Page 52 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

It’s Kyreagan, racing to me on frenzied wings, and behind him, in the far distance, along the horizon, lies an entity that terrifies both humans and dragons alike—a towering wall of churning cloud, spattered with intermittent lightning, first purple, then red. It’s a giant storm, so immense that it swallows the horizon, and it’s moving toward Ouroskelle.

This cosmic, magical storm system is called the Mordvorren. It is sentient, cruel, and intentional. It finds a target and hovers over that area, pummeling the land with screaming wind, savage rain, and bone-cracking thunder. Any spellwork performed beneath its shadow is sure to be twisted into something terrible.

The Mordvorren lasts for days, sometimes weeks. And it’s headed straight for us, which means we’ll need to shelter in caves indefinitely. We’ll have to gather as much food as we can today, or we won’t outlast the storm. We’ll starve, trapped inside the mountains of Ouroskelle.

“Varex,” calls Kyreagan, sharp despair in his tone.

“I see it,” I reply.

He whirls and hovers beside me, our necks parallel, heads aligned as we survey the impossible scope of the storm. Decades ago, the Mordvorren devastated parts of Elekstan and a few islands of this archipelago, but it hasn’t visited this part of the world in years. Last time it approached, Kyreagan and I were very young. The clan scrambled to prepare for a long period of enforced shelter, but then something made the storm turn back out to sea.

“Maybe it will go away this time, like it did when we were hatchlings,” I suggest.

My brother scoffs. “Do you really think it will? With the luck you and I have been having lately? It’s as if our clan is doomed, despite all our efforts. Maybe the Bone-Builder is angry with us, and is determined to end our race.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Because you are eternally optimistic.” He chuckles dryly. “One of the things I love about you.”

We hover a moment longer, angling our wings against the onrush of the wind. It’s already rising, even though the Mordvorren is still hours away.

“We have weathered more than our fair share of storms,” I tell him. “We can conquer this one, together.”

“Always together,” he affirms.

“Except… we’ll be separated during the storm,” I muse. “Trapped in caves with our women during the mating heat. What if we injure or kill them?”

“We have no choice,” Kyreagan says. “The cavern in which they’ve been staying floods during hard rains. Besides, you know as well as I do that dragons who do not couple during the mating heat suffer a partial loss of their magic and a decline of their health. We need the women.”

“Some males fuck each other during the heat and maintain both their health and their magic,” I say.

“Those dragons are born with a desire for male company,” he counters. “You and I—and most of the other males—were born with a desire for females. For us, mating with males will not provide the same benefits. I agree that we must take measures to protect the women. This will be a time of uncertainty and enforced restraint for us, and a time of great risk for them. But it would not be safe to leave them alone in caves during the Mordvorren. At least in dragon form we can offer them some protection with our heat, our size, and our magic.”

He falls silent for a moment, then tosses his head restlessly. “I hate this, Varex. The mating heat should be a time of freely coupling in the open air, beneath the sun, with one’s life-mate or with any willing female. Instead we are being forced into confinement, without any of the usual rituals or celebrations that accompany the season.”

I prefer privacy with Jessiva to a clan orgy, but I don’t divulge the fact to Kyreagan. Instead I say, “What if we have a choosing ceremony, during which the women each select a dragon with whom to weather the storm? That will give them some freedom of choice and give the rest of us a definitive start to the season we’ve anticipated for so long.”

Kyreagan perks up. “I like that idea. Giving them a choice. Though I doubt the Princess will choose me. I am not right for her anyway. We would likely kill each other if we were confined for days in a small space.”

“Let her make that decision,” I suggest. “We can have the ceremony in Conch Valley, shortly before the storm arrives.”

My brother chuffs in assent. “We should alert the clan. We must hunt and gather as much food as possible, and the women should help.”

I think of Jessiva in my cave, curled up in her green velvet dress, with her scarlet hair fanned out across the bed. “I will let my woman sleep a little longer. And what of the Princess? Where is she?”

Kyreagan vents a disgruntled rumble. “She is still at the hot springs, hiding in a crack of the cave. She won’t come out.”

“Did you damage her or displease her?”

“Damage her, no. Displease her… I seem to have a talent for it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing terrible,” he growls. “Just that she is my prisoner, so she must do what I say, when I say it.”

Despite the impending storm and its threat, I can’t help laughing. “And you thought the Crown Princess of Elekstan would respond well to such a statement?”

“No,” he admits. “I didn’t exactlythinkabout her reaction, until she reacted.”

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