Bellamy’s far too in love with Rakos Tem to leave him behind.
Maybe Rakos is right. Maybe things can be simple if Bellamy isn’t afraid.
Uncurling from his pathetic ball, Bellamy rises to his feet. He isn’t lost. He knows exactly where he is—though that’s the very heart of enemy territory. And he isn’t helpless. He’s the third prince of Silaise, wielding Sandry magic and his own. He has a sword and a teleporting ferret, though he’s not sure how much use the latter will be. And he has a lover who needs him. If he has to take on the entire fucking drasgard to get Rakos back, he will.
After that?
Bellamy’s family loves him. They’ve always spoiled him beyond reason. Surely, they’ll forgive him for bringing home a boyfriend, no matter how inconvenient.
Closing his eyes, Bellamy massages the back of his neck. He has maybe an hour before his headache fully takes him, but he’s worked through pain before. He can collapse later.
“First decision,” Bellamy says to Bastard. “Up or down?”
She burrows under his coat. Bellamy strokes her through the wyrmskin as he contemplates the valley and city below. Castle Bernek looms like a mountain itself, all hulking towers. A dragon perches on one wall, and another circles above.
That’s probably where Rakos is being held. But dawn already threatens the horizon, and by the time Bellamy reaches the castle, Rakos could have been transported elsewhere.
Bellamy needs to move fast, and he needs more power. Better to ascend and complete Rakos’s original goal—finding Sarka and praying she’s willing to help.
As the stars fade and the sky lightens to a tender gray, Bellamy shakes out his stiff, aching legs, and resumes his ascent up the old stone staircase. His breath rises in clouds, but he ignores the cold.
Few enchanted traps remain, most no doubt already triggered by Rakos or his opponents. The remaining few are easy to avoid. This high up, the roosting grounds finally appear inhabited. Plateaus and doorways cut into stone. Spires and massive caves riddle the mountain. Bellamy passes one broad landing marred with scorch marks and gouges from a recent fight.
Blood pools on the rock. Bellamy tries not to think about it.
One more carved staircase leads Bellamy to the cavernous half-crater at the top of the mountain. The flat expanse is a city block in size, mostly empty with rocks and boulders pushed towards the edges. Scalestone shines clear of the rock in some places, and the glow misfires through Bell’s senses to turn his stomach. He breathes steadily through the nausea, fighting the urge to dry heave.
Crouching behind a boulder, he searches for Sarka.
Along the southwest edge rises a massive, cavern-riddled ridge. Within one hulks a sinuous pile of orange scales, motionless except for its steady breath. The other caverns are empty, at least from Bellamy’s perspective. Maybe Sarka is deeper within one of the other caves?
He doesn’t want to sneak into strange dragons’ lairs. But he will if he has to.
After he catches his breath. Bellamy tucks himself between a boulder and the ridge wall, out of sight of the human-sized doors across the crater.
He tries catching hold of the sparse plants in the area, but either he’s too exhausted or they’re too changed by scalestone. They’re reluctant to answer his power.
Movement calls Bellamy’s attention skyward as the rising sun better illuminates the circling shadows overhead, and one dragon in particular catches his attention. Soaring. Gliding in wide circles. Unlike the other dragons, this one isn’t flying a direct route or making a patrol or settling from one roost to the next. There’s a deliberate pattern to her flight. As if she’s searching for something.
For someone.
Bellamy recognizes Sarka even before the sun rises enough to illuminate her blue-green scales. Her every wingbeat stirs the loneliness in Bellamy’s heart.
Watching Sarka’s flight, the necessity of rest subsumes his urgency. Bellamy can’t call Sarka back any faster, so all he can do is wait. She’ll land, return to her roost, and Bellamy can follow her there.
When Sarka finally veers back towards the roosting grounds, she angles towards one of the higher peaks. Bellamy swears internally as he squints after her trajectory. An extra climb, especially exposed in daylight, is the last thing he needs.
But her flight falters as she sweeps over Bellamy’s position. She veers sharply—directly towards Bellamy.
Rock thuds as Sarka more crashes than lands in the center of the crater. Her wedge-shaped head swings around on her long neck. Wings flaring in an intimidating display, Sarka darts towards Bellamy’s side of the crater and shoves away the boulder he was cowering behind.
The boulder flies off the edge of the crater as Bellamy trembles before the dragon.
Sarka is beautiful. Terrifying. The size of a small cottage, her spine lined with parallel ridges. Her scales shade from deep blue along her spine to bright teal along her limbs and belly. She wears an empty leather harness, and when her tail lashes, rocks scatter.
Embers flare between her bared teeth, ready to ignite.
But instead, a voice thunders through Bellamy’s skull. So loud and overwhelming it doesn’t even hurt—there’s just a wave of intense pressure. Bellamy can’t even understand the first few words, before the voice reduces to a less obliterating volume.
