Page 93 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

The city is as pretty from down here as it was from up in the air. Little shops line the street I find myself on, their big windows sparkling with the light spilling out. Some people bustle around, trying to finish their errands, while others stroll leisurely, laughing and talking in groups or pairs.

The streets are clean and well-lit, the people relaxed and well-fed. It seems safe to say Platoria is thriving with all the business that comes with having a big port.

I pass two pairs of guards within five minutes and no longer wonder about the absence of pickpockets. I guess a city with the royal family in attendance every summer must keep up its appearance.

I stop at a cute little shop that promises immediate delivery of all dress orders, and when I step inside, to the peal of a bell, a smiling woman the age of my mother greets me. She laughs when my jaw drops as soon as she starts working.

Under her administration, the fabric I picked splits, molds, and merges until I’m left with a dress that fits me perfectly without so much as a stitch in sight. I’ve never met someone with a gift like that before.

It costs me all the money I have with me, but the experience alone is worth it. She even agreed to hold on to my uniform after I told her I wanted to surprise someone.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to recover it. Between this set and the one I left at Sloan’s, I’ll soon be short on uniforms otherwise.

Finding the port is easy. I just have to follow the streets downhill. Soon, I leave the well-lit and orderly district behind. The lights get dimmer and fewer until they stop altogether.

The streets are dirtier and in an increasing state of disrepair, just like the houses that frame them. It’s hard to believe I’m still in the same city.

I take care to keep my walk easy and confident. Showing weakness should be the last thing I do in an area like this. Maybe coming here wasn’t my smartest idea.

Something moves in a shadow ahead, and I change to the other side of the street.

My neck is tingling, but I don’t turn around. Occasionally, I hear steps behind me, and all my senses are on high alert. But the closer I get to the water, the less reliable the magic around me feels. It flickers and jumps like something distorts the signal, playing tricks on my mind. I could have sworn I felt Tate behind me once, only for his warmth to vanish a second later.

Losing this sense of the magic makes me aware of how much I’ve come to rely on it already, and the lack of it blinds me in a way that makes me feel vulnerable.

I refrain from asking for directions to the Dark Horse after a seemingly harmless old woman I approach sizes me up like I’m a horse for sale.

I take a few wrong turns and once stumble to a halt at the edge of a cliff, the dark water swirling beneath me. But finally, I spot an askew hanging sign of a black horse on weathered wood.

The door underneath doesn’t look much better, and the boarded-up windows make it seem anything but welcoming. Isuppress the urge to turn away and step into the tavern that has to be the Dark Horse.

The room is only marginally better lit than the streets outside, but the air is decidedly more stuffy, filled with the smell of unwashed bodies and sour beer. Apart from being run down, it doesn’t look much different from any other tavern I’ve been at—except for the massive cage in the back, where, surrounded by a cheering crowd, two people are fighting each other. The bad lighting makes it hard to see anyone’s face.

After what Tanner told me, only a fool would think that this is any safer than the alley outside. I’m no fool, even if some might argue differently, considering I’m here to meet a dragon, something many would consider madness.

I shove Tate’s face out of my mind.

My eyes are well-adjusted to the dark, so I have no problem spotting the dragon the minute I walk in. He looks like he’s illuminated by a fire that only exists for him.

He’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time. His eyes seem to glow an eerie orange, and his symmetrical face looks unnatural. After watching him for a moment, I realize he doesn’t blink, and his movements are off, not human. No wonder everyone gives him a wide berth.

Not my best idea.

I square my shoulders, ignore the turning heads from the people I pass, and make my way over to him. This is my chance to get answers.

The closer I get, the stronger the raw power radiating from him. It’s wild and barely controlled, like a vicious dog on a tiny leash.

Worst idea ever.

My heart pounds in my chest, nearly drowning out all the noise around me, and everything inside me screams to turnand leave. But the dragon’s gaze is already on me, tracking my movement through the room, and everyone else turns away.

Dragons are said to be very greedy and possessive. No matter what happens, no one will step in. Not that the people here are the kind to step in for anyone anyway.

I shove down my rising anxiety.

Don’t show fear. No sudden movements. No strong emotions.I recite every scrap of information I ever heard about approaching a dragon, desperately trying to ignore the rule above all.Just don’t.

He moves his head sideways. A predatory move that belies his human form.

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