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“And what exactly is ‘that,’ yer emissary-ness?” asked the dwarf, his blue eyes narrowed.

“Follow and you will see.” And though Nox did not bother to wait for the two of them to follow, they did so anyway in short order—the three of them side by side as they strode into the mist.

7

LYRICA

CEDRIC

The fog enveloped the trio instantly, as though it had been waiting for their entrance. It was like the air around him was suddenly frosted—damp and misty, clouding his vision, clinging to his skin in a way that actually made him feel cold.

Not cold as in the temperature. No, ever since his power had unlocked during the Crucible, he was sure he ran several degrees hotter than he had before. He recognized the bite of the icy wind that had followed them up the mountain thus far, but while he could feel the sting of it against his skin, it didn’t chill him. Not like this. No, this was the kind of chill that ran into his bones. Something very close to, if not outright like, fear.

They rounded the corner of the path, and Cedric shuddered. The ground shook once more, this time accompanied by a deep, resonant growl—like the earth itself was groaning. Some of the fog cleared. And no more than a dozen feet ahead, two eyes made from molten gold opened.

“Gaia’s fucking tits.” Thraigg stumbled over his feet, staggering into Cedric.

Cedric’s hand flew instantly to Ashrender’s hilt. “By the stars, I—” On his other side, indigo fingers closed around his fist, stopping him from withdrawing the weapon.

Nox’s voice was low when they said, “I wouldn’t.”

“You’re sure about that?” Cedric whispered, blood draining from his face as he watched those gold-burst eyes lift into the air, a mass of that strangely solid fog rising with it.

Not fog, you idiot. He would flagellate himself for not realizing sooner. Realizing that it hadn’t been mist they were surrounded by but steam. Steaming breath. And what had previously looked like more dense fog—rounded clouds of white—was moving now, seemingly shimmering in the light still beaming down from overhead.

Cedric could do nothing but stare and stare and stare at the sight taking shape before him—the uncurling of a long, smooth tail; the rise of a broad, terrifying chest; the flaring of thick, membranous wings.

“Not another fucking dragon,” muttered Thraigg, his hands fisted at his sides as though he was restraining himself from reaching for the hammer strapped across his back or the hatchet belted at his hip.

It was so, so similar to the mighty creature Cedric and Thraigg had fought off—barely—during the first trial. Perhaps slightly smaller but certainly just as terrifying. The starkest difference was that though Cedric’s memory recalled the oil-slick black scales of the Crucible’s dragon, this one was pure white, bright as fresh snow.

The club at the end of the great beast’s tail struck the ground as it rose to full height, sending another shudder through the earth. The dragon gave a feline tilt of its head, steam curling from each one of its slitted nostrils as it regarded Nox, Cedric, and Thraigg.

“Nice knowing ye lads,” said Thraigg under his breath.

“Such a defeatist,” replied Nox. And maybe Cedric might have gaped at the hint of amusement he detected in the nocterrian’s tone, if his eyes weren’t still pinned to the titan before him.

As it was, he could only stare. Stare at the dragon’s heaving chest, the way it flattened those vein-streaked wings to its back, the sunlight glinting off its scales in a way that made them look iridescent. The gleaming white reflected in waves of purple and green, a miniature aurora reflected on each one. They looked almost exactly like . . .

The dragon lowered its head, and Cedric braced himself for a roar, to feel heat sizzling in the air, to be consumed by destruction. But the great beast simply exhaled, a gust of wind so powerful it made Cedric stagger back a step, and then proceeded to inhale—sniffing, assessing.

It passed over Nox without much incident, the nocterrian dipping their chin with a respectful acknowledgment that had Cedric’s eyes nearly bulging from his head.

“Nox . . . ,” he whispered—a plea, a warning.

“It will be all right, knightling. Just stay calm.” Nox’s voice was still low, hushed, but there was no fear, no alarm to be found within their words. “She is inspecting.”

As if on cue, the dragon turned its attention to Cedric, who held his breath while reptilian pupils narrowed on him. It felt like time slowed, the space between Cedric’s heartbeats stretching, as the dragon lowered its massive head until one golden eye was level with him. Cedric felt something pulse in his chest—the wisp of Elyria’s shadow that was nestled behind his ribs, a spark of familiarity.

Another pregnant moment dragged out, until, with a huff that blew his hair back from his face, the dragon moved on.

Thraigg was nearly vibrating with nervous energy, his fingers twitching, grazing the top of his hatchet, when the dragon’s snout came within a few inches of his beard.

A low growl rumbled up her throat, and Cedric felt the bump of an arm on his back as Nox reached behind him to clamp their hand on Thraigg’s shoulder.

“Do not do anything rash,” warned Nox, their voice a gentle murmur.

“Ye’re bloody fucking mad,” replied the dwarf, his rasped whisper the opposite of gentle, but he relaxed his hand.