Page 55 of A Matter of Destiny

“Rayne is right,” I reply, deciding to not even acknowledge Wendolyn’s words. “We should go to the Tarn of the Maiden. Once Rayne sees the army, she might be able to assess what Rensivar is planning.”

Wendolyn’s smile evaporates. Her tail flicks back and forth.

“It’s not like we can do anything from here,” I say. “I mean, my father is already here, spreading the word to anyone who will listen. My support isn’t going to mean a thing to the members of the Council.”

Wendolyn tilts her head, implicitly agreeing with me. “The Tarn is guarded right now,” she says. “It’s only going to open on the night of the Queensmoot.”

I smile at the woman who broke my heart.

“But you could get us in,” I say. “As a senior member of the Council, you can go anywhere you damn well please.”

Wendolyn’s teeth flash in the light of the candles flickering behind their crystal cages. She fixes me with a look that’s as familiar as it is unsettling.

“Yes,” Wendolyn purrs. “I could do this for you, Doshir.”

Her claws tick along the polished stone. She glances up at the steam and smoke swirling against the stone ceiling as though she’s deep in thought.

“But whatever could you do for me?” she says.

Rayne makes a coughing sort of snort.

“We could help you,” Rayne snaps. “You need to unravel whatever attack Rensivar is planning so the Iron Mountains know what’s coming!”

“And you expect me to help you just like that?” Wendolyn replies, her teeth clicking together as she speaks. “Doshir crawls into the Iron Mountains after all these years of nothing, not even so much as a letter, in order to start spouting crazy stories about Rensivar the Wicked, and you expect me to risk everything for him?”

Wendolyn doesn’t look at me as she speaks. Still, there’s a strange, hollow emptiness inside my chest where her words ring. All these years, I’d thought I meant nothing to Wendolyn. Less than nothing. I clear my throat. Wendolyn slowly turns her head toward me, smoke rising from her flared nostrils.

“I’ll support you,” I say.

Rayne makes a little gasping sound, like she’s out of breath. Wendolyn’s lips part, showing her teeth.

“At the Queensmoot,” I continue, although I’m damned certain Wendolyn knows exactly what I mean. “I’ll put your name forward for the Throne of Claws.”

Wendolyn’s tail curls around her flank, and its tip flicks a little tapping rhythm against her scales.

“Why, Doshir,” Wendolyn says, bending her head low over her steaming soaking pool. “How very thoughtful.”

I force a smile through lips that feel almost numb. I’d been as close to Wendolyn as it’s possible for two dragons to be, and the thought of her lovely green scales resting on the Throne of Claws makes me feel deeply unsettled in a way I’d have trouble justifying in a debate. Still, supporting Wendolyn’s bid for the position of queen has to be better than letting Rensivar do whatever it is he’s plotting to do.

Right?

Chapter26

Rayne

My wings ache. I wince as my claws dig into the loose rock of the mountain’s flank and then rotate my wing gently, trying to find a motion that will ease the burn of my overworked muscles. Kings, to think I’d spent so much of my time in Valgros wondering what it would feel like to fly. And now it just hurts.

A strange bark echoes down the mountain, tugging my attention back to the ridge above me. Wendolyn’s silhouette looms above us, dark against the star-streaked sky that’s just beginning to lighten with the arrival of the dawn. That barking sound comes once more, a harsh, scraping sort of cry, and then a second dragon rears its serpentine neck behind the ridge.

I can’t stop the jolt of fear that dumps cold water through my body. I squeeze my jaw together against the frantic hammering of my heart and try to remember that I am also a damned dragon, just like the dragon looming out of the darkness above me. I have nothing to fear from another dragon.

The rumbling growl of voices tumbles down the mountainside, low and far enough to keep me from understanding the words. I turn to Doshir, and another bolt of shock runs through my body, as hot as a spark struck from a stick of flint. There’s a gleaming golden dragon standing beside me, watching me with soft, dark eyes.

Right. Of course. I take another deep breath and remind myself that, yes, Doshir is also a damned dragon.

It’s been a long couple of days.

Doshir’s claws scrape across the mountainside, then come to rest over mine. They’re warm, even through the armor of my scales. I try to smile at him, hoping the gesture means the same thing on a massive snout filled with pointy teeth, and some of the frantic thudding in my chest subsides.

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