Page 81 of A Court of Darkness and Dragons

Kieren let out a low, pained rumble as he folded his wings tight to his sides. A deep claw mark carved across his emerald flank, raw and still oozing. Tae was at his dragon’s side in an instant, his usually flippant smile replaced with focus. He tore open his pack and pulled free a jar of ointment, his hands steady as he spread the thick salve over the wound.

“Easy, Kieren,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft. The dragon’s scales shivered under his touch, but the tension in Kieren’s massive body eased by degrees as the ointment worked its magic. Tae’s jaw clenched as he worked, his golden hair falling forward as sweat and blood streaked across his face. For once, he didn’t notice the eyes on him, just his dragon.

Nearby, Jax and Ferrula inspected Narvea’s wing, while Naia pressed her palms against Temil’s side, assessing the damage.

It was chaos—controlled chaos, but still a battlefield aftermath. My throat tightened. They had given everything.

I forced myself to step away, to leave them to their riders’ care, and rejoined the Light Fae leader. He stood at the edge of the stone stairway, his pale eyes fixed on the cavern below. The black dragons shifted in their cages, restless, growling with frustration and confusion.

“What now?” I asked, standing beside him, my voice still rough from smoke and battle.

He didn’t turn to me, not at first. His gaze was too heavy, too ancient. “The prophecy has almost been fulfilled.”

Almost. The word curdled in my stomach. “Almost?”

This time he turned, his long braids brushing against battered armor as he shifted to face me. His eyes flickered to the chest, the artifact pulsing with the same strange magic that had nearly consumed us.

“It must be placed in a magical cell,” he said solemnly. “It is the only way to protect the dragons of color. I am unsure if it can be destroyed.”

I glanced back at the chest, its black surface gleaming even in the weak light that filtered through the broken cloud above us. A chill ran down my spine. It still feels alive.

“But Veralin thought…” I began.

The fae cut me off with a slow nod. “He didn’t know the origin of the artifact. He believed it was his creation, his triumph. But he was wrong.” His jaw tightened. “He had no idea that it was made from dragon scale.”

My breath caught. “But… it’s black?”

“Yes,” he said, voice low, each word heavy. “Made from the hide of the first dragon forced into confinement by a fae. Long before this war. Long before Veralin’s birth. It is older than even my people’s rebellion. The first betrayal.”

My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. “And you’re saying it can’t be destroyed?”

He shook his head, his braids swaying. “Not by any means we possess. It was forged in cruelty, steeped in magic that feeds on enslavement itself. We can contain it, shield it from being used again. But…” His gaze lingered on the chest, his expression grim. “We will have to find a more secure holding site for it.”

The cheers of his people still rang in the distance. Yet standing there, staring at that artifact, I couldn’t shake the feeling that though Veralin was dead, the war was far from over.

The Light Fae commander lifted his hands, fingers splayed, and the air shimmered between them. Power gathered, not tainted like Veralin’s dark sorcery, but fluid and alive. A deep hum rolled through the ruined courtyard as light coalesced, condensing until it solidified into a sphere the color of the clearest sea. Its surface rippled like water, yet gleamed like cut crystal, an orb that pulsed with steady, soothing magic.

He drew a breath, then hurled it toward the chest. The aqua sphere struck its black surface, and instead of shattering, it stretched outward, encasing the artifact like a second skin. Bands of light wrapped tight until the chest was no longer visible, sealed within a glowing cocoon of blue crystal.

The ground beneath us stilled. The tremors that had been shaking the isle ceased in an instant, as though the land itself had been holding its breath and finally exhaled. The air lightened, the oppressive weight Veralin had draped across this place ebbing away.

That item is dangerous to the dragons, Kaelith hissed in my mind, her voice edged with warning. It must be kept by us, not them.

I turned to the Light Fae commander, my heart still pounding from Kaelith’s urgency. “Kaelith says this artifact is too dangerous. It has to remain with us—with the dragons. Not even the Light Fae should guard it.”

The commander regarded me with his ancient, pale eyes, the glow of the sealed chest reflecting off the steel of his armor. For a long heartbeat, he was silent. Then he inclined his head, a gesture of both deference and gravity.

“It is yours,” he said at last, his voice low but carrying across the courtyard. “There is nothing we will not do to rebuild your confidence. Not after what was taken from you. If the dragons wish it so, then so it shall be.”

Zander strode toward us, his expression a mix of wariness and exhaustion, though his spine was as straight as ever. He had been speaking quietly with one of the white-haired warriors, their heads bent close as though sharing something important. When he reached my side, his gaze flicked briefly to me before settling on the commander.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

His eyes slid toward the man. “He is Alahathrial’s cousin. I have…” His jaw tightened. “Family here.”

The fae commander—Leyriam—tilted his head as if weighing those words. His pale eyes widened when Zander extended his arm.

“I am King Zander Rayne,” Zander said, his voice carrying with quiet authority.