Page 118 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
“Hold on just a little longer,Na’theryn. Wait for me. I am coming.”
Tir’anor, na’velar. I will wait for you. Until every star falls from the skies.
Until the Great Weaver calls me home.
I clench my eyes shut again, fighting to keep my excitement from showing within my draconic gaze. My uncle must continue to think I am drowning in despair. I cannot ruin my queen’s plans now.
But still, my muscles tense. My claws scrape against the dry earth beneath me. I am ready—ready to finally face my uncle on the battlefield. Ready to fight for Aurelia until my last breath. Ready to stop Malice’s war before it can truly begin.
Ready to save Drakara.
Gently, I nuzzle my aunties, checking for signs of life. Their breath stirs against my scales. Weak. Frail. But there.
They may yet survive.
We mayallyet survive.
Thank you, Na’Eruv, I pray.Thank you.
Chapter 39
Aurelia
Iam dressed for war. My mother’s wedding gown is my armor. Bene’s letter, where it lies tucked against my heart, is my shield.
But still my pulse flutters—restless, anxious.
It is one thing to know what must be done.
And quite another to actually do it.
The clatter of goblin voices rings out in the near distance as we approach the room where I once dined with Malice—the great hall of Umbra Castle. Their excitement ripples through the air and spills into the shadowed corridor. With each step I take, their screeches rise to a fever pitch, as if they sense my approach.
I glance toward my father, who shuffles along before me, leading me onward, oblivious to what I intend to do. If only we had more time together. Time to speak. Time for him to understand.
But with my next breath, our time runs out.
My father fades away, as does Ghoul.
The castle, the corridor, the cries of the goblins—all vanish.
Masking my wonder, I step out of the true world and into another of Malice’s illusions, into a glittering ballroom I have never before seen.
It is a ballroom built in the heavens, with soaring stone archways granting access to the night sky. A warm summer breeze ruffles past, bringing with it soft laughter, lilting music, and the roar of dragons in the distance. I see them winging through the air just beyond the ballroom, their scales flashing in the moonlight.
More dragons in their human forms swirl all around me—beautiful men and women with jewel-toned eyes who dance together, ignoring me completely.
All save for one.
“How exquisite you look, my dear,” Malice greets me, his voice a dark purr as he sweeps into view. Black velvet encases his tall frame. A triumphant smile curves his lips.
I fight to hide my surprise as I see him truly for the first time, as my eyes finally pierce the delicate weave of Mind overlaying his form. Though he was surely once a handsome man, those days are long past.
His sunken eyes rest like pools of dried blood above hollow cheeks. His body is gaunt. His skin pale. Sharp claws crown his fingers. He looks hungry, desperate—a man long starved by his darkest desires, by his Shade.
And I am clearly the sustenance he now craves.
“In Briarhold, one usually saves the reception for after the wedding,” I observe, earning a dark chuckle from my would-be groom.
