Of Steel and Scale (The Drakkon Kin Trilogy #1)

Chapter 5

5

She appeared a few seconds later, swooping down the sharp mountainside, her body gleaming with bloody fire, and her wings... Túxn help us, her wings were nigh on shredded . How she was maintaining flight, I had no idea.

A warning siren started, the wail ringing out across the still slumbering city. I shouted orders for it to be silenced, then ran out into the center of the courtyard.

“What in Vahree’s name do you think you’re doing?” Damon stopped beside me, one hand on his sword, his bright gaze on the drakkon sweeping toward us. “We need?—”

“She’s in trouble, Damon, and you need to shut up while I contact her.”

I raised a hand, fingers splayed, and reached for her. Felt another mind chasing mine, and realized it was my mother, though she was leaving the bulk of the contact to me.

The queen swooped low, her claws skimming the curtain wall, sending shards of stone flying as she awkwardly sought to slow her speed and gain purchase. Some soldiers scattered. Others raised swords and crossbows.

“Stand down!” I shouted again. “Under no circumstances is anyone to attack.”

She bellowed again, her head snaking left and right, her unease singing through me. Her murderous claws dug into the hard black stone, and she kept her wings outspread and fanning, ready to take off—to react—if attacked. In the brightening light of day, it was very evident it wasn’t only her wings that had been nearly shredded—black blood poured from a dozen different wounds across her body.

What’s happened? Who did this? I asked.

She bugled again, the sound haunting, desperate. Attacked. Need help .

“Bryn—” Damon said, but I raised a hand, stopping the question I had no time for.

For you? I hesitated, fearing I knew the answer before I even asked. Or for your young?

Young. No time. Must come.

How?

Carry. Hurry.

I sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. I’d always trusted her, but this... this was insane.

Please , she added. They die .

Oh no ....

Footsteps had me spinning. Mom ran across the courtyard, one hand clutching her gown and the other gripping a large backpack. My father was behind her, but his gaze was on the massive drakkon who’d claimed the wall, his face a mix of awe and trepidation.

“Trust her and go.” Mom tossed the pack toward me. “I’ll unleash Veri and follow through her.”

I caught the pack with a grunt and slung it over my shoulders. It was damnably heavy, meaning Mom had packed it with everything she thought I might need for drakkon repair—even if repair was not something Esan had ever done when it came to drakkons.

“Will someone tell me what in Vahree’s name is going on?” Damon said, the slightest hint of command in his voice.

A hint that held echoes of his father.

A reminder that for however different he seemed, he’d been raised in a house and a kingdom that saw women as little better as serfs or Mareritt fodder.

“The queen needs my help.”

“With what ? And why would she come to you?”

Meaning my father hadn’t mentioned why I’d been out near Eastmead.

“Long story. Stay here.” I looked at my father. “Whatever you do, don’t leave—or even react—until we’re gone.”

“Bryn, you can’t?—”

“Someone—or some thing —has attacked her drakklings. I can’t not do this.”

My gaze returned briefly to Damon, then before common sense got the better of impulse, I rose onto my toes and kissed him. He stiffened briefly, then slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, pressing my length against the warm hardness of his. Our kiss deepened, became far more than what I’d initially intended. He was passion and need and urgency, and it drew me in and swept me away, until there was nothing more than him and me and the desire that threatened to burn out of control between us.

The queen bellowed—a demand to hurry. I pulled back sharply, my breath shallow and quick. I stared at him for the longest of seconds, utterly surprised by what had happened. Never, ever, had I been kissed as thoroughly as that. Never, ever, had it affected me as fast or as deeply.

This thing between us—whether it was mere passion or something deeper—was dangerous.

Not physically. Emotionally.

“While I’ve never been averse to kissing a pretty woman, especially now she’s my wife,” Damon said, his voice soft, his eyes glowing with twin fires of desire and amusement, “I still need to ask... why?”

“I just thought I’d better at least taste my husband’s offering in case I don’t survive this.”

“Survive what? What exactly are you going to do?”

It was impatiently said, and I touched his arm. “I’m sure the queen will explain soon enough.”

“That is hardly comforting, given I cannot hear her.”

“No, but Mom can. Stay here.”

I turned and ran for the stairs. Damon immediately followed. The queen bellowed, and her head snaked down, sharp teeth bared in warning and her mind filled with sudden anger. Not at me—at the man behind me.

They kill came her thought. They always kill .

