The Dragon (Creasan #2)

When Peronell awoke the next morning, his stomach felt hollow and his legs felt shaky. He hadn’t been delusional when he’d set out with Thea and the others to take on Malum, but the full weight of it was finally hitting him, making last night’s dinner feel very near the surface. And he knew a big reason for his nausea was Carac, who was in the middle of packing up their tent.

Peronell just watched him for a moment, memorizing the lines of his body and rhythm of his breathing. He’d known Carac for so long, had loved him for so long, and he mentally berated himself for not taking more time to appreciate the beauty of him. Carac had grown a bit in the time since they’d first set out for The Forbidden Mountain, nearly reaching Peronell’s height, and Peronell watched as his shiny blond hair moved with each motion he made. Though Peronell could no longer look into Carac’s brown eyes, he’d grown accustomed to the bandana he kept wrapped around his face. It had become as much apart of Carac as the rest of him.

Carac didn’t pause in his movements as he said, “Are you going to help or just stare?”

Peronell chuckled softly and got to his feet. He approached Carac and took his face in his hands. Carac clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. “Perry, what are you doing?” he said. “Thea wants us out of here in—“

Peronell kissed him, and Carac instantly shut up. It was a single kiss, a sweet kiss, but one that Peronell hoped would convey his worry and his fear. He wanted to memorize this, too. The smell of him, the feel of him, the way he just felt like home. Peronell drew the kiss out, really savoring the taste of his lips against his before he pulled back.

Even though he couldn’t see it in his eyes, Carac’s unsteadiness told Peronell the kiss had dazed him. “What…What was that for?”

“Listen to me, love,” Peronell said, smoothing his thumbs over Carac’s cheekbones. “If things get too—If it gets bad, if it looks like we’re not going to win, I want you to run.”

Carac stiffened. “Run?”

Peronell nodded. “You heard Izzy, we’re fighting for the prince now. It’s not even for Thea. There’s nothing wrong with abandoning a lost cause—“

“It is for Thea,” Carac argued, stepping out Peronell’s grip. “It’s for Creasan, so it’s for Thea. We can’t run away.”

“Carac, please!” Peronell took his shoulders and nearly shook him. Though he did his best to keep the panic from his voice, he couldn’t help the small desperate tinge to his words. “If you die, what does it accomplish? Creasan remains as it is, just with one less person in it.”

Carac thought for a moment, facing Peronell with his mouth hanging slightly open. But then his jaw clenched and he gave a single sharp shake of his head. “Thea trained us to be warriors. Warriors don’t run.”

“Carac—“

“I won’t fault you if you want to back out,” he continued. “But I am going to fight.”

Peronell had never seen him so resolute, so sure. An immoveable stone. Of course, Carac knew Peronell would not run without him. He knew he’d sealed both their fates with that declaration. Peronell’s voice was very soft when he agreed, “All right. We fight.”

The dragon stood at the edge of the Leitham Sea, eyes closed and listening intently. The group’s voices had gotten quieter and quieter, which meant they must have reached land. Reached Qamizeh.

Reached his brother.

He pushed all thoughts of the palace, of Destrian’s concerned fidgeting beside him, of threats from Gentis District out of his mind as he just listened.

The dragon’s ears strained to the point of pain as he scanned their whispered voices for any indication of his location. He stood there until the stars started to dissipate in the sky, until the moon vanished, until the sun rose—

And then he heard it:

Yezahn.

Without even a moment to think, the dragon launched himself into the sky, his wings pounding against the air, as he set off across the Leitham Sea.

Fendrel breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his death grip on the horse’s reigns as they approached the city of Yezahn. The noonday sun proudly displayed the town, which looked similar to Tamilem in its cluster of portico buildings, if not slightly smaller in size. There was no Kaifila Citadel here, or any building that was larger than the others. It was simply a huddle of homes and trading posts banded together along a wide river. Fendrel felt a mild sense of comfort that Yezahn was still standing. The sultan had said Malum always attacked at night, and he’d gone to bed with the sickening dread that the dragon might have beaten them to the town in the middle of the night. But they had made it in time.

