Page 50 of Rejected By Dragons

We fare even better in the second round, where the questions focus on things that happen at night; more than a few are about nocturnal animals, which leaves Amy pretty self-satisfied. We inch higher on the charts, ending up tied with the team of wolves seated beside us.

It all comes down to the final round, then. As it gets under way, I hold my breath.

"Last but not least," the MC announces, "let's get mythical. All the questions this round will be about dark, magical creatures."

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and Freya leans forward.

"Which of the following attacks from the Great War have Shadow Dragons not been implicated in?" Surprised murmurs go up around the room, and my heart slams against my ribs. The host is undeterred. "Is it A) Evensong Canyon, B) Howling River Falls, C) Windsor Peak, or D) Black Lotus Ridge?"

I reach for the paper automatically. I write down B. My ears ring.

My father and my mother... They took me to Evensong Canyon, Windsor Peak and Black Lotus Ridge. They'd all been decimated, the lights within them extinguished.

"You sure?" Freya hisses.

I nod.

The next question is about wolf shifters and the moon, and the one after that is about the fae, but after that, he's back to Shadow Dragons, and I can scarcely hear for the static in my ears.

I know the answer to that one, too, and to the one after that. I flash back to memories of symbols I saw in my parents' home, to histories they told me, and places we went.

As we await the final question, all eyes at our table are on me. I try not to squirm. I should probably hand over the paper or pretend to be unsure. It was my outspokenness about foreign kingdoms that first put a bullseye on my back in Wynrath Crest. But I can't seem to stop myself.

"Last but not least," the MC says with flair, "answer us this: this is the Shadow Dragon rune for 'death.'"

The murmur is louder this time. A few folks make the sign of the cross--for whatever good that'll do them here. I suck in a breath of my own, my grip tightening on the pencil as I bring its tip back to the paper.

"How's anybody supposed to know that?" one of the wolves beside us grumbles.

"Dragons know that," one of his buddies grouses.

"Only Shadow Dragons know Shadow Dragon runes," someone from another table counters. "It's not like we have an advantage or anything."

They don't. But I do.

My hand shakes as a fresh memory assaults me. I was just a kid, naive and unaware of anything that was going on around me. We were on the border between the Fire and Water Kingdoms. It was dark--late at night or...

I blink hard, the trembling in my hands intensifying.

No. It was the middle of the day. The sun went behind a cloud, and a haze of eerie, inky blackness flowed across the sky. It felt like it reached into my heart.

And then my father was there. He grabbed me and he held me, and then suddenly, there was light. Golden and glowing, and this sense of absolute safety surrounded me.

When I looked at our house, red paint had been smeared across its face in giant streaking lines.

The symbol is burned into my memory. I write it now.

Death. In that unnatural darkness, that was what someone scrawled across the walls of our home.

"Ember..." Amy gazes at me across the table, concern coloring her eyes. "Are you okay?"

No. No, I'm not.

Where the fuck did that memory come from? Or maybe more importantly--where had it been? Why is it only flashing back to me now?

I have no idea, but I force a smile and drop the pencil. "I'm fine," I tell her. I nudge our answer sheet in her direction and tilt my head toward the bar, where they're collecting them. "You want me to take that up or..."

"I'll do it." Amy snags the paper and gives it a once over. With a shrug, she rises.

---