Page 20 of Of Flames and Fallacies

The questions and fear of discovering more than I’m prepared for keeps me from opening the journal again.

As the days drag on, my disorientation grows. I’m not sure how much time has passed or even what day it is. I avoid sleeping at night. If I’m honest, I’m scared other terrors lie in the shadows, waiting for me to falter before they strike.

The sky melts from midnight black to sunrise. My eyelids drag closed, and I fall forward, catching myself on my hands and knees. I sink my fingers into the grass, lifting my brows to keep my eyes open. My arms tremble from pure exhaustion as I stare at the ground.

Daeja slides off my shoulders, and pokes her head into my vision, staring up at me with her unblinking white eyes.

“I’m okay,” I croak.

Gods...is that my voice?

She chitters, bumping her scaly cool nose to mine.

I nod and flop to my back. “I suppose I can rest...just for a bit though.” My muscles twitch at the sudden inactivity. I close a hand over the hilt of my sword and turn my head to call Daeja to rest with me. But she’s missing from the spot she was moments earlier.

“Daeja?” I push up to my elbows to scan the forest around me. My gaze bounces from tree to tree, bush to bush. But she’s nowhere. I hold a breath, waiting for a flicker of movement. “Daeja!”

I must be out of my godsdamned mind—the same spot where she sat earlier, and the spot that was empty milliseconds before, is where she sits once again. She tilts her small head to the side as though confused.

I rub the heel of my hand over one eye and watch her figure blink out of existence before me.What the fuck, am I hallucinating?

I scramble forward, patting the area where she had sat.

My fingertips jab something scaly. Double tapping the invisible mass with two fingers, and Daeja’s body flashes into view again.

“Did you just...did you just do that on your own?”

She stretches her neck and flares her nostrils. Then, squeezing her eyes shut, she disappears again. Seconds later, she reappears.

I race for my father’s journal, flipping back to the pages detailing his dragon research. I scan the passages, but nothing mentions disappearing dragons. Daeja’s round black muzzle rests on the spine between the pages, her big eyes staring up at me.

“What are you?” I ask.

Dark clouds clog the sky through the ridges of the leaves above me. A deep thunder rumbles. In the distance between the gaps of trees, an orange light glows against the dreary blue mist. My hope flickers. It has to be Blackfell.

Ithasto be.

A drop of rain splatters against the ground. Daeja flinches against me. Another falls, hitting her in the head, and she hisses. Her eyes scan our surroundings, waiting for the next attack. As more drops fall, she snaps at them. It drags a chuckle out of me.

By the time we near the town, the rain picks up to a drizzle. I turn to look at Daeja on my shoulder as I pull my hood up and double tap two fingers against her scaly side. She disappears, as if she were swept away by the wind. We’ve come to discover she can only disappear for short spurts at a time. And even that is amonumental effort for her. But it’s one I hope we can use to our advantage.

The black roofs of the town confirm it’s Blackfell. I follow a crowd through the puddled streets and into a building full of laughter and roaring conversation. Overhead chandeliers and torches lining the walls illuminate the great room. People flock toward the center of the building, where clangs of metal ring out. Between the gaps of the massive audience, two men swirl and strike.

I slide through the crowd to make my way to the bar, thinking and hoping I might be able to find out information about Cole. Drunk people are always good at talking.

“I’ve got my money on the big guy. He’s second best in the kingdom to Darian Raventhorn,” a man I try to skirt around tells his companion.

His companion scoffs. “Darian isn’t as good as everyone makes him out to be.”

“You’re saying that because you’ve never seen him fight. He was trained by Jurrock himself,” the first one counters.

“Do you want to bet money on that? He got passed up to captain a squad. Can’t be all that good.”

The first one’s voice drops low, “Really? Who beat him?”

“Some fiery red-head from Padmoor. The man is brutal. He single-handedly took down a group of rebels and killed the lead with his bare hands—”

I freeze.It can’t be…can it? Cole wouldn’t be able to kill someone—let alone with his bare hands.The clamor of the fight melts away as I stop. I stare at the two people fighting in the ring, but I strain to listen to the men’s conversation.

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