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“Mmph.” I’m too exhausted to even open my eyes. The man sighs, I hear the hay scrunch beside me, then a massive warm body wraps around my own.
There’s a heavy breath in my ear as he settles down to sleep, and he huffs, “Someone should have warned me that Omegas could be so stubborn.”
* * *
I awakenin the thin gray light of dawn and feel the empty straw around me. I thought that Zabriel was here, sleeping against me. Or did I merely dream it? My hand lands on a warm spot on the straw as if someone lay there not long ago, and there’s a strange feeling low in my belly as I picture him curled around me all night.
A soft whisper caresses the back of my mind.Zabriel craves to protect me, and an answering flush of heat courses through my body.
I shove the blanket off and get up, angrily shaking the hay from my skirts. I won’t simper over that man. He’s the enemy, and he’s dangerous.
The refugees are all awake and packing away their possessions in carts and onto donkeys. I help where I can, then stand to one side as they line up by the locked gates, anxious to leave this place. There are a great deal of whispers about whether they’ll be able to leave at all, and people spare fearful glances at the guards.
The mood in the courtyard and in my belly is anxious, and I find myself gripping my thumbs in my fists and begging silently,Please, please, please don’t be a liar on top of everything else, Zabriel. Let these people go. Prove that you and your people will keep your word.
The soldiers walk up and down the line, checking that cartwheels are sound, saddles are cinched, and handing out fresh loaves wrapped in clean cloths. My heart is in my throat as the refugees grow more and more restless.
Just let them go, I think, my nails digging into my arms now.They can worry about their own donkeys’ saddles.
Finally, one of the soldiers waves to the men on top of the gatehouse, and the portcullis is raised. I breathe a sigh of relief as the refugees begin to walk out the gates.
I spot Aster and her family among the crowd. She avoided me last night and seemed close to tears at times, no doubt worried about her children’s fate. There’s an expression of relief on her face now as she walks toward the gates.
I wave to her, hoping that her journey will be a swift one. Aster looks confused for a moment, then looks quickly away.
There’s a lump in my throat as I watch them descending the road into the city. Some families are going home, but I’m still stuck here waiting for news of mine.
8
Zabriel
“That is the last load,Ma’len.”
The wingrunner bows to me, and then leads the horse and cart back across the stone bridge to the castle. Before me is a massive mound of colored fabric. All the human kings’ foul decorations have been stripped from my home. Their gaudy flags. Their false banners. The tapestries depicting them slaying our dragons.
My lip curls in disgust. They didn’t slay any dragons. These humans can’t even fight their own wars.
Scourge comes walking across the field, head extended forward, huge limbs thudding against the earth.
Burn it.
I rarely speak aloud to my dragon as there’s a connection between us deep within our minds. This is just one of the many things that the people of Maledin have forgotten. Their own history and culture were stripped away, buried, and replaced. I’ll bring it back, piece by piece, until the people of Maledin finally know who they are once more.
It begins by destroying what never should have been.
Scourge’s head rears back on his long neck, he opens his jaws, and a steady stream of dragonfire ignites the pile. It burns fiercely, turning the bright colors black and then to crumbling ash.
Soon there will be dragon banners flying from every turret and the Great Hall will be festooned with true Maledinni decorations.
As I walk back across the dragongrounds toward the castle, dragons take off and land. I raise my hand in greeting to the riders. There are wyverns in the skies too, dragon-like creatures, only smaller and silver and with two legs instead of four. Their riders are called wingrunners and they are the swiftest and most nimble of my army.
The sight of wings in the skies restores my strength and reinforces my resolve. Maledin will be strong once more, and we will rid the land of anyone who’s ever hurt my people.
My right-hand man, Godric, meets me at the gate, and after, he greets me with a brief bow. Godric has sandy hair, a hooked nose, and a sturdy, dependable expression. He commands the foot soldiers and has been my friend since we were in swaddling clothes.
“Ma’len. Brethren have been spotted fleeing toward the southern mountains.” He presses his lips together in a grim line and adds, “The dragonriders have reported the stench of dark sorcery.”
A growl rises up the back of my throat. After all these years, the southern mountains still shelter wizards who practice the foulest arts. Whoever is protecting the Brethren, I will personally rip his heart out, turn it into a hot coal, and shove it down his worthless throat.
