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A cataclysm. The end of the world. My voice will not work, my mind cannot form thoughts…
“Kyreagan!” It’s Ashvelon, one of our section leaders, a dark gray dragon gifted with frost-fire. “My Prince, we can’t stay here on the ground. Come. We must fly.”
At his urging, and with the prodding of my brother’s spiked wingtip, I muster the energy to climb a nearby building and take off from its roof before it crumbles beneath my weight. Human structures, like their bodies, are flimsy and fragile.
Ashvelon, Varex, and I rise together in a triangle formation. As we gain altitude, I spot the tallest tower in the city—the one Grimmaw mentioned, the one that bears the flag of surrender.
Skewered on that flagpole, its metal spike wet with her blood, is my sister. Vylar’s body drapes the steep cone-shaped roof of the tower, black wings spread against the red shingles. The white patches on her wings shine like reflected moonlight.
Varex and I roar at the same time, red fire spewing from my mouth and black void magic from his. The void orb Varex emitted flies straight toward the nearby airship, sucks in the entire vessel, and implodes on itself.
“It’s the females,” says Ashvelon. “Can you feel it?”
But neither Varex nor I have been through our first mating season yet. We do not have the same link to the females of our race that the older males do.
“We can’t feel it,” I snarl at him. “Speak! What is happening? Is some magic targeting the females in this battle? Should we tell the rest of the clan to withdraw?”
Ashvelon’s blue eyes are wide, stricken. “It’s too late. They’re already dead.”
I can feel more fire building in my belly. Fire and panic. “Every female warrior, dead?”
“Not just the warriors.” Ashvelon’s wings beat slowly, devastation threading his tone. “All of them. Every female dragon, of every age, everywhere.”
“The fuck?” chokes out Varex.
Every female dragon, of every age, everywhere.
I sweep my wings, great pulses against the air, pushing me higher, higher. The rest of the dragons follow me up, away from the burning, defeated city.
We’re half the number we were. I scan all of them quickly, my eyes raking through the gloom, finding the jaw spikes and elbow spurs on each dragon. They’re all male.
Ashvelon is right.
I turn to an elder dragon with more jaw spikes than any of us. “Did you sense it? Is it true? Are they all—”
“Yes, my Prince.” He’s weeping, great tears rolling along his scales and dripping from his snout. I’ve never seen another male cry. Among dragons, tears are reserved for the greatest of grief.
Every female of our race, dead. And with mating season just one week away…
This was never part of the plan. Vohrain never indicated that their enemies were capable of such devastating magic. If we’d known, my father would never have agreed to the alliance. This is wrong, this cannot be happening, this is a nightmare, the end of the world—
“Kyreagan.” Varex brushes his wingtip against mine. “What do we do?”
My anger is slow to spark, but when ignited, it burns hot and furious. I can feel it now, churning in my chest, flaming along every nerve.
“We will determine who is responsible for this,” I announce to the other dragons, my growl echoing through the sky. “And we will take from them what was taken from us.”
2
“I made these pastries myself. Would you like one?” I lift the puffed confection, dusted with sugar, and hold it out to the warrior sitting on the bed.
He’s been staring down at his bandaged fingers, but he looks up at me, his eyes burning like coals in a face seamed with ash. “Thank you, Princess. With all due respect, I’m not feeling up to munching on pastries.”
“Maybe later? A sweet treat always cheers me up when I’m feeling down.” I pluck a delicate linen napkin from the basket my maid is carrying and lay it on the bed beside him. I set the pastry in the very center of the napkin, turning it slightly so its sugared surface is displayed to the best advantage.
The warrior scoffs a laugh, or tries to—but he chokes suddenly and coughs, sending a splatter of dark blood over my hand. Flecks of blood dot the pastry.
For a moment we all freeze—my maid, the warrior, and me with my bloodstained hand.