Men, she meant, not Damon in particular.

I spun and placed a hand against Damon’s chest. Felt the rapid pounding of his heart underneath my fingers. Saw the determination and flick of anger in his eyes. Whether at me or the queen or something else, I had no idea.

“You need to step back, or she will kill you.”

“This is insane, Bryn?—”

“Yes, it is, but it’s also who I am. Now, step back .”

His gaze cooled, sweeping briefly between me and the queen. Then he nodded and retreated.

The queen huffed, a sound that was an odd mix of amusement and satisfaction. She’d been following the conversation via our mind link, I realized, even though I’d thought it closed. Which meant our connection was not only far deeper than I’d initially thought, but she could initiate it as easily as me.

I turned and bounded up the rest of the steps, then raced around the wall toward her. She shifted, watching me, her black eyes gleaming like diamonds in the morning light. Tears. There were tears in her eyes. The realization hit like a hammer, and it felt like my heart was about to break.

I slid to a halt several yards in front of her. She towered above me, her legs thicker than my torso and the smallest of her claws larger than my head. The wind of her wings streamed my hair behind me, and the stink of her blood hung heavily on the air.

I gulped, swallowing the wash of instinctive fear. How do we do this?

I rise. Will grip you.

My gaze darted back to those claws, and I swallowed heavily again. I’d seen what her weapons had done to capras and had no doubt they’d dispatch me just as easily.

Trust, she said . Need go now.

I sucked in another breath and then nodded. Let’s do this.

Her wing sweeps immediately increased in power, and the air swirled viciously around me. I braced my feet then lowered my head in an effort to keep the loose grit and sharp shards of stone out of my face and eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she rose. Her blood rained around me, and her effort and pain swam through my mind, making my heart race in sympathy. Or maybe that was fear caused by the knowledge of what was about to happen.

Her claws reached head height. I held my breath, waiting. Fearing.

Then, with a gentleness that belied her great size, her claws enclosed me. I raised my arms at the last moment, wanting them free, needing to grip on to her top talon even if it was neither necessary nor practical. If she intended to drop me from a very great height, I doubted I’d be able to hold on for very long.

She continued to slowly rise. My feet left the stone, and I briefly closed my eyes, once again quelling fear. When I opened them, I was staring straight into the blue of Damon’s gaze. There was little emotion evident in his expression and yet their turbulence boiled through me. It was a whisper of possibilities that would never be explored if I didn’t survive this.

My mother was nowhere to be seen, but my father now stood beside Damon, staring up at me. They weren’t alone in that—the soldiers on the wall and those coming out into the courtyard all watched as the creature we’d once hunted to near extinction lifted me. Then, with a tip of a wing and a mighty roar, she turned and soared away from the city. And, possibly, safety.

As we rose ever higher, she tucked her talons closer to her body, shielding me as best she could from the turbulent air. That air soon became so cold and fierce it felt like I was inhaling icicles. I reached for the inner flame in an effort to keep warm; leather was a great insulator against the cold and icy winds that often blasted this area, but when it came to warmth, it definitely helped to be wearing one or more woolen or silk garments underneath to help with insulation. In my rush to get out into the courtyard, I’d skipped the latter.

Her grip remained tight but not crushingly so. I nevertheless kept a fierce hold of her scaly talon, not daring to look down, not wanting to see how far below us the ground was.

We swept around the Black Glass Mountains and then out over the wildlands that skimmed the foothills for hundreds of miles before sweeping down to the sea and the port of Hopetown. The area was sparse, and inhabited mainly by longhorns—large, hairy ruminants with horns that stretched at least three feet either side of their blunt heads. While they were by nature intractable, farmers had for centuries crossbred them with bovine to produce an animal that could be used for multiple purposes—neutered bulls to pull carts and plowing equipment, and cows for their fat-rich milk. I had no idea the drakkons hunted here, but it did make sense. If they continually fed in the valley, they would have wiped the capras out very quickly.

Drakkons were a whole lot smarter than many human hunters, it seemed.

Eventually, we left the hills and dropped toward the golden plains. A blob of red became visible in the distance and, as we drew closer, I realized it was the little male. He lay unmoving on his right side, one wing underneath him and the other covering his body. The odd angle at which it rested very much suggested it had been broken in several places. His neck lay stretched out on the ground, and he wasn’t moving; there were multiple open wounds across his body, and the nearby grass was stained black with blood.

