Warmth spread under my hand, and the key slid neatly into the lock, and a poof of fog surrounded the key.
“You’re a bit dramatic,” I muttered.
The door opened without a sound, and the air on the other side felt different right away.
It was scented with smoke and damp stone, tinged with a soft, metallic, clean scent that always made my mind go blank for a second.
I assumed that was the dragons.
The world behind me, the students and shifting alliances, fell away until it was nothing but a distant hum. Here, there was only quiet that felt full instead of empty.
I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me.
The passage was narrow and curved gently, lit by an impossible pearlescent glow that didn’t come from torches or lanterns. It came from the stone itself, from crystal veins embedded in the walls like captured starlight.
My anxiety from my mother and Gideon’s stone was wild, tangled, and desperate until I stepped inside. And I was humbly reminded that there were things far more delicate, far more important, and older than my panic.
What was that saying? This, too, shall pass?
The corridor opened into the dragon’s den as alcoves lined the walls. Inside those were the shapes of dragons, like live murals breathing in a dream. Many of the dragons were sleeping, and some of them were awake.
But the awareness in the air was unmistakable. They knew I’d entered their home.
And I wasn’t sure the dragons would welcome me tonight. Not after the chaos, the orcs, the Priestess trying to lay claim, and after the way I’d been shuddering under pressure.
But something in me urged me on anyway. Something steady and deep kept me going to the ones who always had something wise to tell me.
The space was vast, domed, cavernous, with the ceiling lost in shadows. Fresh bioluminescent moss clung to the stone in soft emerald patches. It looked different than the goblin gold I was used to seeing. Strands of crystal embedded in the walls scattered reflections, as if the whole place was a prism dreaming.
Somewhere deeper in the chamber, breathing echoed. It was slow, deep, and steady.
I brought my gaze in front of me, and there they were.
Their bodies curled like celestial serpents. Their thick skin shimmered in the low light in every color imaginable. Silver, jade, deep plum streaked with gold, bronze that glowed like banked embers. It wasn’t my first time seeing them, but it took my breath away like it was.
Adult dragons lay across the den floor, resting but not truly asleep. As I stepped inside, eyes opened one after another.
I stopped without meaning to, and their attention settled on me slowly. These creatures had been here long before me, and they would likely be here long after as long as I did my job as headmistress.
My gaze drifted past them toward the far wall, where the very first hatchling I’d encountered stood. I remembered back to meeting my first hatchling, and it felt so long ago. But now the gorgeous creature had grown taller than me with its luminescent scales shining in the dim cavern light. Its gaze fell to mine, and I couldn’t deny a kinship between us, even if I imagined it on my end. I smiled softly, and the dragon tipped its head and lay back down.
I spotted a cluster of young dragons resting in a shallow alcove worn smooth by years of use. They were piled together ina tangle of wings and tails, the oversized sweep of their wings draped over each other while they slept, and my heart stopped.
The smallest one was about the size of a Labrador.
One of them stirred as I watched, and lifted its head slowly, small horns still pale and soft-looking, its eyes bright and curious.
My breath caught at their beauty.
They were incredible, but there was something else there, too.
A low rumble stirred to my left.
One of the adults, silvery, scales rippling like moonlight over water, sea-glass eyes half-lidded, lifted her head.
And her voice came not with sound, but as thought.
Bellemore child.
