Page 54 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)
Chapter Forty
Elowen
I lean back on Venatrix’s chest, keeping one boot crossed over the other as I watch the dark water lap against the shore.
Our anchored ships bob in the rocky cove, and soldiers continue flooding the beach in black-and-blue armor.
They shove their rowboats far enough up on the sand to keep them from being taken by the tide.
With the cover of darkness and the distance between us and our target, we won’t be spotted, but we need to strike quickly.
This is the first battle in the war I’ve been fighting since the day my dragons and I were put in chains.
I’m not fighting this war for validation.
When history is written, it rarely favors women.
I don’t care how I’m perceived; all I care about is survival and retribution.
I want a better world, and the only way to achieve that is by anointing the earth in the blood of my enemies.
Two crossbows are attached to my saddle with capped quivers of spare arrows alongside them.
I’ll always prefer knives, but I’ve come to enjoy the feeling of firing the weapons.
Finnian approaches first, and I take a moment to trail my eyes over him in full armor.
Like the rest of the army, quilted blue velvet covers the steel on his chest, and the House Veles sigil is imprinted on the plate that attaches his shoulder guards.
I’ve seen many versions of him over the years, but never a commander, and I think it suits him.
His shoulders are stiffer, his chin higher, and he’s packed on a bit of muscle from training with Cayden and Ryder.
“The battalions are ready to march,” he says.
Nerves prickle my palms, not for me, but for him. “Are you going to be leading the charge?”
“No.” He looks down for a moment. “Cayden advised against it since I’ve never been in a battle of this magnitude. He told me to find my footing on the field before I rush to the front.”
Relief is prominent, but not enough, knowing Cayden has the experience and that he’ll be on the front lines.
Similar to my approach regarding my dragons, Cayden won’t send soldiers into a battle he doesn’t lead—especially not when the revenge he’s chased for years is finally within his grasp.
The urge to ask Finnian if he’s ready for this burns through me, but I shove it down for his sake.
“You were given this position because you deserve it. You’re a fearsome fighter, Finnian.
I wouldn’t be leading a charge if I was fighting on the ground either. I don’t have the experience.”
He nods, seeming relieved by my faith but not replying as Cayden approaches in a set of entirely black armor aside from the House Veles sigil on his chest. Cayden is already larger than most men, and the armor emphasizes that fact and even makes him taller.
Dragon scales cover his chest and upper thighs in two short panels, and shine above the chain mail that separates his shoulder guards from the spiked gauntlets that cover his wrists and hands.
He wears a helm resembling a dragon with wings flaring away from his face and two curved horns jutting from the top.
It hides his features entirely aside from his eyes, and the ominous sight is enough to inspire fear in any foe.
Finnian looks over his shoulder quickly. “I’ll be getting to my post.”
I throw my arms around him, murmuring into his chest, “Shoot straight.”
His arms tighten around me, pressing me closer to him. “I suppose I should tell you the same thing now.”
I laugh softly, patting my knife-clad thighs. “I might still get a few throws in.”
“You always do.” He nods to Cayden as he retreats, making it back to the Aestilian soldiers.
Cayden stops a few feet away and removes his helmet, soaking in every detail as he always does before a battle.
He starts low, dragging his eyes up my leather coat also covered in dragon scales with high double slits for my blades to be easily accessible.
The fur lining the interior keeps me warm, and two panels of dark blue fabric hang down from the dragon heads on my shoulders.
I didn’t want to wear full armor, knowing I’ll need to move with Venatrix.
My hair is styled as it always is when I fly, with several small braids along my skull leading to one large one that falls to my waist, and a golden House Veles sigil rests along a golden band at the center of my forehead.
“No flower?” he asks, and as a response I offer him the back of my head where I tucked a few of the flowers he gifted me.
It’s hard to believe mere hours ago we woke up in bed, eating pastries and trading gifts.
A faint smile blooms on his lips, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that can’t be drowned out as he steps closer, grasping the back of my neck.
“Hit them hard and fast. Don’t linger. Don’t yield.
Don’t show mercy. You do whatever you must and come home to me.
It doesn’t matter if the wyverns have riders, you’re better than any of them.
Fire burns in your blood. Your dragons are faster and fiercer, but you’re the most fearsome of all. ”
I nod, soaking in his words, letting them pound through me like a war drum.
I dip my fingers beneath my neckline to pull out the two rings I added to my necklace beside my moonstone pendant.
“Against my better judgment I seem to quite enjoy your presence.” I tuck them back where they were.
“Keep your eyes on the field, not the sky, soldier.”
He kisses me before stepping back, resting his hands on the hilt of his blade. “I’ve mastered keeping an eye on you while people are trying to kill me. It’s an enviable skill and one I take pride in.”
He puts his helmet back on, making him a nearly seven-foot-tall demon, and meets Ryder in the distance.
I turn back to Venatrix, pressing my forehead to hers as she bends down, and slide my fingers over her scales.
I open the bond, letting it flow through me, consume me.
Golden light illuminates my soul as I become one with my dragon.
I breathe when she does, and our hearts beat as one.
“We ride to war, my sweetling.”
Her crimson scales morph into black, and the other dragons follow suit, mirroring the darkness blanketing the sky.
The only vibrancy comes from their eyes.
They’re restless and eager to begin their quest for blood, their claws stomping on the ground every few seconds.
I wonder if they can sense the savagery pounding through me, if we’re linked even in our vengeance.
“Solka,” I say while mounting her, tightening my hands on the saddle horns as she sinks her claws into the sand to get a running start.
It’s the command for fly in Ravarian. One by one, every set of eyes on the beach turns to watch a sight nobody thought possible.
The air crackles with my power as a melody of unlimited might is created from the wind rushing through the dragons’ wings.
I lead them silently into the sky, high enough for the night to conceal us.
The firestorm made flesh sitting atop her shadows of death and ash.
Following the plan we discussed, I fly away from the shore, toward the back of Thirwen’s fleet.
It’s massive. Hundreds of ships bear the sigil of House Liluria, setting their force apart from the Imirath ships closer to the coastline.
A black kraken with its tentacles wrapped around a ship adorns their dark red sails, not one ship suspecting that they’ll meet their end tonight.
Water laps against the hulls and torches flicker on the decks, illuminating the provisions Thirwen brought with them. Crates of food and weapons are sifted through by soldiers. If there was a way for me to raid the ships, I would, but victory is more important.
War cries shatter the silence on the beach, and I close my eyes, muttering a prayer for my dragons, my friends, and my husband despite my prayers going unanswered throughout my entire life.
I let the flashback of my past overtake me, push it all to the forefront of my mind.
I think of the frigid and sweltering days in the dungeon; I think of my blood coating the floor as it gushed out of my body.
I think of the hands that touched me without my consent, when I was far too young to even do so.
I think of the humiliation, the shame, the look in my father’s eyes as I was beaten in front of his throne.
My throne. I think of my dragons being chained and ripped away from me, and the earth-shattering pain that consumed me when Garrick tried to break my bond.
“Zayèra.” Dragonfire.
Though the dragons respond to my commands when I speak the common tongue, there’s something that feels right when I speak to them in Ravarian. Venatrix shakes her head as if awakening from a long slumber.
Venatrix sharply dives, and a battle cry forged in flight and fury rips free from my throat as the wind screams in my ears, doing nothing to drown out the echoing roars of my dragons.
They unveil their vibrant scales as blazing flames swallow ten ships in one breath.
The hulls crack and splinter, and soldiers in full armor jump into the water unless caught in the crossfire.
The steel will drag them into the depths of the Dolent, fleeing flames only to be swallowed by the tide.