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There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to blend or cower until the danger passes, nowhere to hole up and heal so I can try to fight my way out. Basically, I’m screwed. Well and truly fucked.
Cowardice has a shelf life.
I won’t let them corner and catch me again. I won’t let them use me to get to the others.
My dragon is as trapped as it’s always been, but for once, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better that the curse will claim me too. If I had my dragon, even if just a part of my power managed to reveal, I might survive this, and I need to not survive this.
Death isn’t the escape I was hoping for, but it will do. At least I’ll go hugging the sky and kissing the wind, knowing the others are safe. Protected. Knowing I didn’t break.
Female dragons are watched over and protected like the rarest treasure—and there’s nothing a dragon likes more than treasure.
but how can you expect people to cheer for you if you don’t cheer for yourself, ya know?”
but most of my life has been “adapt or die.” Being resistant to change has never been an option.
“They’re going to catch you, Ever. They’re going to take you back to Paragon City, to Four Tiers, and they’re going to find out what you are,”
“Fuck fate,” she agrees, her gaze searching mine. “You can do this, Ever. If anyone can, it’s you. You survived the massacre that killed our kith and our kindred. You survived The Scorch and that run-in with the chimeras. You survived the blood brokers for fuck’s sake. You can survive The Dragon Horde.”
You know how to play the game. So play it, Ever, because I refuse to let this be goodbye. I will see you again. We will ride into the fray together until glory is ours. I command it.”
“Spark the flames, Ever.” “Ignite the infernos,” I answer automatically. “Ash the embers,” we both say at the same time,
Frilled Lizard? Really, Ever? Of all the options I’ve rehearsed and used, I had to go with the one that was only supposed to be a running joke between me and my Flight.
I want to fight, but I’m not stupid. For now, the drakes aren’t trying to kill me, which means I should save my strength for when that changes…because it most definitely will, and probably soon.
“In the wild, the prettiest things are often the deadliest,” she adds, staring right at me.
“I’m not scared. But not for the reasons you might think. I’m just not afraid to die.”
“Because that’s what The Horde does. You can pretend otherwise, but we all know if you can’t claim, control, or comprehend something, you kill it.”
“Come now, Lorn, I can’t be the first person you’ve run into that thinks you’re a prick.”
“I’m Ever Tenebrae, daughter of the slaughtered King Merik Tenebrae, and the last surviving Syphon of my massacred line. Trust me, Spare, I’m not safe anywhere, least of all with you.”
I hate that I’m relieved. I hate that I had to be rescued. And by The Horde no less, which adds insult to injury.
“I can’t reveal because the sorcai who helped massacre my kind stole the ability. Or did you think all the Syphons just laid down and let themselves be slaughtered?”
I wait. Something I’ve gotten very good at in the past few months—my Flight would be so proud.
“My father is dead, and like you said, I am unclaimed. Therefore, I have no title. So you can fuck right off with all that bullshit…respectfully, of course, Your Highness.”
“Listen, Heir, the Tainted at least gave me some time to heal between my beatings. Can we reschedule this interrogation for tomorrow? I promise I’ll be more fun then.”
She’ll be good, won’t you, Claws?” “I wouldn’t count on it,” I chirp honestly and then giggle.
“That’s not my name, you bossy fuck,” I snap and then titter when it comes out more like a drunken mumble. “You tell him, Frills,” Chastain encourages.
I hate when someone answers a question with a question. It’s a dodge, a way to exercise control or reclaim it. It’s another game, and I’m already so over playing them.
“You think he was killed by wyverns,” I whisper, captivated by the goose bumps that abruptly rise on his dragon-marked neck. “But he wasn’t. I was there. I saw it. It was dragons. But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”
Why couldn’t he be pretty and dumb? This would be so much easier if he was all package and zero substance. But no, it’s just my luck that the fucker is clever, adept, and annoyingly observant.
“You have a dimple,” Aeson points out, like I don’t already know. I gasp and cover the small indentation with my hand. “It’s back?” I exclaim. Aeson frowns at me, the look in his gaze perplexed. “Don’t scare it away!” I admonish. “I haven’t seen the little guy in forever.”
“Where I’ve been for the last sixty-two years is safe; the rest is none of your business.”
“Fine,” I snap, bending over to unlatch my boot. “I tried. If you fuckers lose your shit like the healers in the hospital were terrified you would, good. I’m going to enjoy watching you tear up your own shit.”
His rage confronts my own. My defiance baits his. We stand, two enemies on a battlefield, neither willing to cede to the other, and somehow, I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now. I’ve never felt more seen.
But there’s something about being in the presence of this primal, raw rage that calls to me. It’s as though basking in the physical manifestation of what I can only feel inside is exactly what I need to be whole again, even if it’s only for a little while.
I know exactly what it means to hand over a name like this to a guy like the commander. The vow of reckoning is silent, but it’s there all the same.
“Are you done with your mantrum now?”
“I thought the Royal Wing were the elite of the elite. A few scars shouldn’t send the best and brightest The Horde has to offer into a full blown frenzy. You should be careful with that chink in your armor, or someone will use it against you.”
“It seems the fates have been busy,” he mumbles to himself. “Fuck fate,” Aeson and I both angrily whisper at exactly the same time.
“I’ll let the commander know you’re downright distraught over his safety, but worry not, Kindred, the rest of our Wing is with him.”
My heart speeds up and my chest tightens as the others drop their dignified, no-fucks-given, Royal Wing masks in place.
I disengage from this pointless conversation. I’ve known far too many people who thought they were foolproof. They’re all dead now.
“One of those armor-winged, weapon-toting, camouflaging species of butterflies. Got it.” I smile. “Exactly. I think they’re from the genus Fuck Around and Find Out.”
“May the Source bless us with a miracle. You’re going to need one to survive the Noctis brothers.” I laugh and offer her a Cheshire grin. “Wrong, they’re going to need one to survive me.”
“Ovaries,” I correct slowly so he doesn’t miss a syllable. “I’ve got ovaries, not balls, and I guarantee they’re infinitely tougher than anything dangling between your legs. Now, Stormer, answer my question, or I’ll be happy to demonstrate exactly what I can do with my substandard weaponry.”
“Stormer? Come now, dragoness, that’s so cold, so impersonal. Call me Herm, I insist. And feel free to press a little closer. I’ve never been buttered before; the sheer anticipation is doing all kinds of things for me.”
“That smell you thought was Chastain was the Tainted. They’re the ones who took me, who attacked your Wing in Lairwood. They were here. They were watching. The Horde doesn’t even know they exist. What the fuck was I supposed to do, just stand there?”
The Horde wants me to fit in a tidy little box that they can show off and pass around for their own benefit. They’ve forgotten who the Syphons are, what we’re capable of. But that’s okay—even without my dragon, I’ll be happy to remind them. I’m a fucking Tenebrae after all.
“A bobble-headed princess? No. But they’re right about me not fully respecting them,” I confess.
“For starters, I don’t trust them because they don’t trust me,”
Guards who show zero interest in knowing who you are as a person, are guards who aren’t truly invested in your survival.”
