“You’ll see the truth soon,” Koal said, his jaw set. “It’s in every town, but worse in the non-shifters’ sector. I’m sorry you had to see our world in such a sad state, Ash. It was beautiful once.”
“Don’t apologize for Lemuria. Earth is messy too,” she murmured, glancing to the town below, where the darkened rooftops sporadically reflected what little moonlight they caught. “I’m sorry about the situation here, about the children being forced to work in the mines.”
“It’s why the Resistance perseveres,” Attor said, his voice tight. “We have to stop that usurper any way we can.”
Race stepped closer to her, causing Koal to step back. “Who gave you the brilliant idea that I was the fix for all of this?” Though his expression remained neutral, there was a faint edge to his voice. “You forget I have two brothers somewhere.”
Brothers?Ash frowned.
The men shifted uneasily.
“There’s something you should know…” Attor scrubbed his jaw. “After Caelvyrn fell, Drak and Aerrax…were captured.”
“So, they’re dead?”
Sorrow darkened Attor’s eyes. “Aye.”
Race turned toward the mist-veiled town below. Nothing showed on his impassive features, but his rigid stance spoke volumes. Ash wanted to hug him, yet she knew even that wouldn’t soften the raw grief he must feel.
“You’ve become one cold bastard,” Skaldr muttered, shifting against the boulder he used as support. “You just heard Drak and Aerrax are dead, and you couldn’t give a fuck about their demise?”
Race ignored him.
Oh, boy. There was a history between these two men, the knowledge settling deep in her bones. He hated Race, and yet he sought his help.
“We spent eons hiding when most of the Resistance fell,” Attor’s weary voice drew her attention. “Much was lost in the last uprising, all hope gone. Then a rumor reached us about Vargol. You remember him?”
Race glanced back, a flicker of surprise crossing his cool expression. “The half-blind ridge-hermit? The one said to be star-branded by the gods?”
“Aye, the same.” Attor smiled a little. “And famous for telling ravens to shut up.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“No, he’s been holed up in that snowy, wind-gnawed shrine above Bonedrift Pass.” He waved a hand toward the north. “After an age of silence, he finally spoke to us.” Attor’s voice lowered. “He gave us a prophecy that changed everything.”
Race’s expression settled back into implacable calm. “And what exactly did the old hermit say?”
“Only one born of this soil, blood-bound to the bedrock, can reclaim what was taken.” Attor’s gaze stayed fixed on Race.
“What does that mean?” Ash asked, her grip tightening on the straps of her pack. “Aren’t you all born on Lemuria?”
Attor’s gaze never left Race. “All dragonkin are born to the soil. Few are born to rule it.”
Ash frowned, trying to figure out what Attor meant. Then it all hit her—a hundred little details she should have noticed earlier—the way the others called him ‘sire’ and deferred to his decisions, even Skaldr, despite his bitter resentment.
“Wait-wait.” She pushed back her hood and rubbed her temples, her mind racing. “So, Race was exiled because he was a member of the Resistance and fought back, yes?”
Her gaze fixed on the hard-headed dragon who marked her, searching his handsome, expressionless features for answers. “But that’s not the whole truth, is it? Why areyouthe one who could bring down this usurper?”
“Oh, you sweet, innocent little mortal,” Skaldr drawled, pushing away from the rock, his amber eyes flat. “If only he’d remember whoheonce was. Your protector is the rightful ruler of Lemuria—the heir to the Ember Crown.”
Chapter
Sixteen
Ash froze,Skaldr’s words dropping on her like an anvil.
“You—” Her gaze rushed to a grim-faced Race. “You’re the ruler? Aprince?”
