Page 55 of Dragons' Future

“I’m not here for them,” said Autumn. “I’ve been thinking about your story. And about the whole set up of the priest acolytes, coming and going from the citadel. And you know what doesn’t add up at all?”

“Hmm?”

“Distance.” Autumn crossed her legs. “This travel you did to find your sacred lands and plants, it would have taken a great deal longer than your tale accounts for. Princess Roshana’s keep was nowhere near the citadel lands. Did the controlling, jealous dragon give you leave to go wandering the land as you wished in pursuit of your studies? And speaking of logistics, how has no one noticed your acolytes dragging dragon dames back to your lair at the citadel? Frankly, how did your priests even survive the passage between the mortal realm and Massa’eve, not once but over and over again? They are pesky little details, but I cannot get them out of my mind.”

Emric’s nostrils flared before he could regain self control. “Relocation is a theory. An academic discussion.”

“And yet,” Autumn spread her palms.

“If I could move myself between two points by means of magic, don’t you think I’d have stepped away from here by now?”

“I think you are missing your hands.”

“It takes more than hands,” Emric snapped. “Runes are but a part of the discipline. Which is why you will never harness the full power of Orion, no matter how many books you study or followers you torment. Channeling great power requires generating it first. And you are too weak to do what’s necessary.”

“Try me.”

Emric smiled, nothing but sneering malice in the curve of his lips. “I can show you. But you will need an egg. Are you willing to sacrifice that?”

“No.” Autumn pulled out a wrapped piece of chocolate and stuffed it into her mouth. “I’m not. But I’ve worked out what all those constellation runes you wear are. And I’m willing to sacrifice you.”

Emric snapped his mouth shut. A muscle ticked along his jaw. “What are you?” he asked quietly.

Autumn leaned forward. "If you cooperate, Emric… then I am your salvation."

CHAPTER 32

Kit

It’s morning by the time the five of us soar into the heart of the capital, where the Massa’eve palace stretches toward the sunbathed sky. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing the world from the clouds. From this high above, the capital looks like a collection of perfectly sculpted children’s toys, miniature houses and rivers and boulevards all laid out against a carpet of rolling hills and manicured trees. Horses and wagons and people move around but make little headway. Even the flag fluttering atop the towering spire of the palace seems insignificant against the expanse of the world.

Cyril swoops low and we follow, keeping a diamond formation with me in the middle. His blue scales catch every facet of sunlight in a mesmerizing display of muscle and beauty. Every line of the dragon is dominance incarnate. Perfection. Life. Death.

The buildings grow beneath us, the trees bending to the wind from our powerful wings. People stop in the street. Not every fae in Massa’eve can shift to dragon form, but they clearly all recognize who is coming in. I can’t hear their words, but I see them all watching. Pointing. Changing their own trajectory to match ours. They take off their hats—or else hold them down to their heads against the wind—but they all look up toward the sky. Toward their king.

They are looking at you, Tavias says into my mind.

They aren’t the only ones, Hauck adds. In close formation I can hear all my mates now, though it takes concentration. Hauck’s mind voice is the easiest to discern after Tavias’s. It’s low and velvety , like a caress along my belly. It’s taking all my self control to stay the course.

A lewd image coalesces in my mind and I miss a wing beat, nearly falling out of formation before the males adjust their speed and altitude to conceal my error. The image ripples and I can feel a self satisfied smirk behind it. Hauck. I don’t know how he did it, but I know he is behind that.

No sky patrol, Cyril points out, Tavias sending a curt agreement. Tension fills the bond, wiping away thoughts Hauck had tried to plant in my mind. Salazar obviously knows we are here. He is choosing to let us approach unchallenged. And unwelcomed.

Cyril banks again, making a tight circle above the courtyard, which has filled up with a sizable crowd by now. Then we are down, shifting in a flash of light until we stand side by side at the steps of the eerily silent palace. I can feel the crowds’ eyes piercing into my back.

There are at least ten uniformed males by the grand palace doors in front of us, five on each side. They all look formidable. Through the bond with my males, I already know they are all Salazar’s people.

Is this the part where the palace guards try to kill us? I ask Tavias.

No yet. No one is fool enough to attack a prophecy incarnate in the middle of a courtyard.

So that’s why Cyril ensured we circled nice and low before landing. He was ensuring everyone got a good look at me.

Cyril strides forward toward the guard in charge. Unlike the guard’s perfect uniform, Cyril's clothes are still wet from our swim and his hair clings in wet strands down the sides of his face. The hard lines of his body, which I know so well, radiate the same leashed power that they did in dragon form. A warrior amidst dressed up dolls.

“Captain.” Cyril pins the guard with a cold glare. “First, straighten your collar. Second, take us to Salazar. I’m certain he will not wish to delay learning of our safe arrival.”

I swallow a snort. Yes, the lies Salazar had spun about keeping the throne warm for his dear brother are biting him in the ass now. Not that an ass bite will keep the bastard at bay for long, but it’s nice to see.

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