Page 89 of Under the Iron Sky

Studying his face for any sign that this might be a trick, Soraya slowly inched across the cell, half expecting to be electrocuted or smash face first into one of his protective barriers when she crossed the threshold but to her surprise, nothing happened.

She’d barely stepped over the doorway before there was a hand grasping her elbows and—oh, they were walking down the stairs.

It was much easier to take note of her surroundings this time. Soraya made sure to catalog all the things she’d missed before, when she’d been either too disoriented or too focused on escape: the dark leather chaise beneath a window on the second story, the several beautiful hip-height stone end tables that held either small sculptures or stone vases with dark petaled flowers, most of which had long trails of dark ivy-looking vines that stretched down the side of the vase and table as though reaching for the floor.

Soraya didn’t quite know what to make of the paintings, though.

They’d clearly all been done by the same artist, given they all featured the same long sweeping brushstrokes, dark color palette, and smudged red circle shining in the top right-hand corner like the stain of a mug or bottom of a goblet, but Soraya struggled to find a recurring theme in any of them.

After going through a dark landing that ended in a set of double doors, Ikarus marched Soraya through the courtyard, where Malakai, Emelda, and Aeris were sitting on the iron chairs just below the dungeon window. Emelda looked up from where she was pouring tea into one of the three cups on the table between them all and offered Ikarus a small smile. Her gaze briefly flittered to Soraya, then quickly skittered away.

Malakai, however, despite never having seen Soraya face-to-face before, gave her a wide, toothy grin and waved as they passed.

Like Ikarus, neither of the men were wearing armor. Instead, Malakai had opted for a white shirt with the top three buttons undone and a dark leather waistcoat that was such a deep blue it was almost black, while Aeris wore the same black robes he seemed to favor, most of his face hidden in the shadow of his hood with the exception of the golden eyes that glowed from deep within.

The three of them sitting there having tea was so bizarre that Soraya almost choked on her own spit. Obviously there was more to life down here than the war and all the horrible things that came with it—but it was still strange to see.

Ikarus did not acknowledge his friends.

When Aeris glanced at her, Soraya could only hold his stare for a few moments before her eyes dropped to the ground. There was something wholly unsettling about looking into those golden eyes that made her want to hide in a room somewhere and lock the door—an affliction Emelda clearly did not suffer from, given the complete adoration on her face as she handed him a steaming cup.

“Don’t worry, darlings, we won’t be long,” Malakai called from where he propped his boots against the edge of the table. “We’re just going to finish our little party, then we’ll be right with you.”

Wings practically shimmering like liquid gold in the torchlight, Emelda handed Malakai his own mug, then smacked his feet. “I’m not having this conversation with you again. No boots on the furniture.”

Malakai grinned up at her, playfully leaning forward to bite the air in front of her, then dutifully put his feet back on the ground.

Emelda shook her head, glancing above as though praying to the stalactites for strength, before smoothing the ruby embroidery across her deep crimson dress, taking a seat, and biting into a scone.

If there’d been any animosity between Aeris and Malakai after last week, it seemed to be squashed now. Although how that was possible with Malakai watching Emelda’s every move, Soraya had no idea.

Soraya shook the thoughts away. Not important. Especially when she had no idea where Ikarus was taking her.

He steered her past the water fountain, then a greenhouse full of dark-petaled flowers, and around the side of the castle to where a mass of black scales and monstrous wings was sleeping soundly.

Oh, no. No. No. Absolutely not.

Seasoned soldier or not, terror shot through Soraya’s veins like she’d been injected with it, and she stopped so suddenly her arm was nearly pulled out of its socket when Ikarus was dragged to a stop with her. “You cannot be serious.”

He quirked a questioning brow. “Something the matter, human?”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m getting on Black Shadow’s back willingly.”

A frown touched the skin between his brows. “Black Shadow?”

“It’s what we call your dragon.” Saying it out loud now, the name felt ridiculous.

Apparently he didn’t like it either, because he let go of her and snapped, “Her name is Serone.”

At the sound of his voice, the dragon’s eyes slid open. It—well, she, as it turned out—lifted her head off the ground, a loud, contented sort of purring noise slipping between those lines of enormous teeth when Ikarus strode forward to stroke her scaled jaw.

The sound abruptly stopped, however, when the dragon turned her head slightly, seemingly to guide her master toward a different patch of scales in dire need of scratching, that put Soraya directly in her line of sight.

Serone’s lips curled back in a snarl.

Ikarus ran a hand under the creature’s neck the same way one might comfort a horse. He spoke to it in hushed tones, almost like a lullaby, but the dragon, it seemed, could not be calmed.

Terror swept across every nerve ending in Soraya’s body as the dragon slowly began to approach her. Suddenly frozen with fear, she looked to Ikarus, who was watching with an expression of quiet fascination.