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And then I’m off, the ground falling away beneath me, an uneasy fear rising in my chest with each beat of my wings. Crimson streaks of the rising sun shine bright on the face of the Tarn of the Maiden, reminding me uncomfortably of blood streaked across dark scales.
The light reaches the edge of the ridge just before me, turning every stone to silver. Behind me, Wendolyn’s wingbeats echo through the air. I crest the ridge and peer down into the darkness where I last saw Rayne. Where I would have sworn on all the Mothers’ names that Rayne was flying just behind me.
There’s nothing below me. No dragon with scarlet scales and ebony claws. No human woman with flaming red hair and scars dancing up her arm. I beat the air above the ridge, my wings thrumming the morning wind. Nothing moves on this side of the mountain. No birds, no pikas, not even a mouse.
It feels like a tomb. I shiver again, my body twisting in the air. Beside me, Wendolyn lets out a hiss.
“Doshir—” she begins.
I don’t give her time to finish. I open my mouth, tuck my wings, and streak above the ridge.
“Rayne!” I scream.
My own voice echoes back to me, bouncing off the cold granite of the Iron Mountains. I drop lower, skimming the tops of the tight knot of pines at the base of the ravine, then following their sinuous curves as they lead down a steep, narrow valley.
“Rayne!” I call.
Tiny flames leap from between my teeth, a sign of my rising panic. My own fear rings back, amplified by every cliff and valley surrounding us. I drop even lower, craning my neck from side to side. She couldn’t have gone far. She couldn’t.
The valley twists beneath me. Dense pine gives way to a delicate fluttering of aspen leaves as the ground levels out. The scent of humans thickens, clogging the air once again, although it isn’t until an arrow streaks past my snout that I realize where I am.
Panic pulls me back, my wings recoiling as I climb. A volley of arrows clatters off my scales and clicks against my claws. One skims the underside of my wing; I hiss as it draws blood.
Below me, smoke rises from the fires of the human military encampments Wendolyn just showed us. She’d told Rayne not to fly too close to them, not to risk pissing them off. Sound advice. Had I been paying attention to where I was going, I probably would have followed it.
I pull higher, wincing as the scratch on my wing throbs. Those human arrows can’t do much damage, but damn, that stings. The military camp drops away as I rise, and a second volley of arrows falls far short of my claws. I frown at the little smudges of firelight in the darkness at the bottom of the cliffs that lead to the Tarn of the Maiden.
Why are they here? Why camp in such an obvious position, beside such a difficult approach? They’d have to be insane to climb the cliffs. Hells, if they want to have any chance of reaching the Tarn of the Maiden before tonight’s Queensmoot, they’d have to start climbing now. I twist my neck, looking back the way I came. That steep, pine-choked valley would be a much better route to the Tarn of the Maiden. If I was going to attack the Queensmoot, I’d follow the forest up to the stony ridge Rayne wanted to inspect.
“Doshir!” Wendolyn thunders from above me.
I twist, my claws rising to a defensive position as Wendolyn barrels down toward me, flames leaking from between her teeth and streaking the brilliant dawn behind her. She stops a heartbeat before her claws slam into my chest, then beats her wings against the air.
“What in the Mothers’ many blessed fucking names are you doing?” Wendolyn shrieks.
“Rayne—” I begin.
Flames erupt from Wendolyn’s jaw. My eyes snap closed as heat sears my face.
“You think I’m an idiot, Doshir?” Wendolyn screams.
Very slowly, I wink open one eye. The scent of dragonfire still fills my nostrils, but Wendolyn has backed off slightly; now she looks like she’s trying to kill me with disapproval. Then, suddenly, she laughs. Her neck twists, and her brilliant emerald scales dance in the light of the rising sun as she shakes her head like she’s trying to get rid of something.
“Mothers, I must be an idiot,” she snaps, “for ever trusting you.”
I blink. She looks very beautiful in this light, and very, very angry.
“What?” I say. My voice is almost a whisper.
Wendolyn’s lips twist into a smile that worries me far more than her dragonfire.
“Mad Scarlett’s hatchling,” she hisses. “Sure. And I’m the blessed First Queen.”
I open my mouth, then quickly decide nothing I could say would improve this situation. Wendolyn’s eyes narrow.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at after all these years, Doshir,” she growls. “But you are going to tell me exactly who you just led to the Tarn of the Maiden one damned day before the Queensmoot, and you are going to tell me exactly what your fucking plan is, or I swear upon the blessed Mothers’ names that I will bring all the fury of the Iron Mountains down on your stupid, self-centered head!”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
