I have to find her.
I have to bring her back.
Esme Salem-Draxion, looks like you’re getting your wish…
38
CHAD
Isquint across the endless white expanse of the Bonneville Salt Flats, expecting relief but finding only emptiness. My chest tightens as the last of my adrenaline fades, replaced by a gnawing guilt that claws at my insides. Every time Brynn looked at me down there, my chest tensed. Like, I'm the worst kind of asshole. Walking through Draethys beside her, watching her back like some loyal friend while carrying Rothmere's orders in my pocket? Classic Chad move. But what was I going to say? “Hey, by the way, I'm actually here to betray you and your sister”? Yeah, that would've gone over well.
“What the...” The words escape me as I scan the cracked white plain. No bodies. No blood. Not even scuff marks where we'd fought the clearblood soldiers.That can't be right.
“Surprised?”
I whirl around at the sound of Chancellor Rothmere's voice.
There he stands, barely ten feet away, his white suit pristine against the salt-crusted landscape, blue tie perfectly knotted at his throat, matching suede shoes somehow spotless. Bile rises in my throat as I look at him.
“That's one word,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “What brings you to the Salt Flats, Chancellor?”
My eyes dart left, right, cataloging possible escape routes while my face remains carefully neutral. Empty-handed. I've returned empty-handed. And Rothmere has never been known for his forgiveness of failure.
“I needed to make sure I'd be here to welcome the dragon back,” he says, his smile spreading like an oil slick across water. His eyes search the space behind me, his brow furrowing slightly. “Where is he, by the way? And the Salem girl?”
“You never warned me your dragon might have recognized me,” I say, the accusation sharp on my tongue. I clench my jaw, feeling heat rise beneath my skin. “Your negligence nearly got me killed.”
My irises flare crimson. Rothmere's expression shifts—a microflicker of fear—as he takes a measured step backward. The sapphire on his ring pulses in response, sensing the demon stirring beneath my human facade.
“Elaborate,” he says, voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Brynn and I found Draethys.”
“Draethys?” His eyebrow arches.
“The hidden dragon realm. Where the beasts have been hiding since the Blood Wars.”
A smile spreads across Rothmere's face as he absorbs this. The salt-laden breeze brushes my face, carrying the taste of ancient minerals. I swallow hard, calculating my odds. This man could end me with a gesture, and my survival instinct has always trumped my dignity.
“So it exists,” he murmurs. “The legends were true. Think of it—a wellspring of untapped draconic energy just waiting for proper utilization.”
I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes me. “You're forgetting something crucial. It's filled with dragons. Actual dragons. They won't welcome you.”
His expression sours. “And Dayn? Where is he?”
“We nearly had him. But since you neglected to consider he might have spotted me slipping into your office, he recognized me! I couldn't even summon my demon. He would have incinerated meon the spot, and the Salem witches would have fought for the privilege of finishing whatever was left!”
He exhales. “Yet here you stand… Did you locate Esme Salem as well?”
“Are you even listening to what I'm saying?”
The Chancellor gives a dismissive nod, unmoved by my predicament. “Every word. So to summarize: both Salem sisters and my dragon remain in Draethys. Is that correct?”
I can only stare at him, speechless.
Rothmere's lips curl into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His manicured fingernails tap against his thigh—the only sign of his irritation.
“Clearbloods attacked us here,” I say, the salt crunching under my boots as I shift my weight. “Your doing?”