And there was no sign of Malum.

Fendrel wiped sweat from his brow and scanned the perimeter of the city for anything that might allude to the presence of a dragon. Even knowing it was the middle of the day, Fendrel had naively hoped Malum would be there to meet them so they could get the blasted fight over with. But there was nothing.

The ride to Yezahn had left Fendrel with hours to replay last night’s conversation with Thea over and over in his head. He hadn’t meant to say those things, hadn’t really known them to be true until he had done, and he mentally cursed himself for allowing Thea Wyvern to wrestle the truth out of him once again.

What was it about her that made him spew revelations? And how did he make it stop?

Though he supposed Merek also deserved some of the blame. Before Fendrel had admitted anything to Thea, Merek had told the prince—innocently enough—that he was not frightened about the coming battle. Nervous, perhaps, but he believed in his friends. In Thea. With her leading the way, Merek had said, they would succeed. They always had.

With Thea leading the way.

It seemed natural that she should. Even now, while Fendrel rode beside Brom—as he had most of the way to Yezahn—he gazed at Thea’s back in front of him. She rode along with Anai, leading their band of warriors into this unknown town. Always leading. Always instinctively followed.

Fendrel supposed it was for the best that she wasn’t next to him. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to her if she was. Though he wondered why he bothered feeling hesitant at all; the odds of them making it back to Creasan were so slim that a few meager words from him—and the deafening lack of words from her—were insignificant. And yet he still stayed beside Brom, even as they cantered into the town.

Anai pulled up to a building that looked indistinguishable from any other and slid off her horse. “We can rest here until nightfall,” she said. “There is food and water inside, as well as more weapons.”

Fendrel nodded his thanks and looked to Thea to lead the way in—Only to find her staring back at him with the same expectation. It made Fendrel startle slightly. Right, she was letting him be in charge. Letting him practice for the real thing.

Letting him.

Before they’d left Creasan, before confronting the Leitham Serpent and the sea nymphs, Fendrel had been so certain about what he could do for Creasan. So certain in fact, that he had convinced Brom to scheme with him against Thea. But at some point, in between leaving for Creasan and arriving in Yezahn, Fendrel had begun to feel like an imposter.

The prince hopped off his horse and Thea followed, and then the others.

Imposter.

Fendrel entered the building, which was surprisingly cool despite the raging heat outside. Anai led them up the stairs and into a small room. A kitchen to their left, a seating area to their right, and a bedroom straight ahead. No walls separated the rooms, making the space look at once large and cramped.

Contrary to the clay exterior, the walls making up the perimeter were made of stacked stones, with a few windows cut out of them every few feet or so. The furniture—the sofa, the bed, the countertops—looked dusty, like no one had lived there for a while.

Except the woman standing in the middle of the room clearly indicated that she did. She had deep green eyes outlined in thick black and her curly black hair peeked out from under the veil she kept wrapped around her face. She offered a polite nod.

“This is my mother, Cylva,” Anai explained, and Fendrel instantly saw the resemblance. Their eyes were nearly clones of each other, save for the slight crow’s feet beside Cylva’s. “She will let us stay with her until we must leave.”

Sepi repeated with awe, “Cylva?”

Cylva didn’t even look at Sepi as she spoke to the others in their native language.

Anai translated, “She does not speak Creasan, but she welcomes you all to her home.”

Fendrel saw Sepi’s shoulders slump in the face of Cylva’s shunning, and it made the prince wonder for the umpteenth time how the man must be feeling.

“Thank you,” Thea said, returning Cylva’s nod.

“I thought this would be a decent place for your queen to remain during the fight,” Anai said.

“Are you sure?” Fendrel asked. “It is Anastas’s choice to stay, but is it not too dangerous to keep your mother here?”

Anai glanced at Cylva and they exchanged a look that was full of a tension Fendrel did not understand. But Anai only said, “She will be fine.”

