I nuzzled the top of his snout with mine, a quick, secret apology, and he nipped at my cheek in return, just hard enough to make a point. “Go play with your friends.”
He left without replying.
We formed up on the terrace in the great hall. Adalinda at point, Jax on her right, me to her left, the soldier taking up the rear. Flint lingered back, sitting on his haunches, wings hunched, watching us with the wounded pride of a child being left behind.
The wind was sharp, loaded with the promise of more storms. We leaped as one, the four of us catching the updraft and riding it in tight formation, shadows spilling out long and predatory over the fractured ground below. We gained altitude fast and flew in silence, the landscape below rolling out in impossible, shifting beauty.
We banked hard around a horseshoe bend in the ridgeline, and the air turned sulfurous, tinged with a scent halfway between new concrete and struck matches. Ahead, the black rock of Tharneval’s forge was already visible.
We landed on a wide ledge, claws scraping at the obsidian-like surface, and the soldier fell back with practiced subservience. Solenne was already waiting, her orange and gold scales still radiant despite the soot and ash that dusted the ledge. She gave a quick nod to Adalinda, then to Jax and me, her expression unreadable.
We ducked inside. The light in the forge wasn’t just bright. It was alive, a pulsing, radiant force that made my pupils slam shut. The walls glowed, not from fire but from the residue of heat and magic and whatever else dragons had managed to pack into the stone over generations.
At the center of the cavern stood Tharneval.
When we entered, he didn’t look up, but the force of his mind-voice hit like a cold shock. “Queen. Regent. And the children.” That was us, presumably.
He set aside the hammer, then turned, and even Solenne took a half step back. The scales on Tharneval’s face were so thick it looked more mask than skin. His eyes, ancient amber, flicked from Adalinda to the rest of us.
He made a noise that might have been amusement, then gestured with one massive claw for us to come closer. On the anvil sat four curved objects, each one the color of bone polished to an impossible sheen. They looked like the claw sheaths in the museum of a city that worshiped dragons, only these were perfectly sized for Adalinda, long, graceful, slightly hooked at the tip. There was a runic script running along the inside edge, black against the pale, almost glowing surface.
“They are ready,”Tharneval said. He bowed his head, a gesture I knew cost him more than it looked.“My Queen, may I?”
Adalinda extended her left foreleg, palm-up. Tharneval lifted the first sheath, his claws impossibly gentle, and fitted it over her own. There was a moment of contact, a spark of something not quite visible, more taste than sight, then a click as the cover sealed itself to the natural claws. He repeated the process three more times, each motion as careful as a priest handling sacred relics.
When all four were in place, Adalinda flexed her digits. The new claws sang as they moved, a faint harmony I felt in my teeth. She looked at Tharneval, then at the chunk of metal he’d beenworking. With a slow, measured swipe, she slashed it clean in two, the halves parting with a sound.
Tharneval’s face didn't move, but I caught the pulse of pride and something deeper, maybe hope, maybe dread.
“They will serve you well,” he projected. “The traitor can't match their cut. They are sharper than the day we fell.”
Adalinda’s voice was gentle, almost a whisper. “You honor me, Smith of the Old.”
The claws were more than weapons, they were a statement, a promise, a challenge. I met Jax’s gaze, and the same mix of awe and worry there.
Tharneval turned his eyes to me. “The sword calls for its final whet. When the time comes, Hailey, you will bring it back here.”
I swallowed. “When the time comes,” I echoed.
Adalinda tested the claws again, her movements precise. The other dragons watched, silent, letting the moment sink in. I caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of Jax’s jaw, a reaction he would have hidden from anyone else, but not from me.
Solenne broke the tension, her voice cool but not cold. “The council will expect a demonstration at dawn. I recommend we prepare.”
Adalinda nodded. The claws gleamed, each one catching the forge’s light and amplifying it.
We launched from the forge, and Jax and I fell into formation, flanking Adalinda just behind the wing tips, with Solenne a steady, silent anchor to our rear. We gained altitude, the worldbelow opening up again, and all our lines of retreat shrinking by the second.
I almost missed the shadow that rose from the haze of the lower thermals. The scout came at us with wings half-unfurled, flanks streaked with sweat and, if I wasn't mistaken, a thread of blood drying at his shoulder joint. As he dove into our slipstream, his mind-voice cut through the clamor with a desperate, crystalline focus. “Queen Adalinda! General Corvus sends word, Vaelog has breached the perimeter! Last seen near the outer ridge, moving fast.”
There was a moment, a slice of time as thin and fragile as the membrane between wings, where every muscle in my body forgot to function. The air stuttered under my wings. For the first time since coming to Ayrathys, I faltered, the memory of Flint on the terrace looming larger than any threat. Panic rose in my throat, I tasted the acid of it. Jax immediately closed in, his wing brushing mine.
The castle was still three miles out, a vertical ascent through unstable air, but we abandoned all pretense of caution and burned for it. The air turned rough, battering at my flanks, but I barely noticed. I banked as hard as I could, ignoring the warning shrieks from the younger dragons patrolling above, and fixed my eyes on the gold spike of the highest tower. The castle swelled in my vision, every line and curve suddenly vulnerable, and I imagined a thousand ways Vaelog could reach Flint before I did.
The landing was chaos. Dragons everywhere, warriors on alert, mothers herding hatchlings into the lower vaults, messengers colliding midair in the rush to get clear of the main causeway. Adalinda barely slowed before she slammed into the upper terrace, claws scoring a trench in the stone. Solenne hit beside her, already issuing mental orders to the nearest guards.
Jax and I shifted at the same instant. We hit the ground running, sprinted through the archways, and took the stairs three at a time. The interior halls were loud with the wails of scared hatchlings and the frantic shouts of dragon parents trying to corral them.
We found Flint in the inner courtyard, wedged between two older hatchlings, his face lit up with an unselfconscious joy that can only exist in a life where nothing bad has ever happened. He was showing off, flapping his wings in a way that would have looked silly on anyone else, but somehow made the other kids shriek with envy.