His sister stood to one side, her bright chest slashed open, the cut seeming as thick as my fist. One golden wing trailed on the ground, shredded and broken. The other wasn’t in much better shape, even if the main phalanges looked whole. She whipped her head from side to side, the nubs of her still forming horns gleaming with golden fire in the early morning light. She keened, a sound so filled with anguish and pain that it lanced my heart and brought tears to my eyes.

The queen circled her drakklings, her movements unstable as we slowly dropped height and speed. My grip tightened instinctively on her claw, my pulse rate high as the ground swept toward us. A heartbeat before it appeared we were going to crash, she somehow banked and hovered ten or so feet above the ground.

Will release , she said.

I eased my death grip on her talon. Ready .

She opened her claw. I dropped into a crouch and remained there, never so grateful in my entire life to be on solid, unmoving ground. She swept over the top of me and landed next to her drakklings. Her neck briefly looped around that of the little female, and it looked for all the world like she was comforting her. Then she gently—carefully—nosed the little male. He was nowhere near the size of the queen—and males were always smaller than females, no matter what their age—but his angular head was still larger than Desta’s entire body.

He was also very dead. I knew that even before her keening joined that of the female. There was simply too much blood staining the ground for him to have survived.

I didn’t move. I wasn’t a fool. She was a mother who’d just lost one of her young, and I had no desire to risk instinct overriding her need for my help.

As they filled the air with their grief, I bowed my head and silently prayed for Vahree to take the little male’s soul and cherish it.

That’s when I saw the glimmer of gold.

Not just any old gold, but the tip of what looked to be a feather made of that precious metal.

I carefully dug it out of the ground. Though larger than the feather that had taken Oran’s life or the one I’d found in the young Mareritt’s treasure pouch, it was very definitely from the same type of creature.

I swore and looked up at the drakkons. Damon had suggested the attack on Eastmead might have been preemptive—a means of testing and perhaps destroying our defenses. Did that explain the attack on the drakkons? They might dominate our skies, but in reality, they had little in the way of defense other than their claws. They killed livestock and, in the bad days during our war with them, men with equal ease, but the ballistas had swiftly proven how easy they were to destroy. But against a flighted creature whose feathers were both a weapon and a shield, they’d have little chance. Not without getting dangerously close.

Was that what happened here? Was that why the queen bore so many wounds? Had she been desperately trying to shield her young against flighted beings unlike any seen before in our lands?

I very much suspected that was the case.

I slipped the feather into a pocket and then rose and took a careful step forward. The queen’s head snapped around and, just for an instant, murder filled her eyes and mind.

I instinctively raised my hands, fire flickering across my fingertips, even though I doubted I’d ever be able to flame hot enough to toast a drakkon her size.

You still have one drakkling , I quickly said. She still needs help.

For several minutes she didn’t move, but the wash of her anger gradually faded, and my breathing eased.

Come , she said. Help.

And your drakkling?

No hurt you.

I unslung the pack and cautiously moved forward. A golden head slipped under the queen’s neck, and the little female watched my approach with interest, her gaze intent. It rather reminded me of a spider waiting for just the right moment to pounce on its prey. There was certainly no fear in the backwash of her emotions I was receiving via my connection with the queen, but then, she hadn’t really learned to fear us. The queen had because she’d been alive—if very young—in the bad days.

I walked under the queen’s neck; she shifted, and one massive talon came a little too close for comfort. I sucked in a breath, my pulse rate stuttering for several beats as I forced my feet on. I trusted the queen, but in truth, I was little more than a gnat that could be so easily squashed by one unintended movement.

I came out from under her neck and paused to study her drakkling. The wound on the female’s chest was even bigger than it first appeared, and would need to be closed to help it heal. From the little interaction I’d had with injured drakkons, they appeared to heal fast, but I doubted one so young could easily repair a wound so deep I could shove most of my arm into it.

And she certainly wouldn’t be able to heal the broken wing. One of the reasons the ballistas had been so successful was because they’d targeted the massive wingspan of the drakkons, bringing them to ground and making them easier to dispatch.

The drakkling snaked her head down and rested it on the ground in front of me, her dark eyes gleaming with sorrow and curiosity. I hesitated, and then slowly reached out to scratch the ridge above her eyes. She jerked back in surprise, her teeth bared in warning. The queen made a low sound deep in her throat, and the little female tilted her head, studying me. Then she lowered it again. I accepted the invitation and scratched the eye ridge one more time. A low sound rumbled from her—pleasure.

