She could keep going, which honestly did not sound very enjoyable. Or she could turn around and head back down the mountain. However, given the ache in her calves and feet, she wasn’t entirely sure that was the smartest option either. She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill, when a distressing groan caused the ground she was standing upon to shudder and quake.
Caelian threw her arms out for balance, grasping at the rocky ledge nearest her for support. A tremor of fear spliced through her, for she hadn’t realized she’d traveled so deep into the Moonfall Peaks.
There could only be one possible source for such a sound.
The dragons.
Svartos, Astrylys, and Odryss dwelled deep within the cavernous walls of the mountainside. They came from Brackroth, and belonged to Drake, Creslyn, and Kjeld respectively. She’d seen them up close a rare number of times, and Kjeld had taken her for a ride on the back of Odryss only once—it was the most thrilling memory of her life—but that was before.
Before she saved his life.
Before he turned fae.
She could have sworn their lair was further east, closer to the seaside cliffs. Yet the noise she heard sounded as though it came from the wall of rock at her back.
Again, there was another miserable screech. Something about the pitiful call sent spasms of alarm shivering along her spine. Apprehension rolled her shoulders back and her ears pricked in caution. Tilting her head, Caelian listened.
Another groan, this one full of pain and discomfort.
One of the dragons was hurt.
Without hesitation, Caelian sprinted toward the sound of the injured dragon. She braced one hand along the rocky surface of the wall, traced it with her palm, and let the agonizing bellow guide her. She told herself she would help either way, even if it was Svartos, for he was the most intimidating of the three. But surely he would recognize her scent and not see her as a threat. At least she hoped as much.
Clambering over twisted roots and immovable stones, she followed the trail until it veered off from the main path. Caelian rounded the corner, her boots sliding against loose gravel, and faced the large empty mouth of a poorly lit cave. Or a lair. She couldn’t be sure. Hesitance, and perhaps a sliver of fear, caused her to freeze in her tracks. She had no idea what she was doing, only that she couldn’t bear to listen to the dragon’s disturbing cries and do absolutely nothing to help. If one of them was injured, then at least she could assess the situation and go fetch someone to help. Unfortunately, the nearest someone was Kjeld, but she ignored that bit of knowledge for the time being. The gaping opening of the cave stared back at her, bleak and fathomless. Sconces were affixed to the damp walls, the flames wavering as though they would snuff out completely with the next billow of wind.
Caelian tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and steeled her spine.
Once more, the dragon loosed a guttural sort of whine, and her heart lurched.
Refusing to waste another precious second of time, Caelian rushed into the cave.
Droplets of water plopped into discolored puddles, the sound eerily reminiscent of a spring rainfall. The ground was slick beneath her boots, and the air was hot and damp, thick like syrup. A metallic tang lingered, so heavy it coated each breath. Her stomach seized and her eyes burned, but she pushed forward, keeping her footfalls distinctively loud and determined. She wanted the dragon to know she was coming, and seeing as she didn’t know much about dragon safety or even how to protect herself, she imagined catching one by surprise was probably not the best idea.
The serpentine cavern walls seemed to continue forever. Caelian was about to give up, she almost convinced herself she’d made it to the end of the cave to no avail, when a pungent, rotten stench engulfed her. It scalded her lungs and throat, left her gagging for air. A dense ache immediately formed at her temples—a pulsing, throbbing kind of pain that blurred her vision. She keeled over, clutching her stomach as the violent urge to dry heave overwhelmed her. She grabbed the wall with one hand to keep herself upright, nails biting into stone, as a wash of flickering amber light and crawling shadows displayed the horrifying scene before her.
On the ground, her silvery-hued scales coated in thick blood and piercing keen blue eyes fixed on Caelian, was Astrylys. Spiky thorns pierced her lovely scales, puncturing through to the flesh beneath, so ribbons of scarlet pooled around her in winding rivers. Her wings, once a shimmering iridescence, were now muted and gray, folded into her sides. The ground she lay upon was black and decaying, shriveled vines reeking of death and covered in grime climbed the walls of the cave. It was as though the entirety of this part of the mountain’s life force had been drained.
Caelian had only witnessed one such act before, at her sister Novalise’s wedding, when the horrors of dark magic bloomed with life.
Astylys struggled to lift her head, her jaws opening then snapping closed as a plume of gray smoke swirled from between her teeth.
Caelian threw her hands up.
“I mean…” she choked the words out, struggling to breathe. She wiped the back of her hands beneath her eyes. “I mean you no harm, Astrylys. I’m here to…to help.”
Astrylys arched the length of her neck, the scales there dripping with blood, and it was then Caelian saw the nest housing three dragon eggs. Two glittering black and one iridescent silver.
Or at least, it should have been a nest. Having never seen one before, she assumed it would be composed of twigs, fallen branches, leaves, and things of that nature. Much like a bird’s nest. However, this one was made of twisted bramble and unforgiving thorns that swiveled over the nest, as though it was trying to puncture the shimmering eggs.
Caelian’s gaze widened in horror—the coils of thorny bramble weremoving.Tightening. Squeezing. Like the nest was trying to crush and destroy the very things it was built to protect. The dragon eggs were helpless against the onslaught, and it appeared Astrylys had done everything within her power to free them from the mangled vine. But she had injured herself in the process. The dragon’s wounds were more severe than she thought. One large thorn in particular was wedged into her chest and crimson blood poured from the gash. If Caelian couldn’t stop the bleeding, Astrylys would die.
“It’s okay. I’m…I’m going to help you.” Her temples pulsed, the swelling ache spreading to the base of her neck. Each breath was a wheeze, like her lungs were on fire.
She fisted the hem of her gown and yanked, ripping the fine fabric, shredding it clear up to her thigh. With trembling hands, she tore off a lengthy strip and wadded it up into a makeshift bandage. The stench of rot and decay was too much, too dense, and her stomach heaved. She swallowed down the bile scalding the back of her throat and carefully approached Astrylys.
The dragon reared back and loosed a deafening shriek, so the cave walls shuddered. Bits of debris tumbled from the curved ceiling. The splitting sound raked through Caelian’s mind like sharpened talons, clawing and digging.
She squinted against the agony, her chest seizing as she sucked in a gulp of foul air.
