It was the same for the Surgers. Syphons and Surgers were once part of the Render Clan, but dragons and other Arcs hunted both to extinction because they coveted our affinities or felt threatened by them. Surgers were sought after for their ability to either boost others’ power or use it at will. For Syphons, it was because we could take away affinities both temporarily and permanently. Our kinds were collected and destroyed for no other reason than greed or fear.
The weak always swipe at the strong when they think they can get away with it. That’s our reality, maybe even the nature of most beings. They know it, and I know it. Which is why all of this is even more confusing. Why aren’t the scions taking a swipe at me now when they’re outraged, I’m outnumbered, and I have no way to stop it?
Maybe executing me is above their pay grade? I suppose that might be something only the king can order. But if King Noctis was in league with the wyverns and the sorcai like we’ve long suspected, why wouldn’t his sons be in on it too? They were young when the uprising happened, but they aren’t anymore. They’d have some idea of what their father’s been up to, wouldn’t they?
Unless we’ve somehow got it wrong.
Noctis was my father’s second. He benefited the most from King Tenebrae’s murder, but there are others who quietly celebrated the extinction of the Syphons. Far too many dragons eagerly stepped in to claim a slice of power when their competition was conveniently eliminated.
No, I can’t rule out the king and his kindred just because they haven’t ripped my head off like I expected. Only a small circle of dragons would have had access and the ability to organize and execute a coup. Kathal Noctis is, and has always been, at the top of that list.
“Where have you been this whole time? Why not come home before now?” Lorn demands, and I’m taken aback by the anger and frustration inundating his deceptively simple questions.
The indictment written all over his pretty face has me loading caustic words on my tongue. I take aim, prepared to make it crystal clear to the heir that The Horde isn’t my home and never will be, but my rancor is immediately doused when a snarl shatters the otherwise quiet night.
The roar is so loud I feel it in my bones. It quakes the ground I’m sitting on and rattles the walls of the building. Another dragon bays a warning, but a jarring explosion cuts off the sound before magic-shrapnel and bullets begin to rip through the structure surrounding us.
Chaos erupts everywhere and I’m thrown to the ground by a heavy body. A blast of cold air tells me that the building protecting us has either lost some walls or part of the roof. Loud pops of weapons and detonating magic are almost drowned out by the drakes yelling orders toreveal,open the jump portal, andkill whoever the fuck is attacking us.
The sickening smell of compromised magic reaches me, and I bite back a heave of disgust and fear.
The Tainted.
The scent of their putrid power haunts my fucking nightmares, but none of the scrambling drakes seem to notice the rotten scent. I shove a hand over my nose and mouth to help block the stench and push up from the ground, needing to confirm my suspicions with my own eyes.
It doesn’t make any sense. The blood brokers would have to be suicidal to try to take on The Horde, but that familiar reek and this level of fire power has my stomach tightening with trepidation.
A menacing growl sounds in my ear as I try to sit up before a large hand tugs me back under the body pressing protectively over mine.
“Think I’m going to let you flag your friends down?” a deep, irate voice accuses.
“Fuck you, Commander,” I snarl, trying and failing again to push him off of me.
Why does he have to be so bloody big?
“What?” he snips. “No thank-yous for saving your ass?”
“The only thing you’ve done is make me a sitting duck,” I grunt. “Get off me!”
Shock rings through me like a gong when Aeson actually listens, his profound weight and body lifting from my back. My surprise is quickly replaced with affront when the handsy asshole grabs me off the ground by the waist and starts carrying me through the mayhem, tucking my back to his chest like some weakling in need of his protection.
Alarmed shouts and outrage ricochet around the now dusty and debris-filled air. Two Shields are holding a massive translucent barricade around those of us still inside the building, both of their faces tight with strain. Bright yellow magic assaults the protective veil, viciously trying to burrow through it to get to us. Bullets hit the clear barrier, creating small ripples of warning with their impact, and outside the shield, drakes are revealing their dragons faster than I can gasp in shock.
A challenging roar rips out of the mouth of a red dragon as it streaks past a huge opening that’s been blown into one of the walls. Acid sprays from the massive beast’s open maw, and screams fill the air. The yellow magic trying to breach The Horde’s protections instantly cuts off.
“Secondary protocols!” Aeson bellows, and the two sorcai I noticed when I was first led into the hangar scramble to open a portal. They pour dazzling silver magic into the gateway until a jump portal blooms at the center, unfurling quickly until it touches every rune-covered stone in the large arch. I barely get a peek at the destination on the other side. All I catch is a flash of blue before my view is blocked.
Drakes covered in various colors of scale armor surround Lorn Noctis and hurry him toward the now open portal. Their scale armor has been fully extended to cover their heads and faces, making them look as though they’re trapped halfway between drake and dragon. Horns and ridges on the armored faces hint at what their dragons look like when they’re fully revealed. It’d be an intimidating sight if I wasn’t envious as fuck right now.
Lorn’s guards collectively press through the portal, the heir at the center of their circle of safety. Captivated, I try to watch the jump, having never traveled via gate before, but my line of sight is cut off when I’m set on my feet and then roughly spun around until I’m face-to-face with a very pissed off Aeson Noctis.
“Are they here for you?” he growls, his armor-covered face inches from mine.
Thicker plates now cover the bridge of his nose in a herringbone pattern that rises up the center of his forehead. Small spikes protrude on each side of the V-shaped plates, growing bigger until they’re cut off by two horns. The horns tilt back from his head, making his armored mask look even fiercer, and his angry blue eyes practically glow against the pitch black of his scales.
He’s an enigma. And for a second, I feel myself being drawn in by it like he’s a black hole and I’m some orbiting ship with no choice but to succumb. I drop my gaze, unable to think or process when he’s this close, glowering down at me.
Bodies of fallen drakes litter the ground. Pools of blood and gore now spatter the floor, painting a macabre picture that I’m alarmingly desensitized to. Aeson shakes me until my eyes once again find his.
