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Fel was drinking straight from a waterfall, only now realizing that he had been thirsty. Drinking water was unlike drinking as a human. It was rather a soft, soothing sensation, as if he was putting a salve over a minor burn, one he hadn’t noticed yet—not that he was burning anywhere. In fact, he had no idea where his fire came from, how he had become a dragon, and how any of this worked. Still, for now, what he most wanted was to learn more about his father.
He came back in to find Tzaria waking back and forth in the cave, as if apprehensive. She stopped when she saw him, and sat on a rock.
This cave had no comfortable place for a human. “Is this your…” He was going to say lair, but then thought it could be offensive. “Where you live?”
“No.” She chuckled. “This is where we hide when we have to.”
“You’re hiding me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Perceptive.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you remain safe.”
“From what?”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “We stayed as far away from Aluria as we could, and made sure all the dragons did so. That was how we protected you.”
Fel tried to understand what she was saying, but it was hard to try to piece together half-formed ideas. “Are you going to explain it?”
She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. “I was thinking maybe me and Risomu would tell you everything together. He was there too. But I can start. Your father was part of the dragon order. So was I, in fact, and Risomu as well. Most dragons are part of that group, unless they are rogue dragons or have joined the Boundless.”
She stared at Isofel, perhaps sensing his question. “I know, lots of information. I’ll explain it all. Ircantari, your father, was the Seventh Dragon Mage. Few dragons achieve that level of magic, as it takes a lot of dedication and study to control that much power. And talent as well. There’s only one living mage right now, and she isn’t…” Tzaria shook her head. “No matter. Your father, he was concerned with a seed of evil that he believed was about to sprout. He was right, of course, but at the time, very few dragons realized that great evil was looming.”
“What was it?”
“Not was—is—or will become. About a thousand years ago, darkness rose among the dragons. One of our own, the Second Dragon Mage, carved a path of pain and destruction. You never heard anything about it, have you?”
Fel was rather wondering when she would tell him how his father had died, or why he’d gone to Aluria, but he decided to answer her question and see where she was going with this. “I studied some Fernian history, but not much about dragons.”
She shook her head. “You wouldn’t have learned about it anyway. Some things are not written. But I can tell you about it. War, with all its horrors, ensued. Everyone joined in; the magical peoples, humans… There was no escaping it. In the end, we achieved victory—at great cost, but we did. The Second Dragon Mage was imprisoned, and the dragons took all the measures they could to make sure something like this would never be repeated. That was when the Noxious Fae, I mean, white fae, were sent to Aluria, along with some humans. The Dragon Council struck that dragon mage from our books, struck that war from our records.”
Fel was stunned. “That makes no sense. How can you learn from the past if you don’t talk about it?”
“True—most of the time. But this is a unique case. The Second Dragon Mage cannot be killed, so he was imprisoned. If his story was buried, it was to make sure nobody would seek him, it was to make sure nobody would try to find him and gain power.”
“I’m guessing the strategy didn’t work?”
She tilted her head. “It did—for a while—but some things find a way to return.”
“So he’s back?”
“Not yet. But something’s awakening. His followers are amassing. They are the Boundless, like the ones who attacked you.”
“Because of my father?”
She shook her head. “I do not think so. They likely don’t know who you are, maybe don’t even know you’re from Aluria. All they know is that you’re a dragon, so you’re their enemy.”
“And why… what does it all have to do with me? With my father?”
“I’m getting there. Part of your father’s plan was to set up a trap, set up a powerful, destructive magical object that would attract the Second Mage’s followers like light attracts a bug. It wasn’t the original object, but a replica—or at least he thought so. We’ll never know how, but someone switched the objects, so that the real one was in the trap. Not only that, someone stole the death staff and escaped, even though it should have been impossible. Only Ircantari himself could have undone it. We lost track of the staff—until we heard about an accident. An entire city destroyed.”
“Formosa. It was my father’s city. I mean, adoptive father.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So you were truly raised in Umbraar?”
