Page 4 of Wings of Frost and Fury
As I descended, I heard my father’s voice, terse and rebuking, followed by the pleading tones of Katlee’s mother.
“If you would justtry,” she begged. “Anything you could do for her, please. What if it was your own daughter?”
“I work for the Crown,” said my father. “You know I’m not allowed to expend my energy on anything that the Queen hasn’t approved. And she would not approve this.”
“You could check with her. See if she’ll agree.”
“I already know the answer. Asking such a question would only lower the Queen’s respect for me.”
I waited, clutching the railing of the stairs, listening with all my might.
At last Katlee’s mother said, “I should have known better than to ask. You’re as heartless as they all claim you are.”
“You may think so, if you like,” he responded. “Hear me, Luessa. This topic is not to be raised again between us, and you will not mention it to Thelise, ever. If I find out that you’re encouraging your girl’s friendship with my daughter for this reason, you will regret it deeply.”
I shifted my weight, causing the step to creak, and they both fell silent. Neither of them mentioned the conversation to me or to Katlee, as far as I know. But their words clung to me, scratching at my soul.
A few days later, I asked my father if it bothered him to see people with diseases or physical struggles. He said, “We have to choose the things we care about, Thelise. We don’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for everyone.”
I wanted to explain that it wasn’t about pity. It was about wanting to repair things that had gone wrong in the world, wanting to alleviate struggles and soothe pain. But at age eight, I didn’t have the words. And by the time I was ten, I had learned, far too young, that I couldn’t ease the most devastating kinds of pain.
And if I couldn’t fix the really important things, I decided I wouldn’t try to fixanything.
2
TWO YEARS
BEFORE THE FALL OF ELEKSTAN
Once again, I’m risking death for a few leaves.
The mountain fissure that I’m about to squeeze into is home to a pack of fenwolves, one of the three major species of predator on the isle of Ouroskelle, where my clan resides. The other two predators are the subterranean voratrix and my own kind—dragons.
Fenwolves are resistant to many types of dragon magic. Their coats turn away the hot fire most dragons possess, and some of them can channel our lightning through their bodies into the ground so that it doesn’t harm them. Like other living things, they’re helpless to the rare void magic of the younger dragon prince, Varex. But their numbers and their nearly imperviouscoats make them a dangerous challenge for the rest of us, especially if we’re on the ground.
I’ve discovered, however, that while my frost-fire may not kill the fenwolves or cause any lasting harm, it does slow them down. Usually that bit of extra time is all I need to crawl into their crevice, retrieve the plants I desire, and worm my way back out.
Every time I forage for alethia, I take a little more, because each time I use it, the effect is weaker, and I have to eat extra leaves to achieve the result I crave.
I move into the fissure, my long neck snaking through the narrow passage. But when I try to advance the rest of my body through the gap, I meet with more resistance than usual.
It’s not simply a tight fit. Idon’tfit. Not at all.
I shove my shoulders hard against the fissure’s rocky entrance, disappointed to discover that I’ve grown in bulk. That tends to happen with dragons as we approach our second mating season. It gives us an edge over the younger, more slender males. We become gigantic, heavy with muscle, with thicker hides and stronger scales.
Lucky for me, my neck is longer than those of most dragons in my clan. If I stretch a little more, I’ll be able to reach a clump of alethia that’s growing out of the rocks near the floor of the fissure. The iridescent leaves shimmer in the faint sunlight from above. So tantalizingly close.
Just a bit farther.
No fenwolves have noticed my presence yet. One benefit of my frost-fire is the ability to chill my scales and my breath, partially concealing my scent. I might have a few minutes before they realize I’m here. Just enough time to get the alethia and leave, if I can manage to reach it.
I writhe, trying to wedge my shoulders farther into the gap. The nerves beneath my scales protest painfully, but I only struggle harder. I stretch my neck to its fullest extent, open myjaws, and extend my tongue. The tip barely grazes the edge of a leaf.
Fuck… I can’t do it.
What if I back out and try to claw the opening wider? Dragon claws are sharp and strong enough to carve through stone, although depending on the type of rock, it can take a while. Of course, doing that will leave obvious marks that other dragons will notice. They’ll wonder why one of us was widening the path to a fenwolf den. Someone might figure out who it was, and why.
The Bone-King outlawed the consumption of alethia for all dragons years ago, after a pair of dragons died in a rockslide while trying to obtain it. Its effect upon dragons is considered unnatural, and its addictive properties can cause even the most dependable of dragons to forget their responsibilities to the clan.
