Page 104 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
And it likes me. It blooms open for me.
I learn about an island of crows. A civil war. A fight with a dragon. I find myself oddly drawn to a crow queen. And if Itrace her family tree, she has a grandson.
Named Gideon.
Is she the original owner of my necklace?
The book is filled with interesting, not-taught-in-school facts about ruling fabulae families, wars that include magical creatures,and witches forever taking sides.
I want to sit and study the pages forever, but I can’t. Because it’s not giving me what I need so desperately. Nothing onhow to save the fabulae—all kinds—from a Joywood curse. Very little about black magic, except suppositions about who mighthave been wielding it.
I get to the end of the book, frustrated with how little this helps.
Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way. Maybe I need tobe studying the Joywood themselves. Maybe, regardless of the fairy-tale book, I am looking in the wrong place.
“The problem is, while this is all presented as real historical fact, we found no proof of it,” Dad says from where he watchesthe library door. “No proof of the existence of crow shifters, or dragons or unicorns or fairies. No access to this crow island,wherever it might be. I believe it was written down because it’s true. I believe these books are important because what’sin them is true, or was. But there’s no way to make the connection betweenthisand the reality of it. Or at least, none that I found, with or without Desmond. I made a vague timeline. Even that isn’tproof.”
My father has limits. How he acts around my mother shows me that. That’s who he is. His strength is books, analyzing. Noticingthings likeeightcostume changes in a book.
He is not brave.
I am.
And it’s not only me. My coven is brave. My dragon, that bastard, is brave. Blinded by old fights and wars, sure, but brave.
I focus back on the book. I will find something. I will find some avenue to walk down, no matter how dangerous or scary.
I flip through and find myself focusing on a chapter that has my heart leaping into my throat.
The Night of Dragon Tears.
I begin to read, half skimming in impatience because... what?
There’s a battle between two different crow factions. A royal group and a revolutionary group. A crow woman in the revolutionarygroup, who is royalty herself. A princess who doesn’t believe in her family’s rule. She believes in the revolution.
She enlists the help of a small pod of dragons, falling in love with one of the dragons in the process. My heartbeat kicks up. A princess. A dragon. So much of it is like myfairy tale. Down to the Revelares and their contributions.
But there is no happy ending here. Though the revolutionaries win the war, they do not lead well. With his newfound power,the leader of the revolutionaries crowns himself king. He uses black magic to kill the dragons who helped him and takes theprincess for himself, imprisoning her in a marriage she does not want but must endure for the safety of her people.
It’s a sad story, told in the way of historical battles. Factual, with little emotion. And yet I feel all the emotion swirlingaround inside me as if these are my memories. I want to weep.
This was not the happy ending I was promised in my fairy tale. The difference between fact and fiction, I tell myself—butit feels like an indictment of every happy-ever-after I’ve ever wanted to believe in.
And Azrael knows all this because... he lived it. He cannot trust crows because they killed him. And yet, if that reallywashim, the princess wasme. Or she had my soul. Or however this whole thing works.
Iwasa crow. If I was the soul in that princess, does that mean Gideon is mygrandson?
How can I turn my back on that?
I can’t dwell on these horrible, contrasting feelings. Feelings are not facts, even mine, and I have to press on. I have tofind out if there’s anything to learn from this horrible war. Anything I can use fornow.
But no matter how I flip through the book, letting it lead me, there’s nothing. I’ll have to read it again more closely tosee if I missed any details. But nothing major leaps out at me, and this is a disappointment.
I’m about to switch it for the fabulae book, but something catches my eye. A little... ripple on the back cover. Like thelight playing tricks on me, but that shouldn’t be happening, unless—
“Reveal to me, what I should see.”
The ripple intensifies, the warmth of the dragon tear against my skin becoming a pulsing kind of heat.
