Chapter 41

Iwas flying.

I was fucking flying.

Below me, too far for me to make out anything except vague landmarks, the land blurred past in shades of winter white and gray. Wind tore my eyes raw before Zephryn soared closer until we were flying even and blinked, a white, opaque eyelid sliding into place to block the cutting cold.

I blinked and…fucking gods, that was so much better.

Now I saw every crisp detail, no tears to blur the jagged mountains rising before us or the snow glittering on the western slopes catching the sun's last rays.

I gobbled down the adrenaline rush, the effortless lift of frozen mountain gusts, and the icy slide of cold over my scales setting some locked-down part of me free.

Above me, a tiny owl flapped his wings furiously to keep up. The dragon and I were pacing ourselves, not wanting to exhaust him, but mostly because of the fragile female clinging to Zephryn's back.

A bundled-up Torin was hunched against the biting cold, but she had to be half frozen. We'd only been in the air an hour, but frost crackled over my wings, chipping off with every downward beat as we raced northward, the moon cresting the jagged mountaintops.

I fell into a foggy daze, mastering my new body, lost in the wind caressing me and how the currents buoyed me upward, making me feel weightless. I hadn't flown since I was so very young. I could barely remember tumbling through the air with my siblings, how we used to play before…

Fuck. I dropped like a stone, my body plunging through the eddying currents as I shook those old, worthless memories from my head and beat my wings until I drew even with Zephryn once more.

Not helpful. Those thoughts were not helpful right now. I closed my eyes and concentrated on what was important.

We were going to kill the Shadow King. Kill the monster who deserved to die for so many terrible reasons. A fierce joy sprang to life, as wicked and bloodthirsty and savage as the roaring growl rippling up my gullet and through my teeth, exploding into the silent night in a shower of frozen breath.

But when another hour passed, when the sun had set and darkness bathed the world in endless shadow, I found myself in the past again, except this time I was…I was…

I was hiding beneath my parents' bed, blood dripping down from the soaked mattress, the stomping, well-worn boots of the king's elite guard tracking red everywhere.

Over the shiny wood floors.

The lush rugs imported from across the Shoaling Sea.

I put my hands over my ears to block out the sounds of their coarse jokes, but I still heard every filthy word as they bragged about what they'd done.

They'd killed my parents first, then my three brothers, then my two baby sisters, and now the screaming had stopped and the house was quiet except for the stomping boots as they looted our family's wealth, stuffing jewelry and coins—even my father's favorite watch—into their pockets.

The guards must be dead because no one came to defend us. None of our loyal allies had come, not even when my mother screamed for help. I cowered lower, stifling every fear and terror inside me down to short, quiet breaths, furtive glances tracking where each and every soldier was.

Waiting for the moment they peered beneath the bed and yanked me out into the light.

Then slow, heavy footsteps approached and a pair of fine, hand tooled boots came into view, silver spurs jingling on the heels, the rondels stained as red as my parents' bedroom floor.

The joking stopped.

The soldiers lined up in front of the bed as my parents' blood rained down upon me.

"They're all dead?"

My lungs hollowed out.

I knew that voice. Had heard him speak at court the few times mother and father took me to the Keep. I'd heard it here, in Wingcrest Hold, when the king attended dinners with my parents and the other high members of court.

"Both parents and the whole nest of little vermin." I knew that voice, too. Crux, the dark-eyed, cruel male my father told me to steer clear of. I shoved my fist into my mouth, cutting off my sobs.

"Good. No more filthy wyverns to worry about. No more lands or titles or money going out the door as rewards for their worthless services," the king growled, pacing closer until the toes of his boots were inches away from my bare, bloody knees. "See that this place is stripped of every valuable, then board up the doors. I want this building to stand as a warning to the others. Step out of line and everything will be taken away from you."

I waited for the soldiers to leave, until they'd pounded boards over every opening. Until my parents' blood stopped dripping down and down and down, and the pool I sat in so quietly hardened around me.

My hands, still dimpled with baby fat, strained to push myself free from that dark, sticky puddle, moving only when my mouth was so dry and cracked I knew I needed water or I'd die, too.

When I finally crept out of my hiding place, my legs stiff and cramped, the smell of blood and my soiled pants hit me as hard as the hunger gnawing holes in my stomach. I shakily climbed to my feet, and when I saw what they'd done to my parents, sobs wracked my tiny body.

The hallway was littered with the bodies of our servants, some who'd served our family for centuries. I stepped over their ravaged corpses, as if the soldiers had taken a special delight in killing them.

It took me time to work up my courage to go into my brothers' room, the metallic scent of blood so heavy I vomited. There were three beds in the room—wyverns were social creatures, and from the time we were born we'd slept two in a bed. I shared mine with Trent, which was the only reason I'd survived, otherwise they would have torn the castle apart searching for me, and the king…well, the king didn't care enough to ask how many of us the soldiers had killed.

But when I stared down at my baby sisters, I swore to myself I would do two things before I died.

Slay the Shadow King like a dog in the street.

But not until he restored my family name and fortunes.

It took me damn near six hundred years, but I'd managed the last part. Now I just had to kill the bastard.

An earth-shattering roar yanked me from the memory.

My eyes flew open to a wall of solid rock in front of me. I flung my wings out, snapping my metacarpals tight, and caught a frozen updraft, my shoulder and back muscles screaming in agony as I raced up and up and up the cliff face.

Zephryn's roar still echoed across the chasm when I crested the mountain and soared out over the empty openness of the Dearth, a dark stretch of ocean to my right, a ring of black, craggy mountains a hundred miles beyond us.

The Northern Crown, Zephryn had called that towering range, which meant…

I tipped my head sideways, keeping my neck straight, scanning the desolate plain.

Below us was a protected flat area, the steep cliffs marked by the line of white foam breaking at their base, mountains to the north and south, and to my left…an expanse of solid, glittering ice.

Frost Lake.

I followed Zephryn down, circling as we descended and keeping in a tight formation, Simon as silent as a wraith overhead. Torin's cloak stretched out behind her, her gloved hands wrapped around the dragon's scales, I presumed, as we dropped lower and lower until I made out the rocks amongst the snow-dusted grass.

There, right where Anaria said it would be, was a rounded building, the domed black roof rough enough to blend in with the rocky terrain, the walls made from the same material. A row of needle-thin, tall windows encircled the sides beneath the eaves, as if light was not a consideration.

There was no door.

Zephryn landed first, had already transformed, and was changing into the clothing Torin handed him, Simon alighting beside them. Once the owl shifter was dressed, I shed my wyvern form and caught the duffel bag Zephryn pitched over to me.

"Get dressed. We've got an hour."

No matter Anaria's assurances about how they would lead the Oracle on a merry chase across Caladrius, we'd decided an hour was enough time to either find the pendant and get out, or decide it wasn't here.

But excitement curled in my gut as I hauled the cloak over my head and headed for Ashbane, looming five stories high over the sheer cliffs dropping to the thundering ocean below.