“Change of plans,” he barked. “Everyone behind me.Now.”
Attor, Koal, and Rhaedra complied, swords braced.
Attor caught her arm and yanked her clear. “No. Too dangerous.”
Soldiers, not guards, flooded into view at the far end of the grand hall, a jagged wave of steel and armor. They paused, momentarily surprised by the intruders. Then steel flashed. They charged, roaring, great rolls of flame spewing free.
No!Ash tore free of Attor’s hold and unleashed a gale-force wind at the surging front line, forcing their fire to rebound into them. Scales erupted as they semi-shifted for protection.
Race flung fiery orbs that split midair—a white-sparking net of flame seared through the enemy ranks. Screams tore through the hall as soldiers caught alight, collapsing in agony—not even their scales shielded them from Race’s devastating fire.
When the last body fell, silence crashed down. Heat shimmered in the air, and the smell of burnt leather and charred flesh stung her nose. Ash pressed a trembling palm to her belly, her gaze locking on her utterly dangerous, powerful mate.
The storm tethered to her power shuddered. Instantly, she reached for the clouds she’d summoned through their mental link.
Stay, she sent up to them, soothing their urge to break free.
Race glanced back. “Let’s go.”
He strode through the smoke, bypassed the charred remains, and threw open the massive, arched bronze doors.
Ash hurried after him and stumbled to a halt at the entrance, just behind Race. The others moved past her into the circular chamber vast enough to cradle dragons, but the devastation there strangled the breath in her chest.
Massive columns lay split and blackened, scattered like bones across the mosaic floor.
Race reached back, his fingers finding hers, and he drew her inside. She sidestepped a fallen column, her gaze sweeping around.
The ceiling arched high above them, a great domed vault supported by horn-like pillars that funneled wan daylight through their gaps. Twisted chandeliers hung from broken chains, scattered crystal shards crunching underfoot.
Once-glorious murals of dragons soaring through flame and sky were marred by claw marks and scorched black, reduced now to ghostly tatters.
Thunderous trumpets split the air. Dragons wheeled beyond the shattered colonnade—Braxion’s squadron, their metallic earth tones flashing through the storm—copper, rust, and navy wings glinting in the haze—fire spilling from their throats in searing jets.
Ash stopped at the threshold of the balcony, the sheer scale of it making her dizzy. The city far below smoked, burned in places, and embers crawled across rooftops like molten veins.
Malcarion’s dragons drove into the enemy, their roars bellowing?—
Someone nudged her arm. “You shouldn’t stay so close to the edge. A flame could catch you.”
Rhaedra stood beside her, her features tight.
Ash nodded, turning back toward the chamber. Her gaze caught on the dais and the two thrones, or what remained of them, and her breath hitched.
Dear Lord, such hate.
The king’s seat bore a jagged crack down its spine, deep scars carved across the padded backrest. The queen’s one had toppled sideways, its winged crest broken, half buried under a fallen beam.
Dust still hung heavy in the air. The wounds on the stone looked fresh.
This must have occurred after the forge fell.
The air stank of scorched stone and iron. It lay thick in her lungs, and Ash shivered, every nerve alive with the sense that Malcarion’s fury still lived within these walls.
Her gaze found Race. He stood at the center of it all, staring at the thrones. His jaw locked, shoulders rigid, waves of his anguish and fury swamped her, as sharp as broken glass.
Ash crossed to him. Without a word, she slid her arm around his waist and held him, her head resting briefly against his chest. He didn’t look down, didn’t move.
“I’m here,” she whispered, not sure if it was for him or herself.
