Dragon Aster Trilogy

20: CHASING MASTERY



Cirrus stayed low to the grass in his human form, just outside the pluma’s territory. He watched the Regals lie lazily about in the field of flowers of the Casus Beli Canyon under the moonlight. They had killed most of the winged cats off six months ago, but now they were recovered to their original numbers.

He wasn’t aware of a creature that could breed, let alone grow this fast. One of the Regals folded its wings into tight rods, and reached them up into the sky as if to pull lightning from it to find him with. Thankfully, there were never any clouds over the Torian Continent.

Cirrus tried to concentrate as he looked at the pink flowers that covered the ground. Somehow they seemed out of place, as if the plants served a purpose that they hid under their delicate petals. He lowered his head closer to the ground to smell them. When the faint scent of blood came to his nose, it became clear just what that other purpose was. The flowers didn’t just hide the memory of the blood from their battle—they erased it altogether. The silver pollen drifted upwards into the sky like snow from a melting winter that would never be remembered.

He pulled his vision into a trance and looked to the sky that was almost completely void of Animus, minus the one Thread that connected him to Sybl and her matching necklace. Lintrance was wrong about one thing, as he could have flown out of this field if he wanted to. But he had been so distracted by Sybl and the plumas that he hadn’t stopped to see and realize that there was no Thread around.

He had flown out here to find a way to channel his anger, but now he felt like a foolish berserker with no rage left. He touched his necklace to reach out to her thoughts, only to find Fevre on its other end. Caught by surprise, he let go of the Thread, before touching it again.

‘So is this how it’s going to be, Cirrus? You want Simera’s throne now?’

No, I don’t. Where is she?

‘The Princess is safe. She is young, but will make a fine Queen for myself, and will no doubt grow to be as beautiful as her mother.’

Over my dead body!

‘Come now, Cirrus. When have I ever treated you wrong?’

She belongs to me!

A laugh came back from Fevre’s thoughts. ‘Then why have you not taken her already? Humans do not last as long as we do. What are you waiting for? The phelan to reclaim her?’

Cirrus let go of the Thread, infuriated. Now his blood felt as it would boil over in rage. Fevre would make all of his threat real—there was a good reason the daorans avoided him. His only chance now was Lintrance, and his cousin was already looking for his psi when he found his first.

“I’ll take care of Fevre. Just get back here in one piece this time. No point in getting yourself all beat up when she has already forgiven you idiot.”

Cirrus forced himself to calm down. Was this why Serena had never gotten mad at him? Because he couldn’t take anger from a female without acting like a spoiled child in turn? He felt like one now. He couldn’t so much as skillfully take into account all there was on this last battlefield, or keep one girl safe in his own home.

Cirrus turned around as his Ancient moved with him, concealing his presence from the Regals as he continued his walk to the other side of the field. He was becoming more of an idiot, and that would serve in protecting no one. He could have taken to his human-like form to navigate the field before, but aside from losing touch with his battle senses, he had developed a new fear for females. He would have to work on overcoming that, as Fevre was likely just the start to who would challenge him for Sybl.

Hundreds of tunnels burrowed into the walls on the sides of the Canyon. He looked away from them as something on the flowers caught his attention. It looked to be the same mask that belonged to the Awl that had scared Sybl. It lay upright in the field, grinning at him.

Every one of his bones screamed that it was a trap, as the Awl could have only purposely come back to leave its mask behind. But there was no Thread here. If it did attack him, it would be Cirrus who had the advantage. If he chose to ignore it, he might never find the Awl after Sybl, and she would remain in danger. Just as he decided to get it, a Regal walked over and lay right on top of it.

One of them wouldn’t be too much to kill, but as he looked across the field, he knew there were likely hundreds of smaller males in the tunnels that would prove a problem to handle by himself. Their swarm was what had taken Nafury.

Images of his friend being swept into the Canyon in a deluge of wings and claws stabbed at his mind with regret, before the Prince was left hanging onto its side of it for a brief moment. Cirrus had been too weak to save him, and it was the last moment he would see him alive. Nafury’s grip failed, and he fell with the blood and flesh he had been ripped into, before the swarm of plumas flew back up to catch him. Then they dragged his body into the tunnels on the side of the Canyon.

He looked towards the mask as his heart beat the memory in a different direction. Did their Prince fall, or simply give up and let go?

‘You are no different from the rest of them! You are nothing but a lie!’

He snapped himself out of it as another Regal stood up and brought its wings down across the field like scythes in search of what was out of place. Only it didn’t cut the Thread that was tied to Sybl’s necklace, as it collided against it like an unbreakable harp string.

The giant, winged lion backed off with its brown fur on end in an angry hiss. Cirrus knew for a while now that Awls were easily upset by gold, but now he had found the reason. It appeared that they couldn’t manipulate all Threads.

Cirrus got an idea and took his necklace off. Then he sent it drifting across the field with his Ancient controlling it like a kite.

The Regal set its entire attention on the gold and walked towards it, one paw directly before the other. Its curiosity pulled the attention of the one that lay on the mask to it as well.

Cirrus snuck towards the mask he wanted as the distraction meant lifting his camouflage from him. When he was certain the attention on the gold would last with the two cats beginning to fight for it, he picked up the wood mask.

Nothing happened, and no trap was sprung as he scanned the field with all his senses. The plumas continued to try and catch the necklace like oversized pets at play.

He looked at the black, white-striped painted mask in his hand with a sense of disappointment as he brought his mind into a trance to try and find any Threads attached to it, but the Awl had erased every last one. The wood in his hand was as dead as it was possible to be, and he was now back to square one.

Or he would have been, had one of the Regals not caught his necklace the next moment.