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“If you had come back and explained the situation, I would have come out. But maybe you thought I wouldn’t be much good at foraging, since I’m such a weak, spoiled brat.”
“Enough!” He nearly bellows the word, and my heart jumps. “The dragons and humans are gathering as we speak. Once you and I arrive, we must determine where everyone will shelter.”
“Oh fuck,” I exclaim as realization dawns in my mind. “The mating heat will occur during the storm, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What will happen?”
“I don’t know. But last night was the end of our time together. Since you despise me so thoroughly, you will choose another dragon with whom to weather the Mordvorren.”
His words sting me more deeply than they should. “Fine. I’ll stay in the big cavern with the other women.”
“No one can remain in that cave. It floods during hard rains.”
“What if the women stay together in another cave, farther up the mountain?” I ask. “Just humans, no dragons.”
“Wherever prisoners are housed, there will be at least one dragon. We will not leave any group of prisoners unprotected during this time.”
“Unprotected?” I vent a derisive laugh. “We’re far less safe with you brutes around.”
He doesn’t reply. The wind has picked up, and it whips my cheeks as we soar over fields laid with fresh dragon bones, over jagged spires of rock, back to the mountains where the dragons’ caves lie. We glide over the damaged enclosure where the other captives had their campfires. It’s empty now, not a soul to be seen.
“They’re waiting in Conch Valley,” Kyreagan says. “It is a gathering place for dragons. If one stands on the stone slab in its center, everyone in the valley can hear what is being said.”
I don’t answer him. I’m breathless, tears flying from the corners of my eyes thanks to the fierce wind. Besides, I’m furious with him. He rejected me, so I have to choose someone else. No matter what I do, I can’t be sure that I’ll be safe, and I can’t protect any of the other women.
“You must promise me that no one will be forced to mate.” My voice, thread-thin, barely cuts through the wind. But Kyreagan hears me.
“I have already declared a penalty of death upon any dragon who does such a thing.”
“Oh.” It’s a relief, I suppose, but a small one. None of us really know how the mating heat will affect the dragons, now that they can shift between forms. Will the urge be too strong for them to control themselves?
“None of this is safe, or right,” I choke out. “You did this, by bringing us here, by kidnapping Thelise. You put all of us in this position. Whatever happens will be your fault.”
“Of course it will,” he snarls. “No one else bears any responsibility. All of it is mine. But there is no escaping it now—not the storm, not the spell, not the mating heat. We must manage as best we can. I daresay you’ll be glad to be rid of me.”
He dives, and I shriek at the abrupt descent. But I’ve grown skilled at holding on with my knees and thighs. It’s like riding an extremely large and restive stallion.
I tucked up the orange gown when I mounted him, and its fiery skirts billow around me as Kyreagan lands in a violent thunder of black wings. I slide off him clumsily, clutching my bundle, conscious that dozens of dragons and humans are all staring at me. Thank god I chose the orange gown instead of the white shift.
The eyes of an audience hold little terror for me. I’m used to parading before others, used to being scrutinized and applauded, criticized and worshiped. I’m used to people examining everything I wear and everything I do, from the smallest of actions to the slightest change of my expression.
Calmly I lay down my things, smooth my skirts, and stand beside Kyreagan, my palm pressed lightly against his neck. He tenses as if he might swerve away from my touch, but he doesn’t.
We’re standing on a large slab of rock, almost like the platform on which a queen’s throne might sit. The rest of the dragons and humans gather slightly below us, on the floor of the valley.
A slender black dragon leaps from the crowd onto the rock slab and sidles closer to Kyreagan. It’s his brother, Varex. He speaks quietly, but his voice resonates through the valley, clear and audible.
“The males want to perform their mating dances, brother,” he says. “I told them we would allow it.”
“There’s no time,” growls Kyreagan. “The storm is nearly upon us. We must choose our companions quickly and take shelter.”
“We have a little time.” Varex lifts his head higher than Kyreagan’s. “This is an important tradition, a ritual handed down through generations. To save time, instead of each dragon performing alone, we can perform the dances together, all at once.”
“That isn’t how it’s done,” Kyreagan replies.
“It’s called a compromise.” Varex’s voice deepens, and purple light flickers in his nostrils. “This is important to me, and if we truly share the rulership of Ouroskelle, you will allow me to make this decision. I respect every choice you have made, and I support you in all of them. Support me in this.”
