Page 93 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I want to grab him again, shake him until answers fall out like coins from a torn purse. But before I can act on the impulse, he stops at a massive stone door etched with the same symbols I saw in that strange room.
Tahranis steps through the doorway, his movements smooth and practiced. I follow, still seething, still plotting ways to end him despite the impossible odds. He walks several paces ahead, then stops at what appears to be an opening in the tunnel wall.
“Look,” he says, beckoning me forward with a casual flick of his fingers. The command in his voice makes my feet move before I can even think to resist. Was that his mind power? I don’t even know.
I approach cautiously, half-expecting some trap. When I reach the edge, I realize we’re standing on a kind of stone balcony jutting out from the tunnel. The drop below is dizzying. A massive cavern opens beneath us, stretching so far the other side lies way beyond the dim, flickering torchlight.
Then I see it.
My breath catches in my throat, the air suddenly trapped in my lungs.
A dragon.
Not just any dragon—the largest I’ve ever seen, dwarfing even the oldest of our Sky Order mounts. His scales shimmer with an iridescent quality I can’t quite place—not silver like Zephyros, not gold or bronze or any color I recognize. The creature lies curled around himself, tail wrapped protectively around his massive body. His face rests on his front legs, huge silver claws shining like treasure.
For a terrifying moment, I think he’s dead. Then I catch thealmost imperceptible rise and fall of his sides, breathing so slowly it might as well be frozen in time.
“What is he doing here?” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away. “What have you done to him?”
My fingers grip the stone balustrade, nails white with tension. Something about this sleeping giant calls to me, pulls at something deep inside my chest like a hook through flesh.
“Not he, but she,” Tahranis corrects, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
A cold finger traces down my spine. Something in his tone makes my heart stutter.
“S-she?” I repeat, the word catching. My gaze sweeps over the enormous dragon again, taking in details I missed before. The elegant curve of the neck, the delicate edge to the jaw despite the massive size.
A laugh bursts from me, too high and brittle. “What are you saying? That this is Heratrix?” I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. “I’m not an idiot. That’s not her.”
The Goddess of all dragons, mother to every scaled beast in the skies? Vanished for a millennium? Impossible.
“Does she look like any dragon you’ve ever seen?” Tahranis asks quietly, watching me closely.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because, indeed, the creature doesn’t look like any dragon I know. Not even close.
“Besides, why would I lie about this?”
I turn to him, fury surging through me. “Why would I believe anything you say? You’ve drugged me, imprisoned me, and controlled my body against my will. This is just another manipulation.”
His face remains maddeningly calm. “And what about that?” He points to a spot past the dragon. “Also a manipulation?”
Reluctantly, I return my gaze to the cavern, forcing myself to look beyond the sleeping dragon. At first,all I see are shadows and stone. Then my eyes adjust to the dim light, and I notice shapes arranged in neat rows behind the massive creature.
My breath stops completely.
Eggs. Hundreds—no, thousands of dragon eggs, perfectly preserved, glowing with faint inner light. They look exactly like the Scions I saw during the Rite of Flight, only there are more here than I ever imagined could exist.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper, but even as I say it, I know it’s real. The enormity of what I’m seeing hits me like a punch to the gut. “Those are...”
“The future,” Tahranis finishes for me. “The dawn of a new era that you and I will usher.”
No. I shake my head so hard I lose my balance. I refuse to believe this. It has to be a trick, a manipulation of some kind.
Tahranis comes closer, lips moving. He’s saying something, but I don’t hear him. I won’t play his game, won’t swallow his lies. I take several steps back, and with a cry of refusal, I claw my way out, breaking out of the vision.
33
Rhea
