world, for the pulsing thrill of the pleasure it brings to my body.

If I had alethia, I could forget everything that has happened for a little while. I would not have to feel it so deeply. Why should I suffer excruciating pain and internal conflict when there is something to help me, something to soften the torment?

The desire to search for alethia is almost strong enough to make me get up. But my exhaustion is so great that I physically cannot rise. And that is what saves me from disappointing myself yet again on this terrible night.

When I wake, it is still night, but dawn is coming. I can feel its breath whispering across the sea.

I dreamed of Mordessa while I slept. I don’t remember much of the dream, only vague impressions of golden wings, trust, and warmth.

There’s a glow in my heart like the ghost of her presence, and it’s enough to give me the strength I need.

I push away thoughts of alethia and turn my mind instead to Kyreagan, Varex, and my fellow dragons.

Mourning alone is not healthy. I should be mourning with the clan.

I should ask the princes if there is anything they need from me.

Even though the war is over, I was a section leader.

My role is to support the leadership of the clan and to serve them in all things.

There is much to be done, and I will not accept the luxury of self-indulgence.

Mordessa often told me that thinking of others is the best way to avoid the trap of self-pity. That is what she would want me to do, and that is what I will do.

Shaking the sand and salt from my scales as best I can, I claw my way up the nearest cliff until I’m high enough to peel away from the rock and take to the air.

Night still lies over Ouroskelle, and the stars glisten like tiny jewels. As I soar over one of the mountain ridges, I spot another dragon sitting on a ledge near a glowing dyre-stone, which we sometimes use to light our caves.

Fortunix has similar coloring to mine, though his scales are lighter gray, with a rougher texture. He is an Elder, nearly a hundred and twenty-five years, and he bears scars on his wings from a dark time, decades ago, when humans came to our islands to hunt us down.

When he spots me, his great wings stir and spread. He drops from the ledge and rises to glide alongside me.

“Here you are, Ashvelon,” he says. “I wondered why you did not return with the others.”

“There was an incident,” I say. “I needed rest.”

“I see. Did you also bring back a squirming little creature in your claws?” Fortunix asks.

“I had one, but… she fell.”

“Just as well,” he mutters. “What is Kyreagan thinking, bringing our enemies among us?”

His open condemnation of the prince makes me uncomfortable. “The women aren’t dangerous.”

Fortunix snorts. “Humans are always dangerous.”

“Kyreagan has a purpose for them.” Briefly I explain the plan, but it doesn’t appease Fortunix .

“This should never have happened,” he mutters. “This was not supposed to happen. The war was supposed to strengthen our species, not decimate it.”

“It is devastating. But we must do what we can to mitigate the damage.”

“Mitigate the damage?” He scoffs.

His disdain angers me. Oddly enough, I’m more furious at him than at the people of Elekstan. “At least Kyreagan is trying to do something to save our race,” I growl.

“Settle your scales, young one,” replies Fortunix.

“I am working to understand what has happened, just as you are. Forgive me if I do not immediately embrace the thought of humans on this island. The last time humans stood on our land, they were here to slay us and claim our hides as trophies. They discovered that if they peeled off a dragon’s hide before dawn, it would remain intact even when the rest of the carcass disintegrated. ”

Bile curdles in my belly. “Why would you remind me of that? You know that I lived through the Hunting Years. You know what I endured.”

“Then you should understand better than anyone why this disturbs me.” Fortunix jerks his head toward the cliffside ahead of us, where I can see two winged shapes, inky black in the pre-dawn gloom.

“There are the princes. I heard they were flying from cave to cave, commiserating with the members of the clan and collecting bone-tribute to honor the females who died here on Ouroskelle. We should see if they require our assistance, or perhaps a dose of wisdom, if they have the stomach for it.”

His attitude toward the tragedy we’ve suffered gnaws at my soul.

Fortunix typically keeps to himself, and I only remember him taking one female during the last heat.

She allowed it, but she did not seem to enjoy it.

He pinned her wings down with his talons, which is a dangerous and thoughtless act, especially during mating.

Ever since I witnessed that moment, I have not thought well of Fortunix.

But I don’t object as he flies with me toward Kyreagan and Varex.

“My Princes,” I greet them, landing on a ledge farther up the slope from the spot where they are perched. Fortunix settles nearby.

Narrowing my eyes, I inspect the two princes. Kyreagan looks wretched, his body tense and his breathing harsh. The slope is smoking, and there are drops of liquid fire visible on the rocks. Varex appears to have been comforting or calming him.

“I am still collecting bone-tribute,” Kyreagan says, his voice ragged. “Ashvelon, how goes it with your female?”

My stomach pitches with sudden nausea at the memory of the young woman falling into darkness, vanishing among the ocean waves. I don’t want to confess my mistake to the princes, but I have no other choice. “I was just telling Fortunix that I—I dropped her.”

“You what?” exclaims Varex.

“She wriggled out of my grasp.” Words rush out of me, agonized and repentant. “I couldn’t catch her, and then she was gone, lost to the sea. It was dark—I couldn’t see her anywhere. I failed you, my lord. And I—I killed her.” I lower my head, prepared to accept his rebuke.

Kyreagan’s voice is low and reassuring. “You haven’t failed me. And her loss is of little consequence at such a time. Count it against the losses we have endured, and feel no guilt.”

He’s trying to encourage me, but his words seem harsh and careless.

I feel the loss of that single life deeply, and I believe I am right to do so.

Our existence is no more or less important than that of humans.

Every life has value. I sublimated that belief to do my part during the war, but it is still a creed that I hold.

“I have another task for you, which I trust you will accomplish with greater care,” Kyreagan continues. “I need you to find the enchantress Thelise, daughter of the Supreme Sorcerer of Elekstan, and bring her to Ouroskelle.”

“And perhaps some supplies as well,” Fortunix adds. “You have transported many human women here, but you have nothing with which to care for them.”

“Because I plan to have the enchantress turn them all into female dragons,” replies Kyreagan.

“Yes. Ashvelon told me of your plan.” Fortunix snorts.

I can tell by the flare of Kyreagan’s nostrils that he notices the disrespect, but he lets it pass.

“My plan is based on fact. Rothkuri told me that Hinarax told him that he heard from a Vohrainian soldier that Thelise can transform herds of sheep into rabbits, or chickens into rats. The soldier’s cousin witnessed it with his own eyes.

A whole species transformed into another.

She can do this for us. Ashvelon, see to it that she has all the supplies she needs to perform the spell. ”

“Ashvelon needs a companion for this mission,” Fortunix says. “I will accompany him. I’m perfectly capable of flying to the mainland and helping Ashvelon carry supplies. Or perhaps I’ll carry the enchantress, since our friend Ash seems to have slippery claws.” He pokes my wing with his.

“I would welcome your company,” I say tightly, resisting the urge to snarl.

After a few more words with the two princes, we prepare to depart. Fortunix takes to the air first, but Kyreagan speaks quickly before I can follow him. “Ash… bring back something for tea.”

I tilt my head. I vaguely recall hearing the word tea before, but I have no idea what it signifies. “Something for tea? What does that mean?”

“Fuck if I know,” Kyreagan replies gruffly. “Ask the enchantress what is required.”

“As you wish, my Prince.” I bow my head to him and leap away from the mountainside, into the air.