Page 17 of The Flame King's Queen

“They are safe for everyone from Maledin, whether you possess Maledinni blood or not. The flare protects us all,” I explain.

Anise smiles. “The flare. What a lovely name for a group of dragons. May we draw closer to them?”

“A little closer,” I tell her, “but we must keep to the edges of the dragongrounds and allow them to approach us. The dragons are not pets or livestock, and this is their territory.”

On the other side of the bridge, we stand on the dragongrounds and observe the flare for some time. I notice Esmeral lying against Scourge’s heated bulk, her eyes drowsy in the morning light, and call out to her with my mind.

Esmeral?

My dragon opens her eyes and looks around. When she sees us, she shoots to her feet and hurries over, making pleased chirruping noises. She turns in an excited circle before buffeting her head against my shoulder.

Dad gives a fearful intake of breath, but Dusan puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and explains, “Don’t worry. Esmeral wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Unless you’re a mean yellow Alpha dragon,” Fiala replies with satisfaction. “Then this little dragon will rip you apart.”

Fiala explains to my wide-eyed sister how Esmeral and I grounded Auryn and his rider when they attacked the flare, which results in a dozen more questions about Kane, Auryn, the wild flare, and eventually Ravenna. I listen in on their conversation as I make a fuss of Esmeral, stroking her scales and hugging her around the neck.

Clever dragon who saved my mate’s life. Clever, beautiful, strong dragon.

Anise’s eyes are huge. “A witchfinder with a dragon? He has his own flare? And he’s in love with awitch?”

“Love is not what we’d call it,” Dusan says, “but she’s certainly got under his skin and into his kn—” Fiala elbows him in the stomach before he can sayknotto my fourteen-year-old sister.

I move forward to greet Scourge, who is pacing slowly toward us, and I press my hand against his hot scales.

Nilak watches us from a distance, her proud white head raised high above the other dragons. There are a handful of fledglings milling below her, none of them hers, but they have been drawn to the Alpha female of the flare. Two of them are curious and creep closer to Anise, pressing their snouts into her hand in greeting before running back to Nilak with excited squawks.

I rest my arms around Esmeral’s neck and smile up at her. “Are you going to have little baby dragons soon?” I ask out loud, and then picture half a dozen black and turquoise fledglings cavorting around her and send it to her as a question.

Esmeral rustles her wings in surprise. She looks from Scourge to me, and there’s an excited, hopeful feeling emanating from her. My dragon doesn’t know. Scourge holds his big head proudly aloft, red eyes half closed in the morning light, two ribbons of smoke curling from his nostrils.

“Scourge?” I call. “Will you be a father soon?”

The enormous dragon blinks slowly. If the flare’s Alpha knows anything, he’s not telling.

“Where are all the silvery dragons that have wings on their front legs?” Anise asks. “I can’t see any among the flare.”

“Those are wyverns, Lady Anise,” Fiala tells her. “They prefer their eyrie on the other side of the castle, but I can summon my mount if you wish to see one up close.”

Fiala sticks a finger at each corner of her lips and lets out an ear-piercing whistle. A moment later, we see a dark spot in the sky, gradually becoming larger as it approaches. A wyvern is a lean, silvery creature whose wings extend from its front legs rather than its back, like a dragon. As Kagin settles onto the ground, his wings fold back against his shoulders, and he examines us all with a piercing glare. Even with his mouth closed, sharp teeth extend upward and downward from his jaw. Wyverns impress me, but they unsettle me as well. I can never tell what they’re thinking.

“Can anyone ride a wyvern, or is it only Maledinni?”

Fiala and Dusan exchange puzzled looks. Dusan says, “We don’t know, my lady. No one’s ever wanted to before.”

“But they’re somajestic. Beautiful, even.” Anise’s expression is enraptured, like a small child gazing at an adorable pony with a flowing mane and tail.

Fiala beams at her. “They are, aren’t they?”

Dad doesn’t seem keen on the idea of getting close to a dragon or a wyvern, but after Anise encourages him, he gives Kagin a firm pat on his flank, like one would an ox plow. “Sturdy fellow.”

Anise’s eyes widen at a sight behind me. “Ah, Isavelle. That man, the king, he’s—”

Anise must be mistaking Zabriel for someone else, though I can’t imagine who, as there’s no one like Zabriel. Zabriel is in bed with his injuries.

But as I turn to look over my shoulder, I see that my mate is indeed walking toward us across the bridge to the dragongrounds in long, uneven strides that favor his injured side. His red eyes are blazing, his feet are bare, and the silky robe he wears is falling off one shoulder.

“Zabriel, is everything all right?” Sweat has broken out across his chest and his eyes are very red.

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