I labor up, skidding a few times on the dry leaves, grabbing onto small trees for leverage. Breathing hard, I finally catch up with him. I gasp when I see what lies ahead.
A vast Gardnerian military base stretches out over the entire valley. It’s surrounded by the wilds and framed by the imposing Spine and the Caledonian mountain range. Huge blocks of Gardnerian soldiers move in formation, a cacophony of commands ringing out. They’re surrounded by a city of black military tents, wooden barracks and Spine-stone structures cut into the imposing rock.
And there are dragons.
Scores of them. Moving in formation. Gardnerian soldiers astride them, whips in hand.
I fall back as close to twenty dragons rise into the sky with one unified shriek, my hands flying up to cover my ears. The dragons fly in formation behind a lead dragon.
Without warning, they soar up and swoop directly toward us.
I hit the ground as Yvan pulls me back, and the dragons zoom in close, then arc away toward the middle of the valley.
My heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. I’ve seen artists’ renderings of military dragons, like dignified horses with wings. But these dragons are terrifying—black as night, with emaciated bodies that hint at their underlying skeletons. And their wings—jagged, jutting things with sharp feathers that resemble dull blades.
“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe, an icy chill coursing down my spine. “Do they breathe fire?”
Yvan frowns and shakes his head. “No. They lose the ability when they’re broken. But as you can see, they can still fly. And they’re strong, with sharp teeth and large talons.”
“Are they getting ready to attack the Keltic military?”
“And anyone else in their path. Just like last time. Villages. Families. You won’t hear about that, of course. You’ll hear about one glorious military victory after another.” He grimaces. “You won’t read about whole families being torn to pieces by soulless dragons.”
I imagine one of those creatures landing in a village. It’s too terrible to fathom.
“Can’t anyone stop this?” I ask him, horrified.
He gives a tight shake to his head. “The Resistance is no match for the Gardnerian Guard. The most they can do is slow them down. Get as many people out as they can.” His expression turns bitter. “I imagine,” he says, his voice thick with disgust, “when the inevitable happens, you’ll be enjoying a party somewhere, celebrating your victory over the Evil Ones.”
His words sting. I’m genuinely hurt by them. “You’re so...you’re wrong about me.” I defend myself, grasping for words. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m living with two chickens, did you know that? Do you have any idea how messy two chickens are?”
Yvan glares at me, furious. “They’re called Icarals, not chickens!”
“What?” I’m momentarily thrown, but quickly figure out where the confusion lies. “I’m not talking about Ariel and Wynter. I’m talking about Ariel’s pets. It used to be just one chicken; now it’s two. So please, stop judging me so harshly. Have you ever spent any time with Ariel Haven? I should be given some type of medal for living with her!”
“Yes, Icarals are such vile, disgusting creatures,” he snipes.
“Actually,” I counter, “Wynter’s quite pleasant, now that she’s stopped acting so spooky, and Ariel’s not quite as homicidal as she used to be. I know I look a lot like my grandmother, but I’m really not what you think I am, and neither are my brothers, for that matter.”
An unfriendly grin plays at the corners of Yvan’s mouth. “Yes, your brother Trystan does present a bit of a dilemma for your illustrious family, doesn’t he?”
A cold dread twists itself around me as all of my bravado evaporates. “Trystan’s a good person,” I say, my voice low. “Please...please don’t make trouble for him.”
The anger in Yvan’s face dissipates as he takes in how deeply his words have affected me. “I won’t,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically kind. He studies me for a long moment. “Come on,” he says, then abruptly gets up as if deciding on a spur-of-the-moment course of action. He glides down the hill and turns to wait for me at its base.
I follow him into denser forest, thick with evergreens and brush. When we reach a small ridge, Yvan crouches down, then motions for me to follow.
There are cages up ahead, just around the ridge—a great number of them scattered throughout the woods, their bars black and curving.
All of them holding dragons.
I swallow nervously as we creep by the cages. The sight of the dragons’ horrible faces startles me—thin drool falling from long mouths, lips pulled back to reveal killing teeth. But worst of all...
Their eyes. Milky opaque and soulless. Like the Icarals in Valgard.
Were these dragons tortured like those Icarals in Valgard were? Turned into broken monsters?
The dragons watch me pass, and I feel like I’m being watched by demons.
Yvan grabs my arm and pulls me behind the back wall of a cage.
Two Gardnerian soldiers pass, chatting amiably. Yvan fishes a watch out of his pocket and glances at it as their voices fade. “The changing of the guard,” he whispers.
Heart racing, I follow him around a small hillock to an isolated cage that’s surrounded by a wide swath of charred forest.
It holds a single dragon, but it might as well be a completely different creature, for how much it resembles the others.
It’s black, but not a dull tar black. Each scale shimmers like an opal. And its wings aren’t rancid and jagged, but strong and sleek, the feathers stiff and shiny like polished obsidian. The dragon paces back and forth on the far side of the cage, its movements strong and fluid as we walk up to the bars.
The dragon stops, slowly swivels its muscular head and sets its emerald green eyes on me.
I stare back at the dragon, frozen in place.
Suddenly, the dragon lunges toward me at incredible speed. Yvan thrusts me back and throws himself in front of me.
I fall backward as the dragon crashes against the cage’s bars, sharp talons thrust through the gaps around Yvan. The dragon and Yvan stare at each other for a long moment, both of them stock-still as if facing each other down.
“It...it tried to kill me!” I stammer, my breath coming in great gasps.
“She,” he corrects.
He cannot honestly be arguing semantics. “Okay, she,” I breathlessly amend. “She seems like she wants to kill me!”
“She won’t hurt you,” Yvan says, his eyes locked on the dragon’s as if he’s convincing the dragon that this is true instead of attempting to reassure me.
The dragon snorts derisively, falls back then fluidly turns and stalks to the other side of the cage. She shoots Yvan a look of misery, draws herself down and turns away. I notice that her body is covered with bloody lash marks.
“She seems like she understands what we’re saying.” I gulp as I find my bearings.
The corner of Yvan’s mouth twitches. “Dragons are...very observant.”
“So this is where you go when you walk off by yourself?”
Yvan stares at me for a moment, then nods.
I take a deep breath, my heart slowly falling into a more normal rhythm.
“She’s been beaten,” I observe, my brow knitting as I take in the crisscrossing lash marks.
Yvan tenses, and he looks toward the dragon. “They’re trying to break her.” An anguished expression crosses his face.
“Will they keep beating her?” I ask.
He swallows, then glances back at the dragon, his eyes dark with worry. “They’ll place her with another dragon,” he says. “A young one. They’ll wait for her to become attached to the child...and then...they’ll torture it to death in front of her. I’ve seen it done. To another dragon here.”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks back at me, I can see the pain etched deep in his mind, his voice breaking. “I still have nightmares about it.” His brow tightens, and he looks away.
“I have nightmares, too,” I confide in him. “About Selkies.”
He glances back at me, surprised. “Selkies?”