Page 14 of Wrath of the Dragons
My heart pounds as Venatrixflies parallel to the sea below. Ocean spray dots my cheeks, stealing the breath from my lungs at the frigid temperature. I release my grip on the saddle horns, spreading my arms wide and letting the wind whoosh through my gloved fingers.
Sometimes my mind feels like I’m standing on the edge of a fathomless canyon, and other times I feel like I’m at the bottom of it, staring up through the darkness with no way to claw to the top. A week has quickly passed, and I’ve realized that most of my problems are drowned out by the sounds of dragon wings flapping on either side of me, so that’s why I’ve spent more time in the air than on the ground.
“Andula, Venatrix,” I command, using the Ravarian word forfaster. When I’m not flying, I continue to study the language. Cayden has been occupied with war meetings, but we both agreed that training with the dragons as much as I possibly can will benefit both myself and the army more than poring over maps or discussing strategies.
Sorin shoots forward, attempting to overtake Venatrix, but I order him back in line. A displeased groan rumbles in his throat as he obeys, and I glance over my shoulder. “I rode you yesterday, you spoiled boy.”
I switch between both the common tongue and Ravarian often and though they seem to understand both, I prefer the way the latter sounds. Sorin is the fastest and he doesn’t let any of them forget it,especially Venatrix, whose growl vibrates my legs. I catch myself on her scales when Sorin bumps her from behind.
“Lotas.”Obey.
Sorin groans again but doesn’t challenge me, and I make sure to offer him my back before my smile breaks free. I don’t think I’d be able to rein him in if he caught a hint of me enjoying his playful antics. I’d entertain him if we weren’t about to begin a training drill, but the jagged maze of rocks looms into view. Mist coats the dark stones in an eerie blanket as the surf crashes against the staggering pillars.
I need to ensure they’re ready for the battles to come. A dragon’s life is not worth my father’s, no matter what he’s done to me. I will not forsake their love and loyalty to fulfill my vendetta. The cold has seeped into the steel saddle horns, but I tighten my grip despite it. Each dragon wears a black saddle with straps that attach to my belt and keep me from falling off when they twirl and twist. A dragon and rider must be one, and I don’t want to restrict their movements. Their attention is split when I ride bareback, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my carelessness is the catalyst of them getting hurt.
I stroke a hand down Venatrix’s crimson scales, and she hums softly. Something about the comfort laced within the small gesture makes me want to lie on her back and forget the world exists, but I grit my teeth knowing that’s not an option. People often cast judgment on things they can’t control and wear their animosity like armor to defend themselves against the unknown. Ailliard believed my dragons to be cursed beasts, but his treachery sealed his fate, not the fire that melted the flesh from his bones. Just because someone believes something to be monstrous doesn’t make it so.
I was born into a world that doesn’t accept my power, but I’ll carve a place here for myself and my dragons with both blades and flames.
The wind whips at my cheeks like thousands of tiny needles as we cross into the shadow of the first cliff. The ruins of what was once a godly temple dedicated to the God of Death, Water, and the Moon stand as a labyrinth of obsidian stone. A haunting feeling pulsesthrough the air, but we stay the course. I lean closer to Venatrix as she turns her body to enter the maze through a small gap.
There is nothing like flying.
She sharply ducks through a narrow passage created by two pillars that collided—the sea moss growing at the apex makes me believe it’s been like this for centuries. She swirls around a column with grace, and rights herself just above the surface. Churning surf cuts through the sea-worn walls, and the waves smashing against it boom like thunder. Sharp rocks peek through the whitecaps as she zigzags through them.
My head jolts back when Venatrix takes a sharp upturn, tucking her claws close to her to keep them from scraping on the ruins. I press my chest into the saddle, staying as close to her as I possibly can. Her wings flare out on either side, pushing us back up and above a stone leaning horizontally in another pile of fallen rocks.
Venatrix is fierce in everything she does, and I wonder if it has something to do with her origins. The deep red of her scales hints toward her being a bloodfury. They hatched within volcanoes where their mothers laid their eggs in pools of boiling blood. Human or animal, it mattered little. It’s believed the incubation process was how they gained their crimson coloring, and their lust for blood is stronger than that of other dragons. The mother would dive into a killing frenzy just before laying her clutch so her hatchlings could come into this world with a feast.