I glanced up at the queen. Will it scare her if I talk directly to her?

Gria.

I blinked. Her name is Gria?

Yes.

I don’t know why it surprised me that drakkons had names. They were at least on par intelligence-wise with humans and, for us, names had always been a means of not only differentiating one person from another, but often also their location and ancestry.

Do you have a name?

She studied me for a moment. Kaia.

I’m Bryn . I immediately widened my mind beam and then added, Gria , I need to come closer and look after your wounds .

She once again jerked back in surprise, her head snapping left and then right, as if looking for the source of the sound inside her mind. The queen rumbled again and, after a moment, the drakkling said, Hurt.

Yes.

Fix?

I’ll try . I hated to think what the queen would do if she lost both of them. Given the time it took young drakkons to mature and Kaia’s age, she had, at best, only one breeding cycle left. Lift head .

Gria immediately did so. I walked under her neck and studied the thick, gaping wound. She was lucky in that it appeared no major arteries or muscles had been hit, but one thing was obvious—no mere feather had caused this. Whether it was a claw or something else, I couldn’t say. I’d certainly ask the queen that question later, but right now, Gria was still losing too much blood for comfort.

I moved on to her left wing. Two of the main phalanges had multiple breaks. I could certainly straighten and brace them, and then repair enough of the membrane to give her flight, but she wouldn’t be able to fly far. The Red Ochre Mountains would be well out of her reach. I continued checking the rest of her body, seeing multiple slashes that spoke of the metal feathers. The leathery membrane on her right wing was loose and flapping, but that was an easy enough fix.

If there was enough sealer spray in the pack, that was. One spray bottle might serve the needs of a dozen soldiers, but whether I could ever carry enough to look after Gria’s wounds, let alone the queen’s, was doubtful.

I walked back under her neck. First things first—I needed to stop this wound bleeding so profusely, otherwise there’d be little point in repairing the rest.

I squatted and opened the pack. There were a dozen bottles of both the antiseptic and the wound sealer spray, and at least six bone straps. Enough to get her off the ground and mobile, perhaps, but nowhere enough to look after the queen.

Am good, the queen said, obviously following my thoughts. Gria unsafe on ground .

I automatically looked around. While there were no known predators around these parts, it wasn’t unusual for farmers seeking to replenish stock or hunters after longhorn meat to be out here. Both would certainly view a stranded drakkon as a prize. The ballistas might have fallen silent, but there was no law against hunting drakkons, and the ivory in their claws and horns was still greatly valued for medicine and even jewelry in some wilder parts of Arleeon.

I took out the antiseptic spray, then took a deep breath. Gria, this will feel cold and sting, but it’s necessary to stop the wound getting infected.

Hurt? came her response.

A question that suggested she didn’t entirely understand everything I was saying. No surprise there, given she’d only be ten or so years old and would have been in the aerie for most of that time.

Yes.

Bad?

Maybe.

I could feel her doubt and fear. The queen made a rumbly sound, and Gria’s head dropped a little. Do .

I immediately got to work. The wound was so deep and gaping that it took a couple of bottles of both the antiseptic and the sealer to take care of it. The seal probably wouldn’t hold all that long, given the stress flight would take on it, but it would hopefully last until she was somewhere safer.

But I definitely wouldn’t have enough to fully repair both wings, let alone help the queen.

I moved on to her broken wing. After explaining to both drakkons what I needed to do, I carefully straightened Gria’s wing out. Her pain rippled through me, but it was the fierce need to snap and kill the thing that was hurting her that had my pulse skipping along erratically. Only the force of the queen’s will kept her in check.

With the wing straight, I positioned and then activated each of the bone straps. Once the broken sections were braced, I pulled the silk webbing from the pack and strung it across the bigger sections of the torn membrane in order to give the sealer something to cling on to. It took a while. By the time I moved around to the second wing, only one bottle of sealer and a few strands of silk remained. I repaired the worst of the tears then took a deep breath and released it slowly. Hopefully, it would be enough.

A high-pitched but somewhat distant cry had me looking up. Veri had arrived, and that meant Mom and whoever accompanied her could only be a few hours behind. I told Veri to remain high, then picked up the now very light pack and moved out from under Gria. The queen stared down at me, her jewel-like eyes obsidian in the gray of the day.

That’s all I can do for now , I said. But she will not make it back to your aerie.

