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His absence chafes me. I want to settle this now. A moment ago I thought myself cruel for suspecting him, and now I can’t bear leaving this place without answers. Fuck, my mind is like a school of fish, swerving first in one direction and then the other. I can’t decide what to do.
I burst from the cave again, roaring my frustration to the sky. An answering call echoes from a nearby peak where two dragons are circling, probably enjoying the sun before they hunt. Instead of going to greet them, I head for the hot springs again. I left the Princess there, but I’ll be damned if she thinks she has won. I’ll make her come out, and I’ll take her back to my cave, where she will wait until I decide what to do with her, with Fortunix, with everything.
But as I wheel toward the southeast, I spot a bank of dark clouds along the horizon—a dense, forbidding line that stretches as far as my eyes can see.
I’ve seen a cloud bank like this once before, and I’ve been warned about it many times. What I’m seeing is the Mordvorren, a massive, slow-moving storm whose thunder cracks rock and whose lightning can pierce even a dragon’s armored body. It is a cosmic hurricane composed of many storm cells—an unnatural, sentient weather phenomenon—a condensed loci of unstable magic. It is destruction.
My father warned my siblings and I about the Mordvorren countless times. “If you see it approaching, gather all the food you can find and take shelter,” he would say. “The Mordvorren is no friend to dragons.”
We were fortunate last time. The Mordvorren passed us by, and Ouroskelle only took the edge of its fury. This time, it’s headed straight for us. Although its enormous size will slow it down, the Mordvorren will reach us by nightfall.
It’s nearly the Rib Moon, and the Mordvorren can last for days. Which means our mating frenzy won’t be a joyful, passionate orgy out in the sunny green fields, under a spring sky. Instead it will happen while we’re all trapped in caves, waiting for the lethal lightning and rock-shattering thunder to abate.
A sour laugh escapes me. Of course this is how my first mating season would go. It fits with all the misfortunes we’ve suffered lately.
My questions about Fortunix will have to wait. There is no time to spare. I must warn the clan so we can gather enough food to last us through the storm. Then each dragon must decide where he will shelter, and with whom.
20
Blood-beetles.
He said that inexplicable word and then he left me here all day.
At first I stayed in the clammy stone tunnel, convinced that he was just pretending to be gone and would snatch me up in his claws the moment I poked my head out. But after a couple hours I sidled out of the passage, stripped down, and sank into one of the steaming pools for a soak. Later I poked around for food, but the ants had dismantled the stale bread and the remaining cheese. Lucky for me, I had a bag of sugared nuts Thelise sneaked to me right before I left her cave. No thanks to Kyreagan. With him as my caretaker, I would have gone hungry all day, or been forced to try some berries from the nearest bushes, on the off chance they weren’t poisonous.
I make up a song about him while he’s gone, an angry ballad with as many spiteful words as I can think of. I’ll sing it to him sometime, when he’s exhausted and trying to sleep.
Fuck him. I thought we had turned a corner, he and I. We shared things—not just sexual things, but emotional ones. I thought… never mind what I thought. It was foolish.
To amuse myself, I put on the orange dress I selected from the clothing Thelise brought. It has no straps or sleeves, but the bodice fits me perfectly once I manage to get it mostly buttoned. There’s one button I can’t reach by myself. Three tiny gold chains are stitched along the waist by way of a faux belt, and their ends fall free, glittering against the voluminous orange skirts. I love the dress, more so because my mother always said orange wasn’t my color. Wearing this feels like a tiny rebellion against her control, and I feel guilty for it because of how she died, but I’m also recklessly angry enough not to care. I’m furious at her for not surrendering during those final weeks, when she might have been spared. If the King of Vohrain had agreed in writing to spare our lives, as part of the terms of surrender, he would have had to keep his word before his people and ours. But when he entered as a conqueror, to subdue the former queen, there was no such bargain.
I wish I could kill him for killing her. I wish I could turn back time and stop the Supreme Sorcerer from performing his final terrible curse. I wish I could stop myself from climbing the wall to that tower. I wish I’d run away across the southern border and disappeared. I wish I’d been able to get closer to my mother, to understand the strange partnership between her and the Sorcerer. I wish I could hate Thelise for being his daughter. I wish I didn’t like her so much, and I wish I didn’t care about a certain cranky black dragon.
As the afternoon progresses, the sky begins to look strange. There’s a yellowish, almost greenish cast to it, which disturbs me, and instead of the air feeling soft and fresh like it did this morning, it seems almost brittle, strung taut like a bowstring that’s been tightened too far and is ready to snap.
“Kyreagan, where are you?” I mutter, staring up at the sky.
Moments later his shadow crosses me, almost as if he heard my summons. I race for the cave, intending to dive back into the tunnel and defy him again, but he’s too quick for me this time. He darts into the cave entrance, blocking my path, and nudges my bundle toward me with his nose.
“Grab your things and get on,” he orders.
I was ready to fight with him again, but the terse urgency in his tone changes my mind. Clutching my bundle, I climb onto his back without further protest.
He takes off with a lurch that nearly dislodges me. “Idiot!” I snap, and he bites out a curt, “Sorry.”
“What happened?” I ask as we rise into the air. “You said ‘blood-beetles’ and then you—oh my god—what the fuck is that?”
A towering cliff of churning black clouds has devoured the horizon, and it’s nearing Ouroskelle. This is no ordinary storm—it’s a ruinous cataclysm. Countless branches of purple lightning flash silently beneath its threatening bulk.
“The Mordvorren,” says Kyreagan. “You’ve heard of it?”
“In school,” I breathe. “It destroyed part of our capital city decades ago. And then it passed near the southern coast again when I was young, but it turned away and went back out to sea.”
“We won’t be spared this time. It will be here in two hours or less, and judging by the tales, it might last several days. The other dragons and I have been hunting all day, storing up fish and game to see us through. The women have been foraging for many hours as well.”
I grip my bundle more tightly against my chest. “You left me there, at the hot spring. I could have come with you. I could have helped.”
“I left because I had something else to deal with,” he says. “But when I saw the storm, I knew the other matter would have to wait. Our survival takes priority. I didn’t have time to pamper a spoiled princess who would rather sulk in corners than do as she is told.”
