If Lucyan didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have thought this was a country at war.
“Ahh, here we are,” the tinkerer said as they stopped in front of a green and white two-story building. Warm, inviting light spilled out of the windows, and the heavenly smell of freshly baked meat pies lured them closer. “The Whistling Willow. My favorite place to stay in Enethar.”
They booked two rooms and ate some of those delicious meat pies, washed down with honey mead. The tinkerer retired to his room afterward, and while Lucyan, full and sleepy, was tempted to do the same, he instead pulled his cloak around his shoulders and walked out into the rapidly darkening night.
Castle Whitestone was perched atop a hill overlooking the entire city. It towered above Lucyan as he traversed the winding streets, approaching the castle from the west, studying the exterior with his keen eyes for any weaknesses. He counted twenty guards manning the battlements, and that was only what he could see from his angle. The walls were thick and high, and as he drew closer, he saw an additional four men stationed at the front gate.
“Excuse me,” he said, flagging down a passing woman. “I grew up in Idlegrove, and this is my first trip to the capital. Are tourists allowed inside the castle?”
“Sometimes, if you can get an official to vouch for you,” the woman said. Her gaze darted to the castle towers, and Lucyan wondered at the troubled look on her lined face. “But these days it is nigh impossible. No one who is not an elf is allowed past the gates. Even the human servants who work in the castle are no longer allowed to come and go freely—they are forced to stay in the servants’ quarters and are only permitted to visit with their families at the gate.”
“That’s too bad.” Lucyan frowned up at the castle. He should have thought to ask Shadley for an elven disguise—as a human, there was no way for him to sneak through the gate, and in his natural form, the elves would put an arrow through his heart the second they spotted him.
If only I could shift, Lucyan thought morosely. But then again, would that really do any good? He remembered how Tariana had been gravely injured when she’d tried to rescue Ryolas from that fort—the magic that had forced her back into human form was very likely in effect at the castle, too.
Still, being able to shift might be handy when they made their escape. Alistair would likely be very weak from being exposed to all that anti-dragon magic. Lucyan would have to carry him and Dareena too. The fevers preceding the change had already come and gone. Did Lucyan have the power to change into a dragon as Drystan had done back in the throne room?
Turning away from the castle, which he could do nothing about, he gazed out at the rolling hills, which were almost completely invisible to his eye now that the sun had set. They would be a good place to practice, Lucyan thought as he trotted down the hillside. He hailed a small wooden carriage, big enough to fit no more than two, and paid the young elf driver to take him to the outskirts of the capital. From there, he hiked a good two miles away, until he was well into the hills, certain no one could see or hear him.
“All right, Lucyan,” he muttered to himself as he sat atop the hill. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together, mentally preparing himself. “You can do this. Change into a dragon.”
Closing his eyes, Lucyan did what he had often done as a child—he clenched his hands tight at his sides and willed himself to change as hard as he could. Every muscle in his body strained as he mentally grasped for whatever that something was that would help him morph from his puny—if handsome and well-muscled—human form into the glorious, fire-breathing, winged beast that his people worshipped and feared.
Unfortunately, all Lucyan got for his valiant efforts was a tension headache. “Blast it,” he growled, opening his eyes. He yanked a fistful of grass from the hill and tossed it, only for the wind to blow it straight back at him. “It would have been nice to get some instructions!” he yelled to the dragon god as he wiped dirt and grass from his face.
Does a baby bird receive instructions the first time it tries to fly?
Lucyan frowned. That had sounded like his voice…and yet, the words weren’t his. Had the dragon god spoken to him? Or had that bit of snark come from his subconscious?
In any case, he didn’t see how that was relevant—birds relied on instinct, which was why they needed little instruction to get airborne. And yet…was that what Lucyan was missing? Was he not listening to his instincts? Or was the problem that there was nothing for his instincts to respond to?
How was Drystan able to change in the first place? Lucyan thought back to that time. Their father had slammed him into the wall with his tail. Lucyan’s ribs twinged with phantom pain at the memory. Just before he’d lost consciousness, he’d seen Drystan’s eyes flare red with shock and anger, and then…
He hadn’t actually seen his brother change. The darkness had taken him before it had happened. But Drystan had been angry, filled with hate and fear because Lucyan had been injured. Necessity had spurred him to change, to face their father in battle before he destroyed them all.
Closing his eyes, Lucyan focused his attention not inward, not on his desire to change, but on his desire to have Dareena back, safe and sound in his arms. He pictured her sweet, smiling face in his mind, then imagined it morphing, changing to grief and fear. She screamed his name as a pair of elven hands wrapped around her upper arms, dragging her away—
Lucyan snarled as fire flared in his chest, burning hot and bright as rage consumed him. He channeled that energy into his all-consuming need to save Dareena, to rescue her from the cruel bastards who had taken her away and burn their enemies to cinders. Something inside him snapped, and pain rippled through flesh and bone as his body stretched and changed, becoming something far bigger and stronger. Wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, scales popped up from beneath his skin, and his jaw elongated and filled with far more teeth than he could ever remember having.
By the gods. He opened his eyes, and suddenly he could see. He zoomed in on a coyote chasing after a rodent, both animals clear as day despite only a sliver of moon hanging in the sky to illuminate his surroundings. He could count the individual blades of grass through the night sky, see the currents drifting in the air around him—his wings flexed instinctively, wanting to catch the updraft, and without further thought he launched himself into the darkness.
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