Not safe here .

I hesitated. What about the old aerie above my city?

Not safe.

It said a lot about her desperation that she’d risked flying to a city she feared to seek my help. None will hunt you there. None will hurt you there .

Used to.

Yes, but no more.

Still have throws.

The ballistas cannot reach you in the aerie, and none venture there now.

Something flared in her eyes, something unexpected. Humor. I eat if they try.

I grinned. Which is why they won’t try.

She blew out through her nose, the sound sharp with frustration and unease. No been there. Entrance?

There’re two—one high above the city, one overlooking the sea. The second lies at the top of the interlocking basalt columns that run down to the sea.

I sent her an image of the stepping-stone like structures that had been formed by eruptions so long ago.

Know that. Go there . She shifted slightly, once again shifting a clawed foot dangerously close. You come?

You don’t need my additional weight in flight ? —

Capra heavier. You easy.

I smiled. Perhaps, but my kin come.

Kin?

I waved a hand to Gria and the little male. They are your kin.

You kin. You saved Gria.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save them both.

Her grief washed through me, thick and heavy. I briefly closed my eyes, battling the tears that nevertheless pushed past my eyelashes.

We go , she said. See you?

I nodded. Gria’s wings still need repair, as do yours.

I heal. We go.

I moved out under her neck and then retreated. Once I was far enough away, she hunkered down and then launched into the air, her wings pumping furiously, sending a maelstrom of dirt and grass my way. I shaded my eyes with a hand and braced against the force of it, my heart in my mouth. She was barely getting enough momentum to rise thanks to the massive gaps in her wing membrane.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she rose. Gria followed, the still loose membrane on her right wing a bright flag that flapped wildly. She was even more unstable than Kaia, and I watched with no small amount of trepidation as they both fought for height.

Eventually, they were high enough to catch the wind, and as one, they swooped around and flew toward the hills and the Black Glass Mountains beyond.

I watched until they were little more than specks on the horizon and then whistled Veri down. I wasn’t wearing a gauntlet, so her talons pierced the leather sleeve of my tunic and dug lightly into my skin. I sucked in a breath but otherwise didn’t react. Her claws could never do the same sort of damage as the queen’s.

She squawked impatiently, wanting her scrap of meat. I squatted down, untied the pack’s front pocket, and found not only her treats but also a chunk of travel bread for myself. I handed her some meat, then undid the small message clasp on her right leg. As she hopped off and strutted several feet away to tear her prize apart, I dug deeper into the pocket, found the stylus, and wrote out my message. Once I’d clipped it onto her leg again, I sent her back to Mom.

As she sped away, I walked back to the little male drakkon. His body was a mess of blood and wounds, but it quickly became obvious none had been the ultimate cause of death. That honor belonged to the long piece of wood sticking out of his eye.

I moved past his jaw and clambered up his neck, his scales still slick with blood. I grabbed the nubs of his horns to steady myself and then carefully moved past them and squatted down just behind his eye ridge. The spear was at least an inch in diameter, and its sides were as smooth as silk, meaning it had been created by human hand rather than nature. I rose, gripped the end of the shaft, and tried to remove it. It had obviously lodged deep into his skull—maybe even as far as his brain—because for several minutes it only released in small degrees. Then, with a loud pop, it came free—and, Vahree help me, his eye came out with it.

My stomach threatened to rebel, and I spent the next couple of minutes sucking in air in an effort to maintain control. I’d seen many a gruesome sight over my years of patrolling Mareritten, and some had certainly involved eyes being torn from skulls in various ways—crude if graphic warnings of what the Mareritt would do to us if we were captured. This shouldn’t have affected me, especially since he was already dead. Maybe it was the other bits of matter that had come out with it. Or maybe it was simply the lingering aftereffects of my connection with both his mother and sister.

I carefully lowered the spear and its gruesome catch to the ground and then climbed down. The spear’s point appeared to be made of the same metal as the feathers and was triangular in shape, with two thick barbs on either side. It had clearly been designed for throwing, which confirmed my hunch these birds were not alone. Someone had been astride them—there was no other way such a weapon could be thrown with such accuracy toward a target such as a drakkon. Not from the ground, at least. In all the centuries we’d used the ballistas, there’d been less than a handful of direct kill shots.

But it was a scary possibility, if true. How in Vahree’s name could we battle an enemy who not only could control such creatures but, through them, command the skies?

