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My body slams into his snout. Dirt flies everywhere. Rensivar roars; white-hot flames pour out of his mouth and swallow my vision. I tumble backward, my wings beating frantically, my head shaking to clear the flames.
Rensivar’s screams shake the world. I hit the ground tail-first, then scramble awkwardly on my back legs, just in time to see Rensivar direct a jet of flame at the purple sky. Both of his forearms scrape at his muzzle.
Both! I spin, searching the charred remains of the meadow.
There! Rayne lies between me and the Throne of Claws, her tattered wing dragging in the ashes as she crawls away from Rensivar. I close the distance between us with a leap, then twist my head up.
Beyond the jet of Rensivar’s flame, the black hole in the sky that leads home is smaller. Much smaller. My heart howls like an alarm bell, and my throat tightens as I turn back to Rayne. Her face is smeared with blood; scales all over her body are split or missing, revealing angry stretches of bare dragon skin. Her broken wing hangs in the dirt, bloody and useless.
She can’t fly. Our eyes meet as Rensivar’s pale flames dance over us.
“Go,” she whispers.
“Fuck no,” I snap.
A memory howls through my mind, carrying with it the first desperate flutters of a plan. Flying away from Valgros with my mother’s broken human body in my arms.
“Change,” I whisper. “Human. Now!”
Rayne’s eyes close. Her body trembles, and for one horrible moment I think she won’t have the strength to transform, that her human form will remain out of reach and the two of us will be trapped here, beneath the claws of Rensivar. Forever.
And then there’s the unmistakable hiss of air rushing to fill the space that had once belonged to a dragon’s beautiful, broken body, and Rayne’s naked human form collapses on the ashes.
Rensivar howls above us, then turns toward the ground with a blinding jet of white dragonfire. But I don’t need to see to gather Rayne into my arms, to spread my wings, or to leap into the violet sky. My wings beat against Rensivar’s fire as they pull me toward the shrinking hole in the sky, toward the only link back to our world.
Pain explodes across my body, burning through me from my tail. I twist my neck to see Rensivar’s claws around the tip of my tail, his eyes burning a hole through the dirt and blood caked across his muzzle.
“Doshir,” he growls. “You—”
With Rayne’s body held tight against my scales, I twist in midair. With a final burst of agony and blood, the claw-full of scales on the tip of my tail shatters. Rensivar roars; wind buffets my body as Rensivar the Wicked unfurls his mighty wings.
Panic closes around my throat as I rake my wings through the air, beating frantically against the hot, sticky sky. The dark hole above us seems so small I could blot it out with a claw, and behind us, Rensivar screams his rage across this strange landscape.
Another jet of flame swallows us. I spread my wings, using the heat to climb higher and higher. Even with this, my mind screams, there’s no way I can outrun Rensivar. There’s no way—
Rensivar roars again, a sound like thunder exploding inside your kitchen, and I pump my wings frantically. But I don’t feel the wind of his approach. His next roar sounds almost subdued; I dare a quick glance behind me.
Just before Rensivar swallows the world in his white flames, I see his wings beating the air as his dark body writhes in the meadow. Around the Throne of Claws. I twist back toward the hole in the sky as my mind fits the pieces together.
He’s trying to bring the throne back with him, perhaps. Hadn’t he offered me something if I helped him bring the throne back?
Or perhaps the throne itself has turned on him. He’d twisted his claws and his tail around the throne’s sharp fractals of nightmare steel as the Queensmoot progressed, almost as if he’d wanted to become part of the Throne of Claws. Perhaps the throne had fallen at just the right angle to trap him, fulfilling his wish.
My lips pull back in a grin as the strange, searing heat of the hole between worlds washes over my snout. I pulse my wings once, then twice, struggling against that strange sensation of pulling myself forward, falling or rising or climbing or the Mothers only know what.
And then the air I suck into my lungs is cold, and the sky is dark, and there’s stone beneath my claws. With a huff, I drag myself forward, clutch Rayne to my chest, and roll over onto my side.
The screaming chaos of the Queensmoot closes all around me. I breathe for a few long, painful heartbeats as the stars spin wildly in the sky, and then very slowly resume their regular positions. Rayne’s body is soft and warm against my scales. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite so wonderful.
I’ll have to tell her, some part of me that sounds almost like my mother chimes. Someday, I’ll have to tell Rayne that I love her.
“You thrice-cursed idiot!” a woman screams.
I turn my head on the grass, and Wendolyn’s snarling emerald visage fills my vision.
“What in the nine hells did you think you were doing?” Wendolyn howls.
Reality crashes into place, chasing away the cozy warmth of Rayne’s body against my scales. I raise my head and take in the crowd of dragons flying around the Tarn of the Maiden.
