His pupils narrow. “Among other things. But for now… that will do.”
I hesitate, then sink down into the grass, cross my legs, and open the tome to the first page.
“Before there was breath,” I begin, “there was flame. And in the beginning, the stars birthed the first dragons, beings made not of bone and flesh but of starlight, meant to guard the night skies from the creeping dark.”
The dragon closes his eyes.
I glance up but keep reading. My voice winds through the orchard, low and steady. The tale speaks of guardians-turned-wanderers, of great power warped by longing, of dragons who fell from their homes in the heavens to the earth below. They were sent to guide humankind toward virtue… and punish them when they strayed too far.
When I reach the part about the first dragon who chose to fall willingly, my voice catches.
The dragon’s eyes open, glowing molten gold.
“Is that what happened to you?” I ask softly. “Did you fall?”
“No, little flame,” he murmurs. “The first dragons fell millennia ago. I am but their descendant.” Then, “Keep reading.”
I obey. By the time the last page fades beneath my fingertips, the stars above have shifted, and dawn glimmers faintly on the horizon.
“So…” I ask hesitantly, “do you believe that? That dragons came to help humanity?”
A long silence follows.
“I believe,” he rumbles, “that even fallen stars can shine the brightest.”
“So, is that a yes, or…?”
He flicks his tail in agitation. “Yes, but then your kind betrayed us.”
The orchard holds its breath as we sit, silver light spilling between the leaves.
I yawn before I can stop myself. Getting up, I brush droplets of dew from my skirts. “Our night is up.”
“So it is.”
“I’ll see you in fourteen days, then?”
He gives a slow nod, his golden gaze turned toward the paling sky.
I swing onto Brimstone’s back but glance over my shoulder. “Shall I bring another book then?”
Another nod. “Until then, little flame.”
And with that, he unfolds his wings and vanishes into the clouds as I ride into the rising light.
Chapter 36
Fury & Flame
Fourteen days later, under a moonless sky, I saddle Brimstone and make my way toward the orchard. The air is brisk and threaded with mist. Brimstone whinnies nervously as we reach the field’s edge, but I tie him to the same tree as before.
“No running this time,” I warn him. “If you’re good, you get carrots. If not, I’m making horse stew.”
He flicks his ears in protest.
In the field, the dragon is waiting. “You’re early,” he rumbles.
“So are you.”
