Page 58 of Wrath of the Dragons
The scene before me is created entirely of lavender wisps. A curved bridge stretches over a river, and I peek over the side as shades of gold, light blue, and silver are added to the current. Our auras twine together like hundreds of stars have fallen from the purple sky but hover around me. They stretch as far as I can see instead of crashing into the ground. We’re nothing more than souls until I’m thrust into the forefront of his mind, watching the world through the eyes of a dragon.
Basilius turns toward the border, flapping his wings hard enough to take us above the clouds where no one will be able to see us. From this height, I’d never be able to see anything more than specks, especially at night, but for Basilius the world is a vivid landscape.
We soar over Ladislava—familiar sounds of songs, chants, andclattering steel rising from below—and continue onward. It all fades away as we cross over into Imirath. Something restless coils in Basilius, but I calm him with my presence, keeping a hold on his mind without hurting him.
“Stay high,” I command, though I’m not sure how. “They can’t know we’re here.”
Basilius doesn’t make a sound and slows his pace, decreasing our altitude in minuscule amounts as we stake out a cage. At least fifteen Imirath soldiers stand guard around it, all with spears or swords in hand. I don’t spot any others, but I suppose they’ll be spread out. We continue monitoring from our vantage point, not wanting to risk landing within the territory. Time slips away from me as Basilius cuts smooth circles through the wispy clouds, a feeling of pure contentedness encompassing me.
I sense a tug, making me feel like I’m late for something, but I shake it off as a spiked tail blasts through one of the tarps. The silencing rune must’ve been rendered useless once the beast inside broke through the steel because a sharp shriek follows, as do claws raking down the walls of the prison. Basilius is immediately alert, all senses homing in on the potential threat. An Imirath soldier cries out as the tail curls around his neck, but his pained pleas die out quickly as his head is removed from his shoulders. Soldiers rush forward with spears, shouting for aid as they slam the sharp tips into the scaled flesh to tame it, but the beast doesn’t react meekly. It continues swinging its tail, sending soldiers flying through the air and puncturing their stomachs with the spiked end.
I’ve seen a tail like that,I realize. Wyverns. A distant cousin of the dragon. I read about them in one of the beast books I’ve recently acquired, and seen their likeness drawn within the pages. In most cases, they can’t blow fire. The spiked venomous tails are their main weapons against foes. They’re smaller and not as fierce as a dragon, but something volatile churns in Basilius as we look down at the scene.
“Not yet,” I command. His temper continues mounting now thatwe’ve identified what we’ll face on the battlefield. “You’ll have your chance, but not today. We can’t face them alone.”
Basilius snarls, but there’s too much commotion on the ground for anyone to hear. He begrudgingly turns away, carrying us back to Vareveth when something pulls at the center of my chest again.
A beacon to follow to return home.
Chapter
Twenty-nine
Cayden
The forest is quiet, Elowen’sbreathing even more so. I’ve spent the last two hours in this freezing river, clutching her body to mine and counting her breaths. Ophir said I’d probably be able to step out of the river as long as I kept my hands on Elowen, but I can’t let her suffer alone. I sent the others back to the house after Asena said it might help if I spoke to Elowen while she’s in this state. She can’t hear me, but she might be able to feel me. I’d never be able to speak to Elowen about anything deeper than the weather if others were listening.
She’s deathly still in my arms with only the whites of her eyes visible and her hair floating around her. It’s unnerving. The fire Asena lit is dying, and I won’t risk removing my hands. I need to get Elowen inside. My head jerks up when I hear Basilius roar in the distance, close enough to be over the border.
“Elowen,” I murmur, my voice strained from the cold. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
Not even a twitch of her fingers.
“Elowen.” I shake her in my arms a bit. “Wake up.”
Panic begins to claw its way up my throat like a beast threatening to breach the surface and overtake me. She looks dead. There is no warmth to her, no vibrancy. I lock my eyes on her steady, albeit slow, pulse. Gods, I can hardly look at her. This ritual is fucking with myhead by shoving the image of what chases me from sleep most nights in my face.
“Elowen!”
I hiss when her limbs thrash, splashing my arms and chest with water. Her brown eyes are back, soaking in the sights around us as she reaches up to clutch her forehead. “Are you all right?”
She looks up at me, pressing her hands into her face, shoulders, and heaving chest as her shivers send ripples throughout the water. “Y-yes.”
I hoist her in my arms before she even finishes the word. She continues looking around as if she’s seeing the world for the first time. Snow crunches under my bare feet, but I can’t be any colder than I already am. I grab her cloak from where Finnian hung it on a branch and wrap it around her shoulders, using my coat to cover her front and rush toward Koa. Mounting him while keeping her balanced in my arms is a difficult feat but I manage. I keep her pressed to my chest as I jostle the reins, urging Koa to sprint to the house.
My mind is filled to the brim with questions, but I force myself to save them for later. I need to get her inside and bring her body temperature back up. The wind slices into my cheeks and biceps as we ride, and I shove her face into the crook of my neck.
I dismount once we make it back, and the back door slams against the wall when I shove our way through. A staggering breath of relief rushes from my chest as the warmth wafting through the house surrounds me. The servants must have all the fires burning.
“Is there anything you need, Your Highness?” Cyrus asks, rushing into the hall and practically running to keep up with my steps. “I’ve already lit a fire in your chambers.”
“Send soup and tea up,” I respond without turning. “Thank you.”
Saskia, Ryder, and Finnian spring off the steps when they see us, and Asena and Ophir turn away from the window.
“What did she see?” Saskia asks.
