Page 44 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“I will tell Kyreagan,” Varex replies. He glides with us a little longer, and I can tell he’s looking at Thelise. Faint jealousy threads through my heart. I want him to feel kindly toward her, and I’m sure he will, since he is the gentler of the two princes. But I do not want him to desire my sorceress. And who could help craving her, once they see her beauty?
But he barely lingers before swerving away, soaring off to inform Kyreagan of our arrival.
“I blew him a kiss,” Thelise says. “He didn’t seem to appreciate it.”
“No more kisses for other dragons,” I snarl.
“I’ll kiss whoever I want.”
Heat and frost rush over my body, beneath my scales. Instead of answering, I shoot higher into the sky, then swerve and dart between the mountaintops toward my cave. Thelise screams, and at first I think she’s frightened—but then I realize she’s shrieking with delight. She loves this—relishes the tearing speed of flight, the blast of the wind, the thrill of plummeting sharply down or banking swiftly to the side.
Joy erases my jealousy, and I wheel through the air, releasing a long stream of frosty blue fire. She shrieks again, more fear in the sound this time, but there’s excitement, too. I level out, relishing her presence astride my neck.
“Fuck, that’s fun,” she gasps. “Why haven’t you been flying like that the whole time?”
“I wanted to keep you safe. We’ll do it again soon, but for now, we must go to my cave.”
Fortunix doesn’t leave my side. When I enter my cave, he sweeps in as well. It’s a large, deep space with a decent nest, but I haven’t been here in many weeks because of the war, and there’s a musty scent that embarrasses me.
After seeing the furniture, decorations, and other items that Thelise had in her cottage, my cave seems pathetically plain. I don’t have nearly as many carvings on my walls as some of the other dragons do, nor do I have a bone shrine, stoneware, or any of the more artistic elements of our culture. My mother’s skeleton was washed out to sea by the tide after the hunters were finished stripping her body, so I have nothing of hers—nor do I have any relatives who might contribute the art of engraving to my walls or the crafting of stoneware in which I might keep scavenged goods or the leftovers of a kill.
All I have is a single chest in a crevice at the back of the cave, which contains my personal treasure hoard. It’s concealed by a pile of twigs and straw, ostensibly stacked there for a futurenest expansion. Since I have no mate or hatchlings to share my home, there has been no reason to add anything to the nest.
Behind the nest, out of sight of the cave entrance, there’s a stain on the floor, a scorched area where I’ve blasted away the pools of my seed that erupted from me when I was dazzled and pleasure-sick with alethia. That knowledge weighs on my mind, but the guilt isn’t as heavy as usual.
“I apologize that the cave is not more comfortable,” I say gruffly, folding my wings against my body. When I landed, I let the bundles I was carrying tumble from my claws, and I push them farther toward the cave wall with my nose.
Thelise slides down my shoulder. “We can make it comfortable. Fetch those sticks and things, pet. We’ll use them to fashion a nice couch—or maybe a big chair. Something where I can relax.”
Fortunix gives one of his mocking snorts, but we both ignore him.
Thelise doesn’t leave me to do all the work—she gathers armfuls of the twigs and straw as well, and she both directs and assists as we stack, weave, and compress them into a makeshift “throne,” as she calls it. When it’s finished, she takes off her gold cloak and drapes it over the seat. I must admit, the effect is rather fine.
Thelise moves the bundles around, arranging some of them and tearing into others until she finds the supply of wine bottles she packed, each one carefully wrapped in multiple articles of clothing.
“Thank fate,” she mutters, rooting around in the same bundle for a cup. “I’m exhausted, my flask is empty, and I must have a drink before your princes show up.” She flings herself onto the gold-draped throne, uncorks a bottle, and pours herself a generous amount of wine.
Within moments her eyes brighten and she seems to relax more. Her posture turns casual, almost lazy, and she kicks off her slippers before tucking her bare feet up into the nest-throne.
“They’re coming,” says Fortunix. “The Princes are coming.” He’s been standing at the mouth of the cave, as far from Thelise as he can get, but at the Princes’ approach he retreats, giving them room to enter.
“Ah, the dragon royals,” coos Thelise. “How exciting.”
Apprehension turns my bones cold, and I position myself between her and the cave entrance, shielding her from view with my body.
As soon as the two black dragons land, they fold their wings, but even with that act of consideration on their part, the cave is extremely crowded with four dragons, a nest, and several bags of supplies.
Varex and Kyreagan are among the most symmetrical and attractive specimens of our kind. They are both a deep black, like a starless sky, both gifted with sinuous forms, well-turned wings, perfect white fangs, and symmetrical spikes. I always feel a little misshapen next to them, with my oddly long neck, my needle-like teeth, and my disproportionately large shoulders and body. Even my spikes are oddly shaped, more wedge-like than the sleek, tapered ones that each Prince possesses.
“The supplies you ordered, my Prince,” Fortunix says, indicating the bundles. “I may not be much good for battle any longer, but I can still carry a heavy load.”
He’s acting as if he did some great thing, gathering the items, when in reality he did nothing but sit in a stable for hours and then fly around the mainland for most of the night. I restrain a disgruntled huff.
Prince Kyreagan barely acknowledges Fortunix. Instead, he looks straight at me. “And the enchantress?”
Reluctantly I shift to the side. “She’s here.”
I try to see her through their eyes, relaxed on the seat I made for her, her purple gown contrasting with the gold cloak she draped over the straw. Her body is a statement, a temptation, a poem. I want to worship it, cover it, hoard it away for myself, yet also show it to everyone so they can kneel before her, too. The clash of all those impulses renders me so speechless and confused that I can barely follow Thelise and Kyreagan’s conversation.