I moved on, studying the rest of his wounds. There were multiple metal feathers lodged in his flesh, but there was no sign of the deeper gash I’d seen on Gria. I guessed there’d been no need for a closer-in assault when the spear had so successfully taken him out.

I walked back to my pack, sat cross-legged on the ground, and munched on the dried meat and crusted trail bread while I waited for the rescue party.

The sun was riding toward noon by the time they appeared on the horizon. I rose, dusted off my butt, and waved an arm to catch their attention, even if that was unnecessary. Mom was well aware of my location, thanks to her light connection to Veri.

There were seven all told in the party—Mom, her four guards, Damon, and, rather annoyingly, his father. Desta ran free beside them and was the first to arrive. She nuzzled me lightly, hoping for a carrot but quite happily settling for a scratch behind the ear instead, then wandered off to eat some grass.

Mom pulled her sweating mount up and leapt off. Her guards remained mounted and fanned out to keep a steady eye on surroundings. She touched my arm lightly. “You okay?”

“Yes, though being carried aloft in a drakkon’s claw is not a mode of transport I’d recommend.”

“And yet you are your father’s daughter and probably enjoyed every scary minute of it.”

A smile twitched my lips. “A fact I cannot deny.”

She chuckled softly, but her amusement quickly faded. “How did the queen take her drakkling’s death?”

“As badly as any mother would.”

“I’m surprised she’s not here keening. They tend to grieve for days.”

“She has another drakkling to look after.”

Mom’s eyebrows rose. “Two drakklings is rather unusual these days—was it badly hurt?”

“Barely flight capable. I patched her up enough to get her to safety but didn’t have enough silk or sealer to fix the queen’s wings.”

“At least she remains flight capable. Did she say what had attacked them?”

“No, because I didn’t ask. I was more intent on getting them to safety. But it appears to be the same foe who attacked our boat—their metal feathers litter the male’s body.”

Damon and his father dismounted. Aric went to the drakkling, while Damon walked toward us. His gaze swept me, and relief briefly glimmered in the coolness of those bright depths. “No puncture wounds from a careless claw, I see.”

I half smiled. “If one of her claws had punctured me, I wouldn’t be standing here to talk about it.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Resilience and gumption are not lacking when it comes to the females of your family.”

Mom smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” His gaze went to the drakkling. “How was he killed?”

“Spear through the eye.” I led the way over. Aric was already squatting next to the weapon and its gruesome prize. “The metal in the spear’s head is the same as that in the feathers we’ve found.”

Aric glanced up. His blue eyes were cold and held the slightest hint of distaste. But given his apparent abhorrence of women who did anything more than pander to his needs, he was obviously practicing deep control. “Did you question the drakkons about what attacked them?”

“No, because I was a little too busy saving Gria’s life.”

“Gria?” Damon said.

I nodded. “The young female’s name. The queen is Kaia.”

“I suppose you gave them those monikers?” Aric’s voice was blunt with barely suppressed derision.

“No,” I replied evenly. “Drakkons are very intelligent—more so than many men I’ve met over the years—and are more than capable of choosing their own names.”

His gaze narrowed, but before he could reply, Mom stepped forward and pulled the spear free from the remnants of the eye. “This weapon is hefty in both build and length and wouldn’t be easily thrown.”

“Especially from atop of a flighted bird,” I said.

“We have no confirmation that’s what we’re dealing with, especially if you’ve no description from the drakkons.” Aric pushed to his feet and held out a hand. “May I?”

Mom handed the spear over. He balanced it lightly on one palm. “It’s extremely well weighted. Whoever made this knows what they’re doing.”

“And not just when it comes to making weapons,” I said. “These skirmishes definitely reek of testing enemy waters before committing to a full assault.”

“Given the destruction of Eastmead and the downing of the drakkons, we must be dealing with a reasonably large force,” Damon said. “So where are they stationed? It has to be somewhere within reach of the continent.”

“We’re talking about flighted creatures,” Aric said. “We have no idea what sort of speed or distance they’re capable of. They could be stationed hundreds of miles out to sea for all we know.”

“Yes, but we can presume they couldn’t fly much faster or longer than drakkons,” I said. “It takes the queen a day or so of flight to reach the coast from the Red Ochre Mountains.”

“Even by that reckoning, the five islands would certainly provide a flighted force a suitable base.” He glanced at Mom. “Have there been any communications from the communities there?”

