Page 91 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Sixty-eight

Elowen

“Zayèra!”

Venatrix’s red flames cut a line down the beach, engulfing the enemy soldiers climbing out of rowboats and trying to run toward the battle.

Our allied forces advance on the tide, firing cannons to push Imirath and Thirwen back as they fight for position.

Smoke rises where I patrol the beach and castle in the clouds, and though we’ve put a significant dent in their navy, the remaining ships are still numerous and filled with skilled sailors.

I unhook the crossbow from where it’s strapped on Venatrix’s saddle and command her to descend.

The wind screams in my ears, nearly drowning out the warning made by a soldier on deck. “Dragon! Dragon approaching!”

I tighten my hand on the saddle horn, aim at a woman manning the cannon pointed at the peak of Galakin’s fleet, and pull the trigger as Venatrix rips into the deck with her claws, gouging deep enough to send water spilling into the vessel as she pushes it down into the sea.

Her tail drags through the ocean as she uses it to steer herself through the slim gaps between ships. My saddle straps strain when she flips upside down, letting another volley of arrows deflect off her armored scales before righting our position again.

I look over my shoulder to ensure we’re far enough from our fleet to give the command. “Zayèra.”

Her flames spill from between her lips and engulf seven ships and whoever was stationed on them.

The dragonfire doesn’t simply burn the soldiers, it melts the flesh from their bones and then blackens them.

When dragons fly to war, they become the gods of it.

Mortals and steel are mockeries of their might.

Bells ring out from behind, and I look to the Vareveth fleet.

They have the advantageous position; they shouldn’t be calling for aid.

I order Venatrix to fly above the masts to grant me a better perspective and I blink slowly while staring out at the horizon filled with purple sails…

but it’s not Atarah sigils stitched upon them…

it’s the crescent moon of House Vellgrave, the deceased house of the southern isles before they were conquered.

My hands tighten on the saddle horns.

It’s considered treason to fly the sigil.

If they were loyal to Garrick, they’d be sailing under Atarah banners, but I can’t ignore the possibility of a trap.

We haven’t heard anything of the southern isles aside from the initial rebellion, and the territory is claimed by Garrick.

I look to the Vareveth fleet again, and unease prickles my palms. Our navy will be pressed between Imirath and the southern isles fleet if they haven’t come to fight for us.

“Solka.” I command Venatrix to fly out to them and summon Sorin and Delmira to follow.

We soar over our navy and quickly gain on the approaching fleet.

Venatrix roars at the head of the pyramid, but I force her not to burn them yet, and our bond strains.

She rebels against the command; mercy is not in her nature. “Lotas, Venatrix.”

She obeys the command when said in Ravarian. It carries more weight in their minds.

Bile rises in my throat when I look closer and realize the bowsprits of each ship are not adorned by carvings…

but bodies. Blood soaks through Imirath soldiers’ armor and drips down the bow of each approaching vessel.

I descend, needing a closer look before deciding whether I think they’re truly here to fight with us.

Venatrix’s claws sink into the deck of the ship leading the fleet and it nearly capsizes under her weight. She lets out an ear-piercing roar, sending everyone on board to their knees. “One wrong move and I’ll burn you alive.”

“We’ve come to fight for the demon king and dragon queen,” someone cries out in desperation, and I take a moment to look them over.

All on board are in bloodstained ordinary clothes, looking more like fishermen than a naval force, but it’s their builds that make it known they’re fighters—their scars as well.

“And if anyone tells a lie, I’ll feed them to my dragon,” I state. “Venatrix is a bloodfury—she craves it—and even your entire crew won’t fulfill her appetite.”

Wood creaks as a man rises from where he knelt, and I pull my crossbow free and aim it at the upper deck. He pauses and holds his hands up while awkwardly crouching. “What my soldier says is true, Your Highness. We have come to aid your efforts against Garrick Atarah.”

“I take it you’re the captain?”

“Yes, my queen.”

I aim the loaded bolt at his heart. “Why should I trust you? I don’t want to burn you, captain, but I can’t let you near my fleet if I perceive a threat.”

“Your king is a southerner.”

“Half,” I correct. “We got word of your rebellion, but Cayden’s name was not stated when you called for your rightful king. He has no relation to House Vellgrave.”

“House Vellgrave is gone, but King Cayden Veles is the only ruler I will bend my knee to. He has the blood of the southern isles in his veins. Noble, commoner, it matters little to us. Long have we suffered under the reign of your father. He pulled the soldiers who patrolled our land to Zinambra in preparation for the battle, and we rebelled, knowing you and King Cayden were coming.”

It sounds too good to be true, but not only would I be a fool to execute them, I’d also be no better than the man they’re desperate to be free from.

The man I’m desperate to be free from. I look around the ships that sailed from their isles and not a single weapon is drawn against me, not a single arrow pointed at my throat.

They sailed here for freedom, and for Cayden. I wish he could witness the people from his father’s land choosing him in a way his own father never did. I think he can learn to love the southern isles, to honor their culture as Garrick never did.

“If you are with us, then split your ships and help us surround the peninsula. Garrick and Fallon cannot escape.” I don’t have the time to stay here and speak.

Calithea and Basilius continue monitoring the beach and burning whenever necessary, but I need to get back to watching the castle.

“If you turn your cannons on my fleet, you will not live long enough to see the end of this battle.”

The man presses a fist over his heart before placing both hands on the helm. “To the king!”

“To the king!” the crew echoes, and Venatrix flaps her wings to rise off their deck.

I fly above them, watching as their ships slice through the surface.

My breath rushes out of me as their fleet splits in two and they follow my command.

