“It’s going to kill us,” a boy breathed.
The girl cowered behind Soren, the rest of the group falling in line. The Vemon dragon approached, sniffing the air.
So much fear,her voice came smoothly.
Soren realized the Sisters were no longer singing. The only sound she could hear was the thundering beat of her own pulse as it roared.
Butyou…They all cower behind you, even the precious heir, fated for this path from birth. Do you not wonder why?
It took a moment for Soren to realize the dragon was speaking to her. When she did, she raised her gaze to those silver eyes and shook her head, whispering, “I am nothing.”
Indeed, this is what they have made you, Soren Cavell.
Soren left the others behind, walking slowly to meet the dragon. She did not want them caught in the dragonfire when it surely rained down on her.
But when she knelt in front of the dragon and closed her eyes, the blinding heat did not come. Instead, the dragon touched her head with her nose, chuffing, almost…purring.
Soren looked up, staring directly into the beast’s eyes.
An odd feeling snarled her senses.
She had been here before.
Silver.
Under the dying moon.
Hello, Soren.
The dragon might have actually been smiling now.
My name is Thessilnn. Let us see if you survive training.
Chapter 8
Cion
Cion kepta close eye on Soren as they filed into the temple with the others. The dragons awaited their departure to training camp, but first, as she knew was tradition, they were to be blessed by the Sisters.
The narrow, dim halls were just as she remembered: plain and cloistered, void of any decor or art. The Sister leading them was silent as she walked, as were the boy and the girl. The boy was Ilav Thil, the son of a general, the girl, Elaana Mixt, the daughter of Lord Mixt, one of three responsible for overseeing the jade mines. And then, there was…
Soren.
Soren, with her slave anklet and plain wrap dress. Her shoulders were still curved, as they always were, her eyes downcast—and she had been picked by a Vemon dragon. Little did the girl know, Thessilnn was not just any dragon. She had hatched centuries ago, rumored to have been alive before the Veil to the gods even shut. There were whispers Aren had another ancient Vemon dragon in its fleet. In fact, she had met its rider.
Mòr Maslach.
Masked Death.
Few knew his true identity. Cion only assumed he was a man based on his voice and stature when he had been summoned to court three years prior. Yet still, she remembered he had kneeled for her father just like everyone in Aren, a deadly pet with an even deadlier mount: Heles, the only other Vemon dragon currently under Aren’s leash.
Jealousy, hot and potent, poured through her as Cion walked behind Soren. Why would the gods choose to bless her with a dragon like Thessilnn? Her own dragon, Valhamnor, was graceful and cunning, but shouldn’t the Warrior Princess and heir be the one with the strongest mount?
She bit her cheek in frustration, the taste of copper flooding her mouth as they stopped in front of a simple arch. Through it lay the Chamber of Whispers, where speaking was not permitted by anyone but the Sisters. The Sister leading them walked inside, gesturing for them to follow.
Cion had been here once before, when she was barely eight years old, and had heard a prophecy about herself.
“Darkness rises, an ember to meet it. And you, warrior, will taste the skies in the last days.”
