Page 89 of The Flame King's Queen

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25

Zabriel

Atiny, mewling infant has bested us.

That’s what it feels like as Isavelle lies semi-conscious on the bed and I pace up and down with a ten-day old Sylvi cuddled against my naked chest. She’s not hungry and she’s wearing fresh and dry clouts, but apart from a few brief moments when she’s fallen into an exhausted slumber, she’s barely stopped crying today.

“Ma ness’in, sha’inji,” I murmur to her.

Isavelle doesn’t open her eyes, but she whispers, “That’s pretty. What are you saying to her?”

“I said,I know, little one. Which is a lie because I have no idea why she’s crying, but Papa wants her to know he supports his princess no matter what.”

Isavelle smiles tiredly. “Papa is understanding. Mama wishes she would go to sleep.”

She sits up, ties her robe together, and goes out onto the balcony under the night sky. With her face upturned to the moon, she closes her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling to Esmeral. I have an idea.”

A short while later, wings fill the sky, and Esmeral flutters down onto our terrace as daintily as a dragon can. Her head is pricked toward the sound of Sylvi crying as Isavelle embraces her.

Isavelle laughs and looks up at her dragon. “Esmeral would like to see the baby.”

I carry Sylvi out under the stars and Esmeral snuffles at the baby’s clouts and the top of her head. The dragon utters, clicks, and trills, and the squalling baby slowly quietens so she can listen to the sounds.

Isavelle cups Sylvi’s head with a smile. “Look how she listens to Esmeral. She will be a dragonrider.”

As Esmeral continues to make her soft, musical chirruping, Sylvi’s eyes grow heavy, and she falls into a slumber.

“Mama and Papa aren’t good enough,” I whisper, smiling. “She needs a dragon to send her to sleep.”

It’s a warm night, and I take a seat on the balcony with the sleeping Sylvi in my arms. Esmeral settles down with her head in my lap, taking up just about every inch of space.

Isavelle leans down and kisses me, and I whisper, “Go sleep while you can. She will want to feed again soon.”

My queen nods and heads off to bed. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she’s unconscious.

Overhead, a huge black dragon swoops across the sky, and then back again, almost invisible in the inky night. Scourge, checking on us all, patrolling the skies to keep us safe.

With my free hand, I stroke Esmeral’s head, remembering a time I comforted the small dragon when she was in the midst of a false heat and no one and nothing could give her any peace. She didn’t have her rider, and she was snapping at me and her mate. I didn’t know what to do for Isavelle, but I held her dragon’s head in my lap to soothe her. It wasn’t so long ago, but how far we’ve come since then. If someone had told me then that soon I would be holding my daughter while Isavelle slept in my bed, and her dragon’s hatchlings were slumbering together in the nesting caves, I wonder if I would have believed them. This is everything I was wishing for in that lonely, heart-stricken moment.

I doze with the warm baby and the hot-scaled dragon nestled against me. When the morning light touches my face, Isavelle puts her hand on my shoulder and I open my eyes. Sylvi is starting to fuss so she must be hungry.

My mate is smiling as she picks up the baby. “You all look so peaceful out here.”

“Esmeral, make room for your rider,” I murmur sleepily, and pat my lap as the dragon shifts her head. Isavelle nestles into my lap and opens her robe so she can hold the baby to her breast. I put an arm around them both and rest the other on Esmeral’s snout.

Scourge is standing proudly atop the cliffs, his black wings half unfurled to catch the warmth of the morning rays. Lord of all he surveys.

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