We climb higher still. The air thins and the cold deepens until my breath comes in sharp, short pulls that frost the moment it leaves my mouth. Isla is shivering against me. I wrap both arms around her and hold her close, sharing what little warmth we have between us.
Then we break through the cloud cover.
And there are stars.
Millions of them. It is a sky so vast and bright that it steals the breath from my lungs.
Isla gasps.
The cloud bank stretches below us in every direction, a rolling gray sea lit silver by the starlight. It is beautiful. Hauntingly, achingly beautiful.
Isla tilts her head back. The starlight catches her face. Her lips are parted. Her eyes are wide. She is looking up at the sky the same way I am.
We fly in silence for a long time.
At some point, Isla’s body softens against mine. Her tight grip on my forearm loosens just a fraction. She isn’t relaxed, not truly, but the worst of the terror has faded. I keep my arms around her.
Eventually, the dragon begins to descend. We drop back through the shroud, and the stars vanish, swallowed once more by the gray.
We descend into a valley nestled between the arms of a mountain range. Even in the darkness, I can make out the shapes of trees. Not the skeletal, dead things that litter the wastes, but trees with canopy. Trees with leaves.
And beyond the valley, in the far distance, the jagged silhouette of an impressive mountain range that cuts against the sky.
The grass below is thick enough to be visible, even in the darkness. The trees grow denser as we drop lower. Some of them are enormous, their branches spreading wide, and very much alive.
A structure comes into view. A large wooden cabin with warm light leaking from the edges of one or two of the shuttered windows. Beside it, an even larger building that looks like a barn. Behind the homestead, something catches the faint starlight and throws it back. It’s a lake; its surface is still and glassy, reflecting the sky above it.
And beyond the lake, in a wide, open field, several horses stand with their heads lowered, grazing as if this is any other night.
It looks like it has barely been touched by the rot. A pocket of life. A sanctuary.
The dragon descends the last stretch quickly. The trees rush up to meet us, and the dragon flares its wings, slowing hard. The landing is surprisingly gentle given the beast’s size. A heavythud, a few strides forward through the grass, and then we are still.
The dragon crouches down.
“Good girl,” Orion says, patting her neck in very much the same way I would a horse.
Then he drops from the dragon’s neck and turns to face us.
“You can get down now,” he says.
I release Isla. I get off first and then stand ready, in case she needs me.
She doesn’t.
She swings her leg over and slides down the dragon’s side, landing with a soft thud.
I straighten and face Orion, not quite sure what to expect.
He touches his dragon on her horn. “Thank you, Delphine. You were magnificent.”
The dragon lets out a low rumble. Then she stands, moves a few strides away from us, spreads her great wings, and lifts off, rising silently into the night. She disappears toward the dark silhouette of the nearby mountains, and in moments she is gone.
Then Orion turns to me. He is taller than I remember. Thicker through the shoulders. His green eyes catch what little light there is and throw it back, bright and sharp. He looks at me, and I look at him, and for a stretched, awkward moment, neither of us speaks.
I have met him before. A couple of times when we were princes and once soon after we were crowned. We are not friends. The shadowfae have never had a close relationship with any of the other kingdoms. The beastfae are not really my enemies, but that’s all I can say of them. We’ve left them in peace, and they have let us be too.
“Thank you,” I tell him. The words feel inadequate. I extend my hand, and he takes it. His grip is firm and brief. “You saved our lives.”
