Page 66 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Forty-eight

Cayden

Ryder and Finnian have polished off Elowen’s stolen bottle of rum by the time we make it to The Oracle.

The streets are slightly less crowded, but still packed.

I walk behind Elowen, glaring at every man whose head she turns, which makes my sneer nearly constant.

Not only do I do it for my own selfish reasons, but Elowen’s also having fun, and she’d become defensive and wary of her surroundings as soon as a man approaches her.

I want her anxiety to leave her be for just one damn night.

We claim an empty high-top table across the road from the gambling den, but a little far off from the main entrance so we’re able to observe the side door as well, the only other exit.

“What’s the plan?” Finnian asks. “I humbly sat out while Elowen got information despite my cheeks not reddening when I lie, so I volunteer to venture inside.”

“Have at it, Finny,” Elowen responds, waving her hand toward the building.

“Saskia and I will also go,” Ryder adds. “You two can monitor the exits, but since we’re in a more expensive part of the city, you and Elowen should stay out of sight as much as possible. We managed to slip under their radar, but let’s not push it.”

I raise my brows. “ You don’t want to push luck?”

“Maybe I’m maturing.”

“You cartwheeled into a melon stand on our way here.”

“I said maturing, not changing.”

“Maybe one day I’ll be blessed with you experiencing both,” Saskia grumbles while following him, the gold beads Elowen braided into her dark locks glinting as they sway.

They’re all dressed in the summery attire donned by the locals and will hopefully blend in…

I don’t have much hope for Finnian, though.

I tap a finger between Elowen’s creased brows as I claim the stool beside hers, pulling her between my legs to keep an eye on the gambling den. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Her lips quirk to one side. “Thoughts far too dirty for your ears.”

“If you can’t voice them, you could always just show me. I’m more of a hands-on learner anyway.”

“Mmm.” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head before looking down to twist her wedding ring. “I can’t make the fire on the torch move. I was trying to pull it toward me like I did the dragonfire. It’s like the power flooded through me and then went dormant in my body.”

Gods, what I would have given to see her melting Imirath’s wards, summoning all that dragonfire like a goddess reborn. I’ve forced her to recount the events several times, but it never gets old. I love watching her instill fear in our enemies; it really is a beautiful sight.

“Slip into Sorin’s mind,” I command, wanting to show her not all her abilities are dormant.

She cracks her knuckles, glancing from side to side to ensure nobody is looking at her face.

My back is to a curved seawall overlooking the ocean, and the other white tables with painted orange and yellow tiles are filled with rowdy drunks too deep in their cups to notice if someone slapped them across the face.

Her irises disappear, and her hand tightens on my thigh as she spends time with Sorin.

He’s by far the most mischievous, but I know she loves it.

She returns after a few moments, her brown eyes lighter than before.

“I practiced slipping into their minds while we traveled so it’s a lot easier for me to mindwalk, but that ability has never left, unlike the fire-wielding.

Did you feel any different when you woke up after the ritual? ”

I run a thumb down my stubbled jaw. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

My knife glints as I twirl it around my fingers, contemplating the best way to answer her question.

“Death and darkness have shaped my life, and I’ve always felt them following me like a shadow.

The markings that I got through the ritual prove just how much darkness has infiltrated me.

” I gesture to my arm and neck where mainly black lines swirl around my skin, but the singular blue line is so dark it may as well be black.

“It’s always lived within me, been a part of me, but I feel as if something inside me is pulling me toward you.

I’ve always felt like that, but it’s stronger now.

More of a volatile pull. I’d kill for you without question since the moment we met, but now it’s like I can’t sleep because taking my eyes off you even for a moment puts me on edge.

Something in my blood pushes against my skin and bones to keep me vigilant, and it’s not a peaceful force.

Your presence has always quieted the voices in my head, but now it’s like something has been awakened and it calls to you, but I don’t know what. ”

“Oh.” She ducks her head.

“It’s not a bad thing,” I add, drawing her eyes back to me. “Just—”

“Different?”

“Yes.”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you about the ritual.

” She swallows, and I twirl one of her curls adorned with the same gold beads as Saskia’s to calm her.

“I spoke with the soul mage who performed it after I melted Thirwen’s wards because I wanted answers.

She told me that our souls are bound. We were destined by the Goddess of Souls to cross paths.

Without it, the ritual wouldn’t have been successful. ”

“And you believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” She blinks her eyes and locks her jaw while looking toward the ocean. “But I know you would’ve died without that ritual.”

“Sirantia.” I tilt her face back to mine. “I searched for you because you were the daughter of my enemy and bonded to five dragons. The pull to you wasn’t as strong back then, it wasn’t desperate.”

