Page 14 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

His rumbling chuckle vibrates through the earth. “I don’t think you have blood and death in your heart, little one.”

“You underestimate what I will do for those I love.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “I’m simply hoping that by the time you figure out how to kill me and return to those you love… I’ll be one of them.”

5

The grassy spot I chose is a forested hollow high in the mountains. Its position allows it to drink the sun’s warmth throughout the day, and a trickling stream feeds the earth there. It’s a fertile nook, a secret retreat of mine when I’m particularly weary or sad. There are no voratrice dens, nor do the wolves usually climb the rocky slopes to invade the place, hidden as it is. Though the trees are thick, there’s enough of a clearing to allow a single dragon to land.

I have not been able to sleep well for many days, even before the events at Guilhorn. But being home on Ouroskelle, so closeto the bones of my ancestors, in this familiar haven, brings peace to my soul. My captive’s breathing has slowed and quieted, and the knowledge that she feels safe enough to sleep is a balm to my sore heart.

In my dreams, the girl’s red hair grows into a river of scarlet silk, sweet and lush. I swim through it, trying to reach her, but she keeps retreating farther and farther away, until a dragon twenty times bigger than me bursts out of the red river, his granite jaws wide. He catches her in his teeth, tears her small body, and swallows her tortured screams.

I startle awake, choking on my void magic. The sizzling orb sticks in my throat, and I strain, trying to keep it in.

The girl awakens, too, and she shrinks away as my body hardens with a violent spasm. I rise on all fours, unable to restrain my magic any longer. Stretching my neck to its full height, I throw back my head and release the void orb into the sky. It sears off the ends of several branches as it shoots upward, but otherwise it implodes harmlessly.

My body tremors, and my heart is racing. My breath explodes between my jaws in frantic bursts tinged with purple light.

The girl is on her feet, silent and still, watchfully assessing my behavior. “A nightmare?”

“How did you know?”

“I’m quite familiar with how people act after a night terror, and though you’re not aperson, the behavior is similar. Why don’t you take some deep breaths?” Her tone is a wry echo of my earlier advice to her.

“Fair enough.” I flop back onto the grass and focus on slowing my breathing and my heartbeat. “My brother Kyreagan had a similar episode earlier tonight, only his panic wasn’t caused by a dream. He was afraid to face the family of his Promised without a bone of hers to offer them.”

The girl seats herself on the grass, listening.

“He has been the strength of our clan for so long, even when our sister was alive,” I continue. “She handled much of the strategizing and communication with Vohrain, but Kyreagan has always been the mighty one, our leader, whether he will admit it or not. Everyone looks to him, not to me. I was glad to be there for him in his moment of weakness.”

“It’s not weak to react physically to fear or stress,” the girl says. “It’s normal.”

“Not among dragons.” I sigh heavily. “I saw males weeping today, both primes and elders. That’s something we never do.”

“Primes and elders?”

“Primes are adult dragons between twenty-four and seventy-nine. Any dragon older than eighty is considered an elder.”

“So you and your brother Kyreagan are Primes?”

“Yes. We are the same age, hatched during the same season. He came out of his egg first, then Vylar. I was weeks late—the youngest one, with a disappointingly docile temperament and strange magic.” I chuckle ruefully.

“In my family, I’m the oldest,” she replies. “The one who is supposed to take care of things. The one who supports everyone, keeps food on the table, fixes whatever breaks, and makes sure the children get some semblance of an education, all while spending hours at the palace, rehearsing, preparing, waiting in case we’re called upon.”

“What did you do at the palace?”

She lies down in the thick grass, on her back, staring up at the night sky. In an hour or so, the first blush of dawn will suffuse the sky, and we will have to face another day.

“I was a dancer,” she says, so softly I almost don’t catch the words.

“I would like to see you dance someday.”

“I’m sure you would. You’re strangely obsessed, considering you saw me for the first time this afternoon.”

“That’s me,” I say grimly. “The strange one. The perverted one. The one with a vastnothingat my core.” A faint purple mist rises from my nostrils.

“How does your magic work?” she asks.

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