His words hit like a punch to the gut. While my grandparents, one of my aunts, and two of my uncles had all made the journey to Esan for the wedding, I still had plenty of kin on Jakarra—including Garran and his parents. They’d stayed to be with Garran and his wife during the birth of their first child.

“If this force hit the islands as thoroughly as they did Eastmead,” Damon said, before Mom could say anything, “there’d be nothing and no one left to communicate.”

I shared a glance with Mom. Though her expression gave little away, I could feel the sudden fear in her, thanks to our joint connection to Veri.

“It’s doubtful any invading force could so utterly erase the inhabitants of an island as large as Jakarra,” she said, “but I’ll certainly contact them as soon as we get back.”

“If not the islands, then what about the Black Glass Mountains?” Damon asked. “You’ve no watch stations in the peaks around the Throat, have you?”

“No,” Mom replied. “Because there’s never been a need. The cliffs are sheer and offer no access points from the sea to assaulting forces.”

“Regular forces, not flighted,” Aric said, “I would suggest the first thing we need to do?—”

“Aric,” my mother cut in tartly, “neither Rion nor I tell you how to run your kingdom. Please provide us the same courtesy.”

He waved a hand. “It was only?—”

“I’m well aware what it was.” She gave him a tight smile. “A recon team was sent up there this morning?—”

“There was?” I said sharply.

Mom glanced at me, frowning. “Why?”

“I’ve sent the queen to the old aerie. If recon goes near her, she’ll kill them.”

“Ah. Send a message to your father, then. They’ll probably have passed the old nesting grounds by now, but better to be safe.”

I nodded and whistled Veri down. After scratching out the note and including the information about both the drakkons and the islands, I fed her another piece of meat and impressed on her the urgent need to find my father.

As she squawked her understanding and flew away, Mom said, “We should be getting back. It’s far too open out here if our aggressors still patrol.”

Aric nodded, but his gaze was on the drakkling. “We might as well collect the ivory first—it would be a shame?—”

“Touch any part of him and I’ll burn your ass,” I ground out harshly.

So much for getting into the good books with my father-in-law.

His gaze narrowed to slits. Dangerous, angry slits of bright blue. “The creature is dead. He has no use for either claws or horns now.”

“I don’t care. You’ll not defile his body.”

Aric snorted. “That will happen soon enough anyway—or do you think the local scavengers will forgo a feast such as this because your feminine sensibilities?—”

“I would not finish that sentence,” Damon said, tone coldly amused. “Because her feminine sensibilities are well armed and very capable of following through with such a threat.”

Aric studied me for a second and then, surprisingly, laughed. “And they’ll certainly be a worthwhile addition to Zephrine’s might.” He switched his gaze to my mom and bowed. “I’ll await your lead on my mount, Marin.”

With that, he turned and walked away. Mom glowered at his back for a second, then glanced at me. “You’ll catch up?”

“Unlikely, given I have no idea how long a drakkling’s body will take to burn.” And no idea what the queen would actually think of me doing so. But it surely had to be a better option than leaving him here for predators to consume, be they animal or human.

“Then I’ll see you in Esan.”

I nodded. Once she’d mounted and they’d all departed, I looked at Damon. “I have to say, your father’s overall response to my threat was unexpected.”

“My father is nothing if not capricious,” Damon said. “It makes life at Zephrine... interesting. As you’ll no doubt discover.”

Something to look forward to, for sure, I thought sourly. “Does that mean you’re intending to stay at Zephrine rather than return to your studies with your mother’s people?”

The smile that touched his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That depends on a number of factors.”

“Am I one of them?”

“Do you want to be?”

“I want many things I can’t have, Damon. You’re in the other category.”

Something I had but didn’t want.

He studied me for a moment, and for the first time in a long time, I wished my ability to hear thoughts ran to humans rather than just animals. The lovely planes of his face were giving very little away.

“No drakkons fly above Angola,” he said eventually. “And that is the home of my heart.”

“I’m led to believe no drakkons fly above Zephrine, either, though their aerie remains in the Balkain Mountains.”

“Yes, but you can at least reach the aeries from Zephrine, a fact I now suspect is important to you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Such consideration is unexpected, husband.”

“There is an old saying amongst my mother’s people that goes something along the lines of ‘happy wife, happy life’. Especially when said wife is armed and dangerous.”

I stared at him for a moment and then laughed. “A worthwhile saying indeed, but one that ignores a basic principle.”