The southern isles truly rebelled, and they did so to bend the knee to Cayden.

It’s now four kingdoms against two in the water, even if our Thirwen numbers are extremely low.

Immense pride swells within me. Oh gods, I can’t wait to tell Cayden, but I need to focus on getting through the battle first. There hasn’t been any sign of my father or King Fallon.

I unhook myself from Venatrix and jump onto Sorin’s back.

Venatrix is out for blood, so remaining on the beach will fulfill her craving, but I need to be on my fastest dragon in case I spot Garrick.

We leave the sand behind and cross into the city.

Citizens of Zinambra run along the canals and narrow streets, screaming under the shadows of my dragon’s wings.

They duck behind barrels and flee into shops and homes…

as if mere stone and wood could protect them if I decided to burn the city.

But I will not sit upon a throne surrounded by ashes of the innocent.

I want only one corpse at my feet today.

Sorin lands on a tall building, his talons wrapping around the edge as he roars at the castle.

Everything looks so similar to the way it did when we were here last. Dragon sconces still line the roads and curved stone bridges that stretch over the canals.

Islands within the bays still house estates, restaurants, and extravagant shops.

The dark stone houses are just as lovely as they always were, but there’s one thing marring the otherwise beautiful city: the castle.

My heart pounds in my chest as I look at it, and Sorin cries out again, sensing my growing unease as the memories flood me.

My lip curls while looking at the dragon statues still bordering the entrance.

I thought Garrick would’ve removed them after hearing of my and Cayden’s sigil, but perhaps that’s why he didn’t.

He didn’t want to seem like he was scared.

Yet he cowers behind the same walls he locked me in, clinging to his throne like a lifeline while his soldiers fall on the field.

I was born here, bled here, fled here, but I won’t be able to rule here until Garrick dies.

I’m no longer a ghost, or the princess in chains.

I am Elowen Veles, the dragon queen, and my father can scatter stone dragons throughout his kingdom in hope of projecting their might upon his reign, but he will never ride a dragon.

He will never be one with the beasts that are fire made flesh.

I want him to face me.

I want him to see the monster he created.

I want him to fear me as I once feared him.

Sorin leaps from the roof, spreading his wings wide and carrying us closer to the structure that was once nicknamed the impenetrable castle.

He should’ve known that one day his monster would return to break her cage.

Fleeing wasn’t enough; it will never be enough.

For as long as I live, I will think of this place and never see its beauty.

All I see is death, and I want everyone to see it as I do.

Sorin glides toward the entrance, tipping his wings up to fly to the top of a towering obsidian spire.

We rise above the castle, and Sorin fully extends his wings while screaming, screaming, and screaming again.

The agony laced through the sound pulls at my heart and twists it.

I tighten my grip on the saddle horns as he sharply dives and spits green flames down the spire, twirling around it.

It crumbles and crashes into the earth as he continues his destructive pursuit.

Calithea joins him, raking her claws down the front of the castle and roaring through the gaps she cleaves.

Venatrix and Delmira remain at the beach, but Basilius’s humongous lavender body descends upon the bridge leading to the main entrance, ripping it with his claws as he melts the dragon statues by the entrance that were almost as tall as him.

I keep the bond open, letting their anger and pain flood through me as they burn and decimate our prison. Garrick tried to take everything from me, from us, but I sank my claws into fate and ripped it to shreds. My anger has simmered for years and boils from me now, scalding all in my path.

“Face me, father!” I shout. “I traveled all this way; will you not say hello to your daughter?”

After all the spires have fallen, Sorin bathes the roof in a blaze so hot I feel it pulsing against my cheeks.

Smoke stings my eyes, and dust floats into the air as, stone by stone, half the roof collapses in on itself.

Sorin latches his claws on to the crumbling ledge, throwing his head back and roaring.

“FUCKING FACE ME!” I stand on Sorin’s back, but all that does is give me a fresh perspective through the green, silver, and lavender flames.

With the state of the castle, my father will be forced to flee.

Towers tumble into the canal at the base of it, blazing ramparts fall haphazardly, and what’s left of the structure wobbles and sways as the assault continues.

I project Garrick’s face into my mind and keep the bond open in my chest as I take my seat again.

Even if he escapes my sight, he will never escape the dragons.

Sorin’s head cuts to the left and the ledge collapses in his wake as he shoots us toward the ground on the eastern side of the castle. Mad laughter bubbles up my throat when I realize why he acted so abruptly.

Garrick Atarah is finally outside his precious castle walls.

Calithea bursts through a crumbling tower, roaring as she joins us, and I command Basilius to attack the wyverns now flying toward us.

Wyverns are naturally smaller than dragons, but compared to Basilius, they look like hatchlings.

Perhaps my father thought he could escape into the Seren Mountains as Cayden and I once did, but the senses of a dragon are too sharp to be evaded by men.

Wards in the shape of a small dome glow at the center of the small royal party, leaving eight guards from Thirwen and Imirath to fend for themselves.

They’re not the ones I came to kill, but perhaps there’s some truth in being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They chose their fate when they followed my father and the rulers of Thirwen out of the castle.

To their credit, they don’t flee, but their drawn swords are pathetic as Sorin descends upon them and scorches their flesh and the earth beneath them in green flames.

When they clear, nothing but charred bones surround the wards that are still intact.

I command Sorin to land in front of them, and Calithea takes the rear.

The pair of them slam their tails on either side, locking the rulers and mage within a circle of green and silver scales.

They’re shouting at the distressed mage within, and I smile while meeting my father’s dark, fear-filled eyes.

“Zayèra.”