My throat tightens when I note the sliver leading to a long shaft, just wide enough for her to squeeze through as long as she gets enough momentum before entering. Her back is too large for me to fit my legs around—I even must kneel on Calithea—so I unhook my saddle straps and lie flat on my stomach. Her heart pounds beneath my cheek, and I use the sound to ground me as she enters. Darkness envelops me. The stone is so close that the dampness caresses my skin. If I were to move an inch, I’d shred my cheek. Venatrix continues at a steady, even glide, and my heart beats in time with hers.
For the first time in my life, I do not fear confinement, though I think the credit for that is owed to the dragon beneath me. The sea fades away, and for a moment, all that exists in the world is shadow and fire.
Sunlight sears my eyes when she makes it through, and my braid whips behind me as I sit up, leaving the temple ruins in our wake. Sorin and Calithea follow Venatrix’s path, but Basilius and Delmira swoop over the top of the final pillar. Basilius never would’ve fit through the gap, and I doubt Delmira could either. Pride swells in my chest as I watch their scales shimmering in the sun as they tumble and play with each other.
Sometimes I get emotional just looking at them, and the magnitude of what I feel for them overtakes me. No matter the pain the bond has caused me, I could never run from it. I think it’s brave to open your heart knowing love can become loss in a matter of seconds. I’d consider myself a coward if I didn’t cherish my dragons as they deserve.
My smallest dragon is Calithea, though she’s by no means little. She’s considered a star-eater with her silver scales and white-tipped wings that remind me of snowflakes, hailing from the first dragons that existed. Her egg would’ve been kept on the bank of a hot spring within a mountain, and she would have glowed upon hatching. Star-eater hatchlings were said to look like shooting stars when they had a burst of energy. They only learned to dim their glow after their first three months and were kept in the cavern until they did to protect them from predators. The dragons never left my side as a baby, so she was safe within my chambers.
My next largest is Venatrix, then Sorin. The emerald-green menace with black markings on his wings and horns. He’s always been the most reckless of them all—he was just a baby when he bit off Garrick’s pinkie for raising a hand to me. He’s undoubtedly a deathclaw. His mother would have flown to the densest forest in the wilderness of Urasos or farther north in godly land to lay her clutch at the baseof an elder tree. She would have picked off anyone who entered the forest seeking to steal her unborn hatchlings and fed their blood into the roots that locked around the eggs as if they truly were claws.
After that is Delmira; her light blue coloring with yellow markings is that of a sky-striker. Delmira is soft like a summer day but can also bring forth the might of a storm. She not only has the ability to turn her scales black to blend with the night, but she can also blend with the day. To protect her eggs, a female sky-striker would fly for months, keeping her unborn babies warm with her flames as she waited for them to hatch.
Basilius is both the most timid and the largest. I’ve had the hardest time finding information on him, but apparently there is a series of volcanoes in the Galakin desert called the Ring of Fire and he is likely from the center of it. The toxic gasses that rise into the air turn the sky purple. He’s considered a thunder-wraith. Thunder-wraiths have the deepest roars, often compared to thunder itself, and the adults would roar so loudly upon the hatching of their clutches that the ground would rumble as if a volcano erupted.
Venatrix turns in the direction of the castle, and I slip my eyes shut again. This is the only place where I feel light and free. It’s as if my exhaustion rises with the sun and stays shackled to me throughout the day. I’m too anxious to sleep, and every time I close my eyes, I see Ailliard’s face just before I burned him. I hear the sickening sound of the knife sinking into him after I threw it, and the words he’s burdened me with over the years.
His voice didn’t die with him; it grates on me every day.
The things he said about me.
The things he said about Cayden.
I spent so many years trying to please him and everyone else to the point that I sometimes don’t know who I am outside of who I thought I was supposed to be. He knew how to get in my head and manipulate me better than anyone. He knew where to strike, and I’m the one who has to live with it.
Sorin roars, and I crack my eyes open to look back at him. He flies close enough to nudge me in the shoulder, and I laugh at the mischief lining his emerald gaze. “Hello, my sweetling.”
He spins quickly before righting himself and coming close again.