“Right.” Fendrel felt as if a weight had immediately dropped from his shoulders. Though there would still be a million things to worry about, at least Ana would not be one. “Well, then, this is perfect. Thank—“

“Hang on, mate.” Merek looked around in confusion. “Where is the queen?”

Fendrel spun around so quickly, the wind whistled in his ears. There was nowhere to hide in this small room. If Ana had ventured further in, they’d all have seen her. But Merek was right.

Ana was gone.

Ana guided her horse further away from Yezahn. No one had even blinked when she’d subtly steered away from the group, which the queen was mildly grateful for.

She knew the sultan had said the dragon only struck at night, but that meant he had to be nearby, either planning his attack or resting until he could be hidden by the dark of night.

And if Ana could find him then, if she could sneak up on him while he was asleep, maybe she could avoid the fighting altogether. Avoid any concerns about skill, about bloodshed, about the hero wielding the sword. She could handle the entire thing without any worry at all.

Yezahn was located in a valley where it had access to the river running beside it. Ana decided to hike up the sandy knoll to the city’s east, where she could get a better view. The sun seared into the top of her head and sweat made her clothes stick, but she did her best to ignore it. Now was not the time to think like a queen. Now was the time to think like a warrior. And warriors were focused, shrewd, observant.

Ana reached the top of the hill and gazed out at Yezahn. She could just barely make out the top of Fendrel’s head as he led the others into a building and she huffed a laugh. They’d gone all the way into the city without noticing she was missing. That had been her hope, but she couldn’t help feeling a little miffed all the same.

Ana slid from the horse and took a few steps away, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Other than the city and the river, there didn’t seem to be anything but sand for miles. Open and deserted. If there were any beasts within miles, she’d have been able to spot them.

She lowered her hand from her eyes with a sigh, resting it on the sword at her side. She paused as she touched the cool metal. Slowly, she drew the blade out of its sheathe and stared at it.

Just like what she’d expect from a weapon belonging to Thea Wyvern, it wasn’t flashy or impressive. There were no designs on the hilt and the blade looked generic, so different from the accent pieces of the palace. But Ana also knew that despite its lack of flair, this blade was probably sharper and more deadly than anything her own soldiers wielded. That was just Thea’s way.

Ana’s shoulders lowered sadly at the thought. She’d made a promise to Maerwynn that no harm would come to Thea, but as she stared at the sword in her hand—a sword that she hated to admit was much too heavy for her—she felt like laughing at herself. No wonder the others had mocked her last night; who was she to make anyone a promise of protection? She couldn’t protect herself, she couldn’t protect either of the men she’d loved, and she couldn’t protect her only son. Ana was no good to anyone.

With a grunt of despair and annoyance, Ana staked the sword into the sand.

Almost instantly, the ground rumbled beneath her. The sand shifted, falling out from under her feet as a loud groan erupted.

Ana’s heart dropped and she gasped as she tumbled sideways. Her horse whinnied loudly and took off at top speed down the hill as the sand slipped and slid. Somehow, impossibly, the hill seemed to rise. Climbing higher and higher in the sky above Ana.

Sand and dust poured on her and she squinted through the onslaught, coughing as some of it went up her nose and burned. She scrambled to get to her feet, backing away as the land rose higher still, and Ana thought she glimpsed black under the piles of falling sand.

It wasn’t until she’d backed far enough away, to where she could make out shapes in the falling sand, that she recognized the sun was glinting off black scales.

Wings burst out of the hill, sending sand flying, and then a tail appeared, too. But Ana didn’t need any of those other details to know what she was looking at. She didn’t need to see the searing red eyes of the beast or hear its deafening roar. It threw its head from side to side, trying to dislodge the sword Ana had accidentally staked into the top of its skull.

Ana struggled to breathe as she beheld the creature of her nightmares, the creature of her entire country’s nightmares.

Malum turned his head in her direction, gaped his mouth open—showing off his massive razor-sharp teeth and letting spittle fly—as he erupted in an ear-shattering roar.