Too late…
The memory snapped, and I stumbled back from the wall.
Findher…
Inside the labyrinth, I’d thought the message referred to Reyla, but what if?—
The air whooshed from my lungs. Heat seared across my arm, the dragon tattoo blazing.
What ifherhad meant the dragon queen all this time?
Reyla rushed over and gripped my arm.
“I saw it,” I grated out, staring at the now dull scale.
“What did you see?”
I dragged my eyes to her face. “The night. The hut. The fire.”
She frowned, reaching up to stroke my scar.
“A borgon saved me that night,” I told her.
She blinked. “Are you sure?”
I shook my head, scattering the thought. “No, not a borgon. Adragon.”
A shiver tracked through her. “Maybe you shouldn’t touch any more scales.”
“Without knowledge, there can be no truth or understanding.” The statement felt etched into my bones.
You’re alright?she asked.
I nodded, and she left me, approaching the altar.
A creamy scale gleamed, and I reached out…
Energy surged up my arm. My knees locked, and my vision blurred, flashing to white. Everything around me disappeared. I was no longer myself. My broad wings carved shadows into theearth as I flew up and over the tallest mountain peak. Older than empires and older than the trees, I’d seen peace and war and everything in between.
I watchedhim. Aricor.
Hair black as wet bark. Youth shining in his face. A prince with polished boots and reckless eyes. He ran across the forest’s edge, clutching a book to his chest, his arm partly blocking the title.Ember’s…
And in that book, I smelled danger, dark secrets no boy-king had a right to see.
I'd watched him since he was born. Seen him laugh and play. Hovered near while he trained with the guard and whispered wishes to the wind. He was decent once, but not anymore.
He’d changed.
I should have stopped him when his heart first turned, when his thoughts twisted into jealousy. Back then, I thought it was an innocent thing. A boy's yearning. He followed Prager with quiet worship in his gaze. He was foolish. Harmless.
But the shift came quickly.
He learned of it one night, a tale of an object said to be able to shape love itself. Not summon it, not stir it naturally, butforceit.
Iskar Cor.
It should’ve been lost by now. Buried where no one would ever find it. It never should’ve resurfaced or been used in this way.