He raised an eyebrow, the movement lazy and somehow infinitely amused, even if the coolness remained in his eyes. “And that is?”

“For any marriage to be successful, it has to be an equal partnership.”

“A principle I heartily agree with.”

“I’m extremely happy to hear that.”

The amusement finally touched the corners of his bright eyes. “Especially given the man who raised me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

No, and it was yet another pointer to the fact that we were more of a match than either of us had realized.

I picked up the pack and slung it over my shoulder. “I need to set flame to the drakkling, so you might want to step back.”

“Can your heat burn hot enough to dispose of both flesh and ivory? The latter isn’t easy to burn.”

“I really don’t know, but he’s only young, and neither his claws nor his horn nubs have fully hardened.”

“Ah.”

He caught his mount’s reins and walked away. I took a deep breath, then reached for the inner fires. They burned through my body and erupted from my fingers, a fierce, white-hot heat that scorched the grass even though the arc of flame went nowhere near it.

Once the drakkling was fully alight, I moved back and mounted up. The force of the fire pulled at my strength, but that was necessary to ensure it remained hot enough to consume the ivory.

When the drakkling’s flesh and bones finally began to disintegrate and the fire had burned low, I broke the connection, then turned Desta around and headed home. Weariness ate at me, and a low-grade ache settled deep in my brain. I couldn’t be bothered making conversation, and Damon seemed content to keep it that way.

It was nearing dusk by the time we finally rode through the gates into Esan. Torches lined the streets, sending a flickering golden glow across the dark stone. There were few people about, and for very good reason. The air was now cold enough to frost each breath. Luckily for the drakkons, the old aerie was situated close to a volcanic steam vent that not only warmed the sand of what had once been an ancient seafloor, but also heated the caverns themselves. We’d long siphoned similar vents to heat water and keep rooms at an even temperature during the long winter months, but it did of course come with an ever-present danger. The Black Glass Mountains might not have seen an eruption for many centuries now, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t or wouldn’t erupt sometime in the future. Thankfully, the earth witches we now had stationed here would at least give us warning enough to evacuate the city.

As we rode into the main courtyard, Mik appeared. He lightly held Desta’s mane while I swung a leg over her withers and slipped from her back.

“Give her a good rub down tonight, Mik. She deserves it.”

He nodded and chirruped lightly to get her moving again. I took a deep breath, then glanced across at Damon. “I have to report to my father. I’ll meet you in the apartment.”

He hesitated, then nodded and walked on. I spun and headed for the metal steps. The two guards stationed at the top saluted and opened the door. I responded and strode through, my footsteps once again echoing in the hall’s stillness. It was late, so the building was basically empty, but I wondered if that was a mistake. We had no true understanding of our foe as yet. For all we knew, they preferred night to day—or, at the very least, the indefinite light that came just before dawn. It would certainly explain their predawn attacks on both Eastmead and the drakkons.

The shadows got stronger and the air colder the deeper I moved into the wall complex. I tried pushing some heat to my fingertips, but the inner flames remained decidedly weak. It had taken a lot of energy to burn the bones of the drakkling to ash, and that led me to one vital question—would they work any faster against flighted foe who were so heavily armored?

And yet, there had to be some defense against them—some way of killing them. No enemy was indestructible, no matter how much it might at first appear otherwise. There had to be at least one chink in their armor.

But to uncover it, we needed to find them. See them.

The guards at the entrance of the war room snapped to attention and saluted. I returned the action and went through the door. The room was full and chaotic, the noise close to deafening.

Something had happened. Something bad .

The islands....

I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. Facts first, fear later.

I scanned the room and spotted my parents at the scribe quill whose pair was situated in the ruling council’s offices on Jakarra.

I hurried over. “What’s happened?”

But I knew, even before my father glanced up. One look at Mom’s stricken face told me everything I needed to know.

“We’ve multiple reports of attacks coming in from the smaller islands.” Though my father’s voice was flat, his eyes were bright with barely repressed fury. “They were attacked at dusk, just as the boats were coming in from the day’s fish.”

“Are there many casualties?”

He waved a hand at the nearby desks. “We’re still receiving information, but yes, the numbers are high.”

“And Jakarra?”

Mom glanced up at that. There were tears in her eyes. Tears she was somehow holding in check.

“We’re still trying to raise someone.” She hesitated and blinked rapidly. One lone tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. “But from all reports, it’s been destroyed. Totally and utterly destroyed.”