One of the mindless, cursed beasts of Mouren, she informs me.Unnatural. It could not feel the bond. It did not stop with the others.
As I stare at the fallen creature, I feel a complicated mix of emotions from Sesca—acceptance tinged with sorrow. Not regret. She did what she had to do to get away. To reach me.
I understand it, but a sickening feeling still curls through my gut as I wonder if this mindless beast used to be someone Reave knew. Some relative who succumbed to the curse that could very well take him and the rest of his family before the end.
Sesca's next words come more urgently, as if she's trying to keep me focused only on the present danger:The others have divinity in their blood, however faint, however long ago it originated. They will yield to us, if you make them.
Something about the way she saysusmakes me feel brave enough to try, even though I'm dangerously close to beingoverwhelmed by all of these new powers and this more fully realized version of our bond.
I take a steadying breath, rebalance my wings as best I can, and open my eyes wider.
As before, I find that trying to draw dragons in is different than gathering elements of the world around me. But now I can seewhyit's different; a new filter seems to have fallen over the vision Sesca shares with me, and when I truly peer through it, I understand that these creatures are something layered and ancient and alive in a way that all the other entities of the world simply aren't.
They're not made of the elements I've learned to observe—theyarethe elements. The magic. Not to the extent Sesca is, perhaps, but there's an undeniable piece of each of them that doesn't fully belong to this mortal plane.
Find this piece, I think. Or maybe it's an instruction from Sesca; it's getting harder and harder to tell which thoughts are mine and which are hers.
Wherever the instruction comes from, I follow it, briefly studying each dragon until I manage to see the divine spark shining in each of their bodies. It's as though I'm staring up at the heavens and finding hidden stories among the stars again, mapping my way through new constellations.
As I chart each divine point, the dragons turn toward me one by one, each seemingly aware of the very moment I see them—trulysee them.
Months ago, this would have terrified me. I would have dropped straight out of the sky to avoid their attention, to keep myself from being perceived by anyone at all, much less by such powerful creatures.
Now, Iwantthem to see me. All of me. And I look back at them with the same recognition, some ancientunderstanding passing between us, followed by a rush of collective power and movement until they're all facing the same direction I am.
Then we fly, just as Sesca said we would.
She remains steady in her supportive position just below me, while the other dragons take up a V-shaped formation behind us, fanning out on either side.
Nothing about their movements feels tamed. Not leashed, the way Malachi tethered them. Their deadly, otherworldly power doesn't lessen under my grasp—and I don't want it to. I am finished with playing small myself, and I don't want to ask these mighty creatures to do that either.
If I am to be the living embodiment of a divine flame, then the dragons who heed my call will be a reflection of that.
We soar and circle lower, and I finally spot Reave. He and Malachi are locked in close, vicious combat, surrounded by more soldiers than when I left them. Both look up at almost the exact same moment as my dragons and I descend, bringing their battle to an abrupt halt.
Most of the soldiers scatter for cover, but the two kings remain still even as the wind from eight pairs of wings flattens the grass around them and whips their clothing viciously about.
I want to look only at Reave—to study his face, to make sure he's still in one piece—but I can feel Malachi's hold tightening on the Flamebound mark the moment I let my guard down. I feel him reaching for the dragons too, the way he has all morning, currents of control snapping outward through the air.
The dragons’ formation becomes looser, messier, restlessness overtaking them.
Resist, I order.
And they do.
At least for the moment.
Malachi's attention shifts my direction. He regards me with a careful, questioning look. Not fear. He's not panicking, as I'd hoped he might. Just recalculating.
Once those calculations are finished, he sheathes his sword with deliberate calm and takes a few slow steps away from Reave, his eyes still fixed on me.
Rage roars through me at the thought of him walking away untouched. I look to the dragons, considering all the ways their teeth and claws might punish him. They feel it, I’m certain—this anger wrapping like thorns around my heart, piercing me more deeply every time I try to breathe through it.
They have to be able to feel how badly I want to tear him apart, to gut him the way he’s gutted me.
But they don't move.
The mark, Sesca says, the word accompanied by a low, resonant growl.It protects him in ways they don't fully understand. They don't want to approach him.
