The beast lowers its head, peering closer. Its breath steams the air between us—hot, thick with smoke and… curiosity.
It exhales. Smoke curls toward me, and for a heartbeat it takes the shape of a rose—burning, blooming—before fading into nothing.
And suddenly, I remember the name.
“Dragon,” I breathe.
My legs go numb. The world tilts. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. But by sheer force of will, I keep my eyes open.
Then the dragon opens its maw and roars.
And something ancient inside me answers.
A sound tears from my chest—not fear, not defiance, but recognition. I scream back.
The dragon stops.
The pain, the blood loss, the heat, the cold—it all crashes over me at once. My limbs go slack.
Just before the darkness takes me, the dragon tilts its head. Firelight catches its gaze—and in its eyes, I see my reflection. Small. Bleeding.
But unafraid.
For one heartbeat longer, the molten pools of the dragon’s eyes hold mine.
Then the world goes dark.
Chapter 7
Onyx
Iawake to the sensation of cold stone beneath my palm and the tang of iron on my tongue. My ears still ring with the ghosts of other girls’ screams and the echo of eerie chanting. For a moment, I pray it was all a nightmare. One of my dragon dreams, twisted and cruel.
My head throbs, and my entire body aches. I’m no longer on the floor but propped up by an array of large pillows. I try a deep breath, only to break into a hacking cough. A black, tar-like liquid explodes from my lungs, and I barely manage to roll off to the side and find a silver basin beside me before I retch. The basin catches most of it. Dark, sticky smoke resin clings to mylips. My body shudders with every convulsion, like it’s rejecting the air itself.
I clutch my ribs as they struggle to expand, dragging in ragged breaths. My lungs purge the dragonfire’s residue. After a few minutes, I wipe my face with my torn sleeve.
My dress—or what remains of it—is shredded, encrusted with ash, and stained crimson. I run trembling hands along my body and realize I’m swathed in bandages—tight, thick gauze wrapped around my ribs and across my shoulder. A thick poultice seals the deep cut on my leg. Even the slashes on my arms where Awnya clawed at me have been smeared with a sweet salve that smells of mint and copper.
No, this is no dream. I’m alive. And the dragon…
My thoughts spin like leaves in a storm. I remember the glowing eyes, the slash of wings through smoke, Awnya’s lifeless body slipping from its grasp and plummeting into the void.
The scream. The cave. The hunger in its stare.
But above it all is the song—the eerie, haunting Dragon Song still pounding in my skull, deafening and sacred and evil. I press my hands to my ears, desperate to block it out, but it’s no use. The ceremonial song loops over and over in my mind like a curse:
Come, god of flames. Come take her away…
This bride is yours forever…
We give her heart. We give her soul…
Bring prosperity and good fortune to us all…
Let fire cleanse. Let ashes fall.
A song I once sang with joy, believing that the chosen were bound for glory, not the grave. But ever since that night, thenight I earned my first scar, I’ve known better. And now I’ve seen the truth for myself.
