I could only hope those bastards burned slow enough to suffer.
‘Donavyn…’Kgosi’s warning vibrated in my chest.‘Carrying a heart of vengeance is drinking poison for your soul.’
I set my teeth.‘I grieve the dragons. I wish we could bring them back. But I applaud their judgment on those monsters.’
Kgosi didn’t answer, but even standing here, deep in the palace stone walls, we heard the dragon cries rise outside.
High, mournful calls punctuated with blasts and screams from the females, and the deep rumble of the males as they raised their grief to God.
Dragon herds were deeply connected. They celebrated together, grieved together, and fought together. To lose so many dragons in a single blow would be devastating to them—and their bone-deep grief was audible in those cries.
Even with the anger burning in my chest, the sounds brought tears to my eyes.
The dragons didn’t deserve this. Their hearts are so pure—
“The report came from Draeventhall. All neighboring rulers are receiving the same missive—a barely veiled accusation. Yet, even though the king speaks as if they’re all dead, he signs off the notice, vowing to hunt and kill any that are found alive. It’s possible they aren’t all gone. Or that the dragons might still return?”
I shook my head. “Doubtful. We know they could have made it back since one did. But the others would be here with Kgosi by now if they’d lived.”
“Has the beast survived?”
“Barely.” Each day I checked in with Kgosi, hoping Ciar showed signs of recovery, or willingness to relieve his burdens. Each day Kgosi growled deeper that something was amiss, and yet, the dragon clung to life by his talons.
“It’s a blow,” Alexi said abruptly. “But nothing can be done except to keep watch in case one of them escaped.”
I stared, waiting for him to curse the loss of the dragons, or bemoan the men who’d been so trusted. But he only sat back and picked up the goblet of wine on the table next to him, glowering at the wall like the newsoffendedhim.
“Sire,” I said finally. “It can’t be ignored that if the dragons took this action against their own riders, something was deeply wrong with those men.”
Alexi frowned like I’d interrupted his thoughts. His gaze cleared and he took another sip from his wine before he answered. “I do worry that we may bevulnerable. Draeventhall’s notice is precisely what I would expect from an offended ruler, realizing he’s been infiltrated. But he could be playing the part, just as we are.”
I nodded. “We do have to ask ourselves if one of those men—or perhaps, more than one—was our mole.”
His nose wrinkled. “They weren’t correctly positioned for the earlier intelligence reports, though I suppose, we can’t ignore the possibility they were working with someone outside our borders.”
“Have you considered that if one of those men was truly treasonous, he may be workingwithDraeventhall? That all of this is a ruse?”
“You said there was no ruse, that the dragon who returned was clearly stricken.”
“There’s no ruse there—on the dragon’s part. But the men… if one or more of them went to Draeventhall to form alliance, or deepen ties…”
Alexi’s forehead lines deepened. “What happens to a rider who loses their dragon—if the man lives?”
A pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. It was something we’d all been warned about, though few had ever witnessed.Even now, there was no rider in living memory who’d survived their dragon. The dragons were far longer lived, and more powerful. But there were tales, whispered legends of men who’d been forced to endure the death of their dragons. And those who’d witnessed the anguish—though strong Furyknights in their own right—couldn’t speak of it without paling.
I’d seen a dragon downed in battle, his Furyknight going down with him, and even though the man survived mere moments longer than his beast, his screams lived on in my nightmares to this day.
“A bonded rider doesn’t live through the loss of their dragon,” I said emphatically. “If the dragons are dead, their men are too.” Then I met Alexi’s dark gaze. “But if any of them live, we have to ask ourselves whether they are truly for Vosgaarde. The conduct of these men is such that their own dragons have sacrificed themselves to confer judgment. If any of those men are alive… Sire, they can’t be trusted.”
Weknowthey can’t be trusted. Weknowthey are fiends.
“Perhaps,” the king conceded. “But who knows if the trouble was with the men, or the mission? We’re trusting Draeventhall’s recounting of events. Surely we should question—”
“We have a dragon, dying on our grounds after executing his own rider. We have a team scattered and members reported dead—scorched by their own dragons. Sire,somethingisn’t right with these men—and I can’t shake that they’ve all been present and central to this effort since we began receiving those confusing reports.”
The king pursed his lips. “I don’t deny the concern, Donavyn. I only refuse to take everything we know at face value. It’s why I want you in Fyrehold. We need other eyes. Other perspectives. We need to get to the bottom of what’s happening behind our backs.”
“And we will. But if any of those men return while I’m gone, I’m begging you to imprison them immediately and call for my return. We can’t trust them, Alexi.”