“You’re letting your feelings cloud your thoughts,” she whispers. “Our lives are so much bigger than just us. Have you ever wondered if you have powers? Some kind of magical ability? If I’m able to mindwalk, ride dragons, and wield fire on occasion —what if you’re able to do something as well?”

I shake my head. “Aside from being uncommonly good with my tongue and a blade—” She scoffs at my cockiness. “I’m afraid I’m entirely ordinary.”

“I don’t believe that.” She looks at me for a long moment as she tugs her pendant along its chain. “Something lurks within you, Cayden, and whenever it manifests, make sure it’s felt across the world.”

I don’t want to disappoint her, so I keep my mouth shut.

Magic manifests in people when they’re twelve.

Elowen is an exception—whether her abilities were stifled as a trauma response or from being separated from her dragons, she was able to awaken them.

I’m not bound to any creature and was entered into several fights by my father where I was beaten enough to entice some kind of magical ability to reveal itself…

but all I had were my fists—and broken bottles if glass was thrown into the ring.

When he whipped my back, and the urge to kill him was stronger than any force in this world, something would’ve happened.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when the side door slams open and a man stumbles out, kept upright by whoever escorts him.

“That is no way to handle your prince,” the slim one slurs.

Elowen and I exchange a glance.

“People in there are sniffing around for you like bloodhounds,” the guard growls, the hilt of the broadsword strapped across his back glinting as he keeps the man upright by his shirt.

“Do you think your father has stopped looking for you? Unless you want to be slaughtered, I suggest you keep walking.”

“You knights are always so dramatic. If you’d just revoke your vow of celibacy, I’m sure you’d be much more agreeable.”

“A knight?” Elowen whispers. “A knight of Thirwen is with the prince? I thought the king made all of them take blood oaths.”

“That was a recent development,” I mutter, and wonder what sparked the change.

It was around the time that Ser Rhys Froydin went missing.

He was a legend in the Crimson Tide War, known as the vulture for his ruthlessness when he fought in Thirwen’s navy, and later knighted for his bravery.

It’s how he lost his left eye; he covers the evidence with a patch.

It’s rumored he had an affair with the former queen of Thirwen and that he’s Zarius’s true father.

King Fallon tried to have him killed, but here he stands: gray hair, lines etched into his face, but still a warrior.

“Get the others,” I mutter. “I’ll follow them.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” She hops off the stool and parts from me when we cross the road.

The street sharply slopes after I make it past the gambling den, and I keep to the shadows the buildings offer.

I thought Zarius’s hair was blond when I first caught sight of him…

but it suddenly looks white. The strands blend in with the buildings, but his red shirt is easy to spot through the throngs of people.

They stop in the road, and Ser Rhys looks over his shoulder.

I dip into an alley and press my back into a wall while watching them around the corner, waiting for them to keep moving.

The crowds thin as I continue tracking them. I tuck my hands into my pockets, not bothering to keep my steps silent when it’s just the three of us left. The prince is so drunk he doesn’t seem fazed when Rhys draws his blade and turns to face me.

“Don’t use your blade prematurely,” I state. “It’ll give me an incentive to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He keeps a firm hold on the prince’s collar as he squints through the darkness, trying to make out my features as I lift my head. And there it is. The recognition when his eyes track the scar on the right side of my face.

I take another step closer. “Still believe I won’t end you?”

“Demon.”

“Vulture.” His grip tightens on both the man and the hilt. “Though I can’t say I know the name of your companion.”

“Prince Zarius.” He hiccups. “A pleasure to meet you, demon.”

It’s clear he has no idea who I am, and it almost makes me want to laugh. Rhys growls, pulling Zarius up again, and I have to respect his patience. No amount of loyalty could make me babysit a drunken man as if he were a child. “What do you want?”

Saskia and Ryder move to stand on either side of me as Elowen and Finnian jump down from the buildings bordering the street, surrounding Rhys and Zarius. Finnian nocks an arrow in his bow for good measure while Elowen circles to face them.

“Ah, fuck,” Zarius mutters, glancing between me and Elowen. “They’ve come for my crown.”

“You don’t have a crown,” Rhys sighs.

Zarius gasps. “Have they taken it already?”

Elowen looks him over. “I must say exile looked much better on me. Do you not have some water for the princeling?”

“I’m older than you, dragon queen.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She steps forward, paying no mind to the drawn blade of the legendary knight. “No blood needs to be spilled if you cooperate.”

“Are we your prisoners?” Rhys asks, directing his words to me.

I tilt my head as I regard the pair. Silence is just as effective in unnerving someone, sometimes even more so, especially when they know who I am.

“That remains to be seen.” The knight takes in each of us and accepts the fact that he’s outnumbered.

If he didn’t have a drunk prince to look after perhaps he’d fight, but he throws his sword to the ground, baring his teeth in a feral snarl.

“Pick it up, vulture. I’m not your squire, and I do not fear the end of a blade. ”