In Enduvida, there are crystal wraiths. They hum with the rest of the underground city, but they are as much a mystery as the song of the Enduar Gods. One was ridden into battle by Estela, they call her Drathorinna. The mother of wraiths.
But this is flesh and bone andscale.
Dragons existed in stories, but I’d never seen one—never even considered I would cross paths with one.
A glance at Vann shows him similarly shocked, though the boy curls further into Vann’s shoulder, as if he could hide.
My braid whips around my face, as I squint and look up.
The dragon’s wings flare wide as it lands upon the rocky ledge.
The beast is enormous, its scales gleaming like polished onyx, with sharp, curved horns protruding from its head. Its four powerful legs end in talons, gripping the stone beneath. Its vast, leathery wings fold close against its armored body. The rider slides from the saddle with practiced ease, boots crunching against the rocky surface.
He is tall and clad in dark leather and thick, dark spectacles to cover his eyes. I notice he has many of the same features as the boy: long, sleek hair, a curving nose, deep skin, and fine clothing, though markedly older.
Lorien says something else I don’t catch.
“Is that his father?” I ask Vann.
“Lorien says it’s his uncle, Theren,” Vann says quickly.
The dragon tilts its head back and lets out a high-pitched call.
Three other dragons, each a different hue, appear. One is a deepcrimson, another is a stormy gray, and the last is a striking emerald green. Each dragon lands with a tremor in the ground.
I swallow hard, instinct screaming at me to move, but I’m too exhausted, too caught in the sheer presence of what’s before me. Luckily, Vann steps closer, partially hiding me from view.
Theren’s gaze bears into us—piercing, assessing. Then, his voice cuts through the frozen air.
He uses the dialect I don’t understand. Vann steps in front of me, calling out answers back at him, gesturing at Lorien.
Lorien looks like a child properly scolded. These must be his people, and I relax feeling my previous scenarios melt away.
Vann continues to argue as I stare at the dragons, mesmerized by the lethal strength in every shift of their feet.
My gods, what would it be like to ride atop one?
When I’d looked at crystal wraiths in Enduvida, I thought I would be afraid to ride them. But I am not the same person as I was then—I’d traveled across the continent, fought the enemy, spoken to a formidable leader and won the trust of a man fierce enough to be calledThe Cleaver.
Fear stems from the unknown, but the world felt less so to me each day. Slowly, that fear is being replaced with curiosity.
My bold new attitude dissolves when the elf atop the green dragon strings an arrow in a bow and points it at Vann and me. I yelp, shifting back in the face of the threat.
Lorien yells out something, and Vann’s voice turns soothing.
Theren, the rider with the onyx dragon, calls out something else.
The boy laughs, and then moves to get down. Vann obliges, then Lorien looks back at me, waving one last time before the elf riding the black dragon scoops him up into his arms.
Theren begins to shift Lorien in every which direction—probably looking for injuries—and Lorien starts to spin a tale in his quick, high voice. I can tell because the boy imitates the sound of the mountain cat, only pausing to point at me with a smile.
The man frowns. And then, he looks up and spits a few more violent-sounding words at Vann. At least, as violent as they can be in a language as beautiful as elvish.
“Come here, Firelocks,” Vann shoots back at me gruffly. Then his hand scoops around my waist, pulling me close on the opposite side to Lorien.
I gasp at the sudden movement. But the rider atop the grey dragon bites out a few more lyrically harsh words.
Vann looks down at me and his grip tightens.“Play along.”