Page 54 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

“Here he is now,” says Jaerix, stretching his neck upward.

Kyreagan sweeps down to the large slab of rock in the valley’s center, with Serylla on his back. I can tell by the ferocity of his wingbeats and the thunder of his landing that he and the Princess have been arguing. Whatever happened between them has made him angry and volatile, which means I will have to step in and smooth things over.

I wish the two of them would stop resisting the bond that clearly exists between them and simply accept that they are right for each other. It would make everything much more peaceful for the rest of us.

Serylla dismounts from my brother’s back and lays aside the bundle she’s carrying. She’s dressed in a bright orange gown, looking every inch like a queen of dragons, her golden hair flowing in the wind. When she places her hand against my brother’s neck, he tenses, but he allows it.

I pounce onto the rock and move in beside Kyreagan. Though I speak low, I’m conscious that everyone in the valley can hear my words. “The males want to perform their mating dances, brother. I told them we would allow it.”

“There’s no time,” growls Kyreagan. “The storm is nearly upon us. We must choose our companions quickly and take shelter.”

He is right, and yet I need this as much as the other males do. Rarely do I assert my will over Kyreagan’s, but in this moment, I must.

“We have a little time.” I elongate my neck, lifting my head higher than my brother’s, a sign of supremacy. “This is an important tradition, a ritual handed down through generations. To save time, instead of each dragon performing alone, we can perform the dances together, all at once.”

“That isn’t how it’s done,” Kyreagan counters.

“It’s called a compromise.” I let my voice sink lower, almost to a growl. Purple light shimmers in my throat and nostrils. It would be a warning to anyone else, but to my brother, it’s a sign that I care deeply about the outcome of our debate. “This is important to me, and if we truly share the rulership of Ouroskelle, you will allow me to make this decision. I respect every choice you have made, and I support you in all of them. Support me in this.”

His pupils widen slightly, his expression softening as he understands that this isn’t an idle whim of the other males—it’s something I need.

“I support you,” he says quietly, with a confirming dip of his head.

I return the gesture before turning to the crowd. “Then we will have music! Ladies of Elekstan, you may have been captives at first—spoils of war, prey to our vengeance—but I believe I speak for every dragon here when I say, you have become far more than that to us. You are honored guests, beautiful friends, cherished companions. You are our salvation. As my brother proclaimed earlier today, not one of you will be forced to mate with any dragon, in any form. But if you would deign to honor us with your affection during this season, we will worship you as you deserve and cherish you as long as you allow. No pairing during the heat will be binding. It is a time of joy, and yes, of breeding, but the eggs, once laid, will be the males’ responsibility alone. You will be free to live as you like, with or without the dragon you choose today.”

Serylla elbows my brother’s neck and mutters, “Why couldn’t you have said it like that?”

When her voice echoes through the valley, she realizes that instead of a private dig at my brother, she humiliated him before the clan and the captives. She blushes deeply, regret etching her features.

But Kyreagan has never viewed my skills as a threat, not once. It’s one of his best qualities.

“My brother has a tongue of gold,” he says, amusement and appreciation in his tone. “I am fortunate to serve the clan with him.”

His words soothe Serylla’s embarrassment and uplift both him and myself in the eyes of the crowd. The other dragons chuckle, and before any further awkwardness can occur, I direct the women to back away from the stone and move together so we can create space for the dance.

Jessiva comes forward, separating herself from the crowd, and my heart jumps—but she’s only approaching to help Serylla down from the stone slab. They lean in briefly, speaking to each other, but I can’t hear what they’re saying above the chattering voices of women and the eager conversation of the male dragons.

Our captives—or our guests, as I called them—have withdrawn far enough, opening a large space between them and the slab of rock. Kyreagan and I join the other males, and at my nod, all of us begin to hum. A dozen dragons leap into the air, wingbeats synchronized, while the rest of us remain on the ground or on the rock slab.

We hum the ancient song of love, of procreation, of unification, even as the shadow of the storm hovers ominously in the sky. Our song is defiance, the rhythm of our feet is thunder, the clash of our jaws is lightning. We are the storm, a storm that neither the blood of war nor the shadow of death can conquer. Life glows within us, and endurance thrives deep in our bones. We will not yield, and we will not disappear from the earth.

That is what drives me as I dance. The bones of my ancestors framed this island, and they will continue to uphold it. Though the skeletons of our females lie upon these meadows and upon the fortress city of Guilhorn, their death did not mark the end of us. Through channels of sorrow, we have soared into a new dawn, into unimaginable possibilities.

I dance with my eyes fixed on Jessiva, without thought of anyone else. My slender form lends itself more easily to rhythmic movement than the bulk of some other dragons, and I let my neck, my tail, my wings and my limbs flow with the humming chant, with the pounding rhythm. It feels natural to take to the air during the song, to swirl and spin and dive and twist before coming back down, thudding to earth in perfect time with the beat.

Jessiva’s gaze remains on me throughout most of the dance, straying only momentarily to the other dragons. It’s gratifying, but not entirely reassuring.

At the conclusion of the song, every dragon roars, our blended voices shaking the valley. With a final stamp, we halt, and I step forward. “Our guests will now choose their guardian for the duration of the storm. Once everyone has chosen, you will have a moment to collect your things before your dragon takes you to his cave.”

The chaos is immediate as some of the women head straight for the dragon they prefer. I watch the pairings being created, keenly aware that there are more males than females. A few of the male dragons in the group have a preference for their own gender, and a couple of the women seem to have captured the attention of more than one dragon; but even so, there will be males left without a partner. Once this is over, I should take a moment to reassure those who have not been chosen.

Jessiva doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to choose anyone. She’s talking with the tall female knight, Jaerix’s captive. I wish I could hear what they’re saying, or discern words by the shape of their lips as they speak.

I’m so focused on watching Jessiva’s mouth that I barely notice Princess Serylla approaching me, her blue eyes full of purpose.

Fuck. Is she… is she choosingme? Over Kyreagan?

“Princess.” I dip my head to her respectfully, trying to come up with a gentle way to reject her. “I thought—I expected you and my brother to—”

---