Chapter 44
Raven
I am watchingNova play with my younger brothers and sister in the gardens of my mother’s home. The afternoon sun hangs low and golden, casting long shadows across manicured hedges and flowerbeds bursting with late-season blooms. The air smells of turned earth, crushed lavender, and the faint sulfuric undertone that clings to any place where dragons gather—smoke and heat and ancient power.
We sit side by side on a carved stone bench worn smooth by generations of use. I have my wing curved around my mother’s back, the leather membrane stretched to block the crisp autumn wind that carries the first whispers of approaching winter. She leans into the shelter I provide, and something warm blooms in my chest at the reversal—once she shielded me from everything. Now I am strong enough to return the favor.
“Did we ever figure out who the two male representatives were for the southern and eastern isles?” I ask, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry to the little ones. “Queen Giselle was quite clear she would never send a male envoy here.”
The question has been gnawing at me for weeks, a splinter I can’t dig out.
“No. And we never found out who they really were.” Mom’s jaw tightens, the only outward sign of her unease. Her eyes remain fixed on the children tumbling through the grass, but I see the calculation behind them—threat assessment, contingency planning, the endless vigilance of a dragoness who has survived too many betrayals to ever fully relax. “That is what is most concerning.”
Unknown males. False identities. Lies woven so skillfully that even my mother—who has ruled this continent for longer than most species live—couldn’t unravel them.
The implications coil in my stomach like cold snakes.
Nova breaks away from the game first, her obsidian, and orange scales gleaming in the fading light as she bounds toward us on unsteady legs. My twin little brothers follow close behind, their smaller forms a matching set of onyx. They reach the bench and curl up together at our feet, scales overlapping, tails intertwined, purrs rumbling in a sleepy chorus.
One by one, the other little ones abandon their play and join the pile. My sisters nestle against my brothers, and Nova works her way into the center of the warm tangle of bodies, her calico scales standing out against the sea of greens and blacks surrounding her. I watch them settle, watch their breathing slow and synchronize, and something fierce and protective swells behind my ribs.
Mine. All of them. Mine to protect.
The sounds of the estate drift to my ears—the distant clash of swords from the training yards, the rhythmic scrape ofgardeners’ tools against soil, the low murmur of servants moving through their duties. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds. But I find myself listening for the things that don’t belong: the wrong note in the symphony, the predator’s footstep disguised among the prey.
“Before the start of your third year, we will go to the Eastern Isles and see Giselle.” Mom turns her face to the sky, and the sun catches on her silver horns, making them blaze like polished mirrors. Her profile is regal, timeless, carved from the same stone as the mountains that border our territory. “At least that way we will have some answers. Or possibly more questions.”
More questions. That seems to be all we get these days—questions breeding questions, uncertainty compounding until I can barely remember what solid ground feels like.
“How come I don’t have horns in my human form?” The question slips out before I can stop it, a moment of levity to cut through the tension. I gesture vaguely at my head, imagining the curved silver horns of my dragon form sprouting from my temples. “I mean, my dragon’s horns in human form would cause quite a stir.”
Mom looks at me, and for a moment neither of us moves.
Then we both start laughing—genuine laughter, the kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep and refuses to be contained. My wings shake with it, leather rustling against itself.
“Kissing your mates with those horns would be a challenge.” Mom gasps the words between peals of laughter, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
I picture it—trying to embrace Corvus or Solaris or any of them with massive curved horns jutting forward from my skull,constantly having to angle my head to avoid impaling anyone I try to get close to. The absurdity of it hits me fresh, and we dissolve into near-hysterical laughter, clutching each other on the bench while the hatchlings sleep on, oblivious.
“What has my girls laughing so much?”
The familiar rumble of my father’s voice cuts through our mirth. Thauglor stands at the garden’s edge, his massive frame silhouetted against the golden light, watching over all the children sleeping in a ball the same way I used to sleep with my siblings when I was small. His presence fills the space the way it always does—vast and ancient and reassuring, a mountain made flesh.
“The thought of me having my dragon’s horns in human form.” I manage to keep my voice flat, deadpan, though my lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “How much trouble they would cause with the way they curve forward.”
It takes my dad several moments before it all clicks into place. I watch the realization dawn, watched his brow furrow and then arch sharply upward.
“Yeah, no. We would not be safe with horns in human form.” He tilts his head to the side, his ancient sapphire eyes moving between Mom and me with growing suspicion. “You two are up to something. I can feel it in my scales.”
He’s not wrong. He’s never wrong about these things.
“Plotting next year, Dad.” I rise from the bench and cross to him, and when I wrap my arms around his waist, I feel like a little girl all over again. His massive arms close around me, warm and solid and safe, smelling of wood-smoke and old leather and theparticular spice that is uniquely him. “Mom and I are going to go see Queen Giselle before the start of the school year.”
He hugs me tightly, his chest vibrating with a low, rumbling purr I feel in my bones. I purr back without thinking, the sound rising from my throat instinctively, and we stand there for a long moment, father, and daughter, communicating in the ancient language of our kind.
Mom laughs at the two of us, the sound bright and warm in the cooling air.
“Thauglor, are you going to be okay with the two of us going on a mission together?” She tilts her head, watching him with eyes that see everything. “You’ll be here managing the nest and playing grandfather while we’re off facing potential enemies.”
