Page 59 of A Matter of Destiny

I pull back, my wings beating against the air as my mind howls. That deep, gravely voice might as well have been whispering right into my ear. My neck twists as my wings pump, pulling me higher into the sky. I search the rocks below me for motion, for a man’s shape, for a flicker of shadow. For anything.

There’s nothing. The stony ridge is completely barren, totally unmoving beneath the indifferent night sky. But I heard a man’s voice cursing just below my claws, just as clearly as I heard an unseen stone tumble down the mountainside.

I twist in midair, running my gaze across the dense copse of pines at the base of the ridge. That part of the mountain is still shrouded in shadows, even as the sky above the ridge is turning a brilliant sapphire with the coming of the dawn. Humans wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing down there.

But that’s about to change. I turn back toward the Tarn of the Maiden, where the sky holds the delicate pink flush of dawn.

The army of Valgros has to be somewhere, damn it. I can hear them; I can smell them. And somewhere in that pine grove, there’s a human with a lamp. Sending signals. A human who shouldn’t be able to see me descend, at least not for another few minutes.

Kings damn it. A low growl rises in the air, and it takes me a minute to recognize it’s coming from my own throat. I turn back toward the tarn, where the first golden streaks of dawn are reaching up to paint the underside of the wispy clouds crossing the mountaintops. Where Doshir must be waiting for me.

My heart feels like it’s caught in the back of my throat. If I fly back over that ridge, the rising sun will light up my wings like a signal fire. Any chance I have of sneaking into that pine grove to find out what in the nine hells is going on will be lost.

I turn slowly, letting my wings catch the rising air as I drift down the mountainside. I let my body coast, falling and falling, going far lower than the pine grove until I’m swallowed by shadows. Then I rise, keeping my body low, flying as silently as I can.

There’s a small opening in the trees on the far side of the ridge. I grit my teeth, my wing muscles burning, my heart hammering against my rib cage. My last landing flashes through my mind, rocks screaming as my claws dug into the mountainside. If I do that again, it’s all over. Every human in the Iron Mountains will know exactly where I am.

The ragged opening in the pine trees grows larger. I’m moving faster than I’d like, much faster, but I don’t dare beat my wings to slow down. That’s too loud, and I don’t want to risk stirring the air. I try to remember what Wendolyn did with her body when she landed on the grass beside the Tarn of the Maiden, how she’d folded her wings delicately and somehow managed to look both regal and beautiful. Even as a dragon.

As a dragon. The woods swoop up toward me, filling my nostrils with the scent of pitch and fallen needles. The ground flashes by below me, rough patches of twisted roots and exposed stones glimpsed through layers of tree branches, and when the answer suddenly comes to me, I don’t have time to question it.

The gap in the woods yawns open below me. I drop as low as I can, pulling my talons in tight to avoid the branches.

And then I reach for my human form.

It slips out of my grasp, twisting like smoke. Panic rises hot and thick in the back of my throat, and I reach forward again, pulling myself into the shape I’ve worn for most of my life. I pivot in the air, falling as my wings vanish, air whooshing over my face and ears as it rushes to fill the vacuous space that had just held my dragon form.

Then the mountain slams into me, punching the air from my lungs. I tumble forward, my shoulders scraping across the dirt, my teeth slamming together, the taste of blood filling my mouth. White stars explode across my vision.

And then everything fades to black.

Chapter27

Doshir

“Well,” Wendolyn says, her tail twitching against her flank. “What do you recommend?”

I turn back to face her, trying to keep the low rumble in my chest from escaping through my teeth. My own tail is tapping the grass beside my claws, and my attempts to silence the damn thing are only making it worse.

“Where is she?” I mutter as my gaze returns, once again, to the ridge Wendolyn and I crossed with Rayne just behind us. I thought.

Wendolyn rolls her eyes, a gesture she’s practiced so often that she’s turned it into a fine art.

“Maybe she’s picking flowers,” Wendolyn suggests, with just enough honey in her tone to let me know she’s being sarcastic.

A shiver runs the length of my body, making my scales whisper.

“For the Mothers’ sake,” Wendolyn snaps. “It’s been less than an hour, Doshir.”

She’s right. I swallow hard, trying to loosen the knot that fear tied around my throat. There could be plenty of reasons why Rayne decided to linger on the far side of the ridge. Picking flowers would be one. Scouting for another army encampment would be another.

Or she could have a broken leg. Or a crossbow bolt through her wing. A human spear through her heart spot, spilling her blood across the stones. My tail snaps against the grass as dawn spills across the eastern horizon, turning the thin clouds high above us into spun gold.

“Where in the nine hells did you manage to find her anyway?” Wendolyn asks with a sharp edge to her voice that sets my scales on edge. “How did Mad Scarlett’s daughter stay hidden for all these years?”

I stretch my wings, bracing against the morning wind. The air doesn’t smell like blood. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m looking for her,” I announce.

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