Page 110 of Wings of Destruction

I have no clue what to do, I reply. The word from Astrid about my father, his involvement with the King…

It’s not ideal, Mozi agrees.

What’s he doing in the castle, anyway? What does he want with Lochlain? What did they speak about?

It will come out eventually, I’m sure.

A black shadow on the horizon solidifies into a familiar shape and a few minutes later, Mozi lands. His claws scrape and he adjusts his wings behind him with a leathery flap.

The King is nothing but a child and vulnerable. If he and my father are left alone for any stretch of time, I know what will happen. Roman will convince Lochlain to trust his advice above anyone else’s, either through his stellar skills or brute force.

Mozi grimaces. I see the expression in my head along with his emotions even though his lizard face does not change. We can’t worry about Lochlain right now.

He’s going to be a huge problem down the line if they do decide to join forces officially. We can’t fight against the people, too. Not if they rally.

I agree. But it is a worry for future us. Right now⁠—

Mozi breaks off.

“Then there’s this.” I hold up the note, gripping it tightly so the wind doesn’t steal it from my hand.

Mozi snorts. Am I supposed to see what it is? The words are minuscule.

I’m not sure dragons know how to read, either.

Heat increases with his nearness, sinking into the skin of my back and loosening the knots there. Being in close proximity to my mount helps both of us. The ragged edges inside smooth out but there is too much built up tension in my body for it to easily release.

The strain has sunk permanent hooks into me.

If I survive, I’ll be changed, and I know it.

“This gem?” I explain sarcastically. “It’s a monthly report from my instructors. They’ve given me top marks. All of them.”

You don’t believe them.

“Believe these lies? How can I? I think we both understand that while I’ve earned these marks, they’ve emphasized them for all the wrong reasons. They’ve painted a beautiful picture, though, one designed to get them much closer to my father’s side.”

My gut goes tight.

“I’ve received word from him, too. He’s never pleased. Even when I’m excelling. He wants the real story, and I’m sure Tristan will be more than happy to feed dear Father drivel.”

The real story? Mozi laughs. Dragon breath ruffles my hair. It would be the surprise of his life.

And everything we’ve done has been to ensure my father never hears what’s really happening. The truth will send us to the Void faster than a one-sided battle.

“He’s accusing me of slacking,” I add conversationally. “It’s nothing new, of course. I can flay myself open and he’d still find some kind of fault with the way my blood spills. It wouldn’t be blue enough.”

Somehow, it’s easier to have this conversation out in nature. My throat loosens slightly and my heart plucks a little softer. The words don’t change, their meaning is still the same, but releasing them doesn’t cost as much.

It’s just me and Mozi rather than dealing with the politics of other people. It doesn’t matter who. There are always hidden motives and personal goals at war with each other and the process of sidestepping through them exhausts me.

This time, I don’t have to worry about choosing my words with caution and care like any syllable might be the tipping point that jettisons us into ruin.

I lean my elbows on my knees. “I’m not sure what’s worse—having him push me for more success or having him distracted while we’re wondering what he’s doing with his time.”

Who knows what Roman whispers in the King’s ear, Mozi agrees.

“It’s nothing good. We know that. A fourteen-year-old king doesn’t have enough knowledge yet to discern truth from basilisk dung.”