Page 51 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
He straightens. “What dragon did you get?”
Oh-uh.
Silas switches his attention to Phoebe. “What dragon didyouget? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t at the…” she stops herself and exchanges a glance with me.
“What’s going on?” Silas hisses. “Drifttown isn’t here, and you two are acting strangely. What happened?”
“I told you,” I say. “The Primes will explain later.”
“All right, but at least you can tell me your dragon’s name,” he insists.
“What does it matt?—?”
Silas’s lower lip trembles. “It’s Zephyros, isn’t it?”
I nod. He’ll find out sooner or later.
“Fuck! How’s he still alive?” He slaps a hand on the table, stands, and storms out of the room.
Conversation dies. The Primes’ gazes dash in our direction. Vaylen glares at me, as if I’m to blame for the outburst, but I’m not in charge of Silas’s emotions, so I hold my chin up, while Phoebe shrinks to the size of a child.
Nate gets up to go after Silas.
“Stay put, Skyblaze,” his Prime barks.
Nate’s fists tighten and tremble, but he does as he’s told and retakes his seat. Prime Emberstone stands and throws her napkin atop her full plate and leaves the mess hall. Whether she’s lost her appetite or is going after Silas to discipline him is anyone’s guess.
Nate glowers at me. I glower back. This isn’t my fault. Silas can’t pretend that the Sky Order is going to go around killing dragons for the sake of his aristocratic family. The creatures’ numbers are already at a critical low. We need more of them, not fewer. Otherwise they wouldn’t have scholars, adventurers, and dreamers searching the realm for Heratrix. Each dragon is worth a thousand Screechclaws, and one million Merrill Pyrewings. It’s a tragedy what happened to him, but…
What if the same happens to you, Rhea?a cautious voice says in the back of my mind.What if that dragon is crazy?
Not like I don’t have proof of that already. Being privy to Zephyros’s thoughts and emotions has given me a glimpse of his mind, and it isn’t exactly an idyllic picnic in there—more like a gruesome battlefield of grumpiness.
Except he has saved my life. Twice. And who knows what really happened to Merrill Pyrewing? Silas acts as if it was Zephyros’s fault, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was an accident? The inevitable result of battle? Or worse… what if Merrill is to blame? Silas would never admit to that though, and he’ll be even less inclined to believe it when he finds out Zephyros sent Gilbert to his death with a flick of his tail. I wonder what really happened, if only there was a way I could find out.
“There is, you idiot,” I murmur under my breath.
“Did you say something?” Phoebe asks.
I shake my head, wondering if Zephyros will bite my head off if I ask him what happened to Merrill Pyrewing.
25
Rhea
Today, we take a different lift to reach the top of the plateau and end up in a much larger section on Sky’s Edge. The expansive area stretches under the untainted azure, vast sky. Below, a gentle breeze whispers across the endless expanse of pastureland, a sea of emerald green that rolls and undulates like a tranquil ocean as far as the eye can see. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass. In this place, the world seems to open up, making me forget all my problems.
Once, hundreds of dragons trained here with their new riders. I can just imagine the majestic sight, the grandeur. It’s hard to believe that Embernia was once so powerful and fearless, hard to believe we’ve fallen this low. Will we ever rise again? Or are we doomed to dwindle, to be slowly swallowed up and finally eradicated by the Screechclaws?
The Primes stand in a circle, wrapped up in what looks like a serious discussion. The wind blows across the plateau, making it impossible to hear a word they’re saying.
I search for Silas and find him standing behind me, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. He doesn’t look in my direction.
The rhythmicthumpof wings alerts us to our dragons’ arrival. Two crimson dragons—their scales glowing like molten embers, their wings beating with the force of a furnace—land a distance away. The ground trembles with a hum that vibrates through my very bones. Next, the air crackles with energy, and two creatures of vibrant yellow land beside the reds, static electricity pulsing at their back. They are followed by two massive browns, their hides the color of rich, dark soil, their forms thick and heavy, exuding an aura of ancient strength. At their side, a solitary dragon touches down, his scales the deep, sapphire blue of a water elemental. Two more dragons of solid gray land. They’re polished steel, reflecting the light with a cold, hard brilliance. And finally, the air shimmers as the wind elementals appear: Zephyros, Trueno, and Fragor—the latter landing between the other two, as if to ensure they don’t get into another fight.
The plateau is now a kaleidoscope of power, each element represented. I suppose I suffer from a deep bias, but I think Zephyros is the most magnificent of the twelve dragons present—one for each new Skyrider, plus Fragor. Even Zephyros’s scar lends him a mysterious and fierce air that speaks of battles won in the service of Embernia.
