Page 14 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“Do you have a mate?”
She’s still shaking her head, though she looks confused now. At least I think it’s confusion. Human expressions aresometimes difficult for me to read, though I’ve gotten better at deciphering them since we joined the Vohrainian army.
The young woman backs away from the well, keeping it between us as if it could somehow protect her. “Please leave me alone.”
“You will come with me,” I tell her.
“No.” She turns to run.
With a sigh, I bound forward, leaping off a nearby stone wall and beating my huge wings to gain altitude. Then I skim over the woman and snatch her up neatly in my claws.
The job is half done. Now I must take her safely to Ouroskelle.
The young woman screams and babbles in my grip. Her fear carves my grief deeper, but I clench my jaws and mount higher in the sky, rejoining the other dragons. Most of them made quick work of catching their females, but a few are still chasing down their future mates, so we wait for them, circling in the skies high above the capital city, far out of reach of the humans’ crossbows, cannons, and other weaponry.
There’s only one airship protecting the city, and it is of little use against us. It only confirms what the King of Vohrain told Kyreagan a few days ago—that Elekstan has reached the end of its resources. The kingdom has nothing left with which to repel the invasion. The war is essentially over.
The woman thrashes in my claws, so I tighten my hold.
Kyreagan climbs into the bright air with a pink-clad girl in his claws. When he drops her, I’m momentarily horrified—but he catches her again, growling a warning. Apparently he was only teaching her a lesson.
“It’s the princess,” Saevel mutters from nearby. Because of the angle of his body and the size of his claws, I can’t see the woman he has captured very well. He bobs his head in the direction of Kyreagan and the pink-clad girl. “Our Prince has caught the heir to the throne of Elekstan.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask.
“I’ve seen a painting of her. And look at her clothes. Different from most of the others. Who did you get?”
“I’m not sure.” I crane my neck down to look at the woman in my claws. “A farm girl, I suppose. Should she be weeping so much? Will it hurt her?”
Saevel snorts to express that he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. I have no more time to worry over my prey’s wellbeing, because all the males have returned with their prizes, and Kyreagan is heading eastward, leading us toward Ouroskelle.
During the long flight, we mourn. All around me I hear the groans, bellows, and sighs of dragons. Saevel, still on my right, moans, “No bone-tribute,” and my heart breaks again.
Because of the gray clouds and the rain, we did not see the exact moment of sunrise this morning, but I know that when it occurred, the bodies of our beloved females would have dissipated from the streets of Guilhorn. Their hide, flesh, and organs turned to dust, leaving only bones behind.
It is the way of our species. When we die, we return to the air, while our bones remain behind for those we love.
By our custom, we would take small bones from our fallen comrades as mementos, and the rest of the bones would be carefully placed upon the fields of Ouroskelle, forming beautiful designs upon the green grass. From above, the patterns are glorious to behold. They transform death and loss into something sweet, something new.
But we left Guilhorn in a hurry, without waiting for sunrise, without waiting to take bone-tribute from our murdered females. Kyreagan said we must fly to the Capital with all haste and take our tribute in human flesh instead. I understand why he gave that order, but leaving the mainland without the bones of the dragons we loved is a pain we will carry in our hearts for the rest of our lives.
I would have liked to have a bone from Mordessa. Just one, to place within my cave, to remind me of her words, her strength, her calmness, and her determined nature. She was a royal among dragons, and would have made an exemplary Bone-Queen at Kyreagan’s side. The two of them would have ruled with fairness and kindness.
For two years, I have harbored a slight resentment toward Kyreagan for his inability to love Mordessa the way she wanted to be loved. But I respect him. I know his heart is always for the welfare of the clan. During a few of our hunts, my frost-fire was too powerful and rendered my chosen prey inedible. Each time, Kyreagan gave me a portion of his own kill so I would not go hungry.
I have no doubt that he is tormented by Mordessa’s death, just as I am. In addition to her loss, he and Varex have also suffered the deaths of their sister and grandmother. Saevel is mourning his sister Nyreza as well as his mother. I lost warriors within my section, incredible huntresses who would have birthed strong offspring this season. Therenax was a skilled bone-weaver, one of those tasked with arranging the bones of our dead in beautiful patterns. Her artistry will be greatly missed.
So many losses. So much death and torment. So little hope.
Lost in my own thoughts, I become suddenly aware of movement between my claws. My grip relaxed while I was festering in my own misery, and the young woman I captured is writhing, wriggling, trying to break free.
By this time, it is dark, and we are gliding above the ocean through low-lying clouds.
“Stop struggling,” I tell the young woman. “There is nowhere for you to go.”
“I’ll die before I let you eat me,” she says.
“I’m not going to—ah, fuck! Be still!”
