Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

The flight to the rebels’ hideout takes longer than I hoped, since we have to travel with the clouds and remain unseen. At one point we’re forced to descend and wend our way slowly through a dark forest, whose limbs drag at my wings and scrape my scales, setting my teeth on edge. Then another cloud bank moves in, and we’re able to take to the sky again.

In the darkness just before dawn, we arrive at a wide waterfall—a sheet of froth and foam plunging off a cliff and crashing into a pool that Meridian claims is bottomless. There’s a narrow path leading to the waterfall—leading behind it, according to the rogue.

“Let me go first, along the path, and prepare the others for your arrival,” he says. “If two dragons come blasting through the waterfall into our hideout, my friends are liable to perish from terror.”

I’m reluctant to let him go, especially since he’s still carrying our treasure. What if he disappears into some narrow tunnel where we can’t follow? What if we’re left stranded here, without the help he promised?

“Do you think we can trust him?” I ask Hinarax over the rushing thunder of the waterfall.

“As a rule, I think he’s about as trustworthy as the Mordvorren,” replies Hinarax. “But for this particular purpose—yes, we can trust him. He and I talked on the way. He truly hates the King of Vohrain. Hates all kings, in fact. Any sort of authority, really. He likes being able to take what he wants, whenever he wants it.”

“Isn’t that what human kings do? Perhaps he hates them because he would like to be them.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Hinarax lifts a fore-claw to scratch behind his jaw spikes. “Being human is far more complicated than I expected. And more interesting, too. What do you think a palace looks like, inside?”

“Dainty and gilded, full of breakable things, no doubt. No place for dragons. There will be many objects we don’t recognize or understand, but the best thing to do is ignore them, show no surprise or curiosity, and remain focused on our task.”

“No curiosity at all?” Hinarax’s long tongue traces his jaws.

“Maybe a little curiosity. But only to Meridian, and you must ask him your questions quietly, do you understand?”

“Of course.” His enthusiasm quivers through his whole frame, and I can’t help chuckling. The impulse is a small relief from the constant tension in my body, the ache in my heart.

A second later, Meridian reappears, leaning on his staff and beckoning to us.

“Time to meet some rebels.” I spread my wings and mount into the sky, doing a few loops before streaking toward the waterfall. Behind the glittering spray, I can dimly discern the shape and height of the cave entrance.

I’ve flown through waterfalls before. It can be a dangerous thing for dragons, since the thundering weight of the water can bear us down. Hesitation can result in a dragon floundering at the base of the falls, pinned by the crashing flow. The trick is to build up speed, enter the falls at a slightly higher point than you wish to exit, and zip through as swiftly as possible.

I dart through so fast that I only feel the hammering water for a moment. Human voices shriek faintly at my arrival, but I ignore them until Hinarax is safely inside, flaring his wet wings.

We stand in the mouth of a cavern, a craggy chamber lit by lanterns on chains. We’ll have to be careful not to dislodge those lanterns as we move about in dragon form. Other immediate hazards are the wooden crates, makeshift tables, and bedrolls strewn along the edges of the cave. Thankfully there’s plenty of open space in the cavern’s center, so we can move deeper inside without wrecking our new allies’ belongings.

At the fringes of the space, humans are gathered, alone or in small clusters. I count over forty of them, and I suspect more are lurking in deeper chambers of the cave network.

As Hinarax and I pace slowly forward, Meridian moves out in front of us, gesturing expansively. “Here they are! The great dragons Kyreagan and Hinarax!”

“I thought you were telling tales again, Meri.” The young woman who speaks is perched atop a large barrel, spinning knives in both hands. She has thick, tightly curled brown hair tied back with a string. A few straggling locks frame an attractive, tawny face with a sullen expression. Her dark eyes are hooded, and she seems utterly unimpressed by us.

A big olive-skinned man steps forward, his face grim beneath a bushy black beard. “And why should we welcome these killers?”

“I never said you have to welcome them, Odrash,” says Meridian. “They are temporary allies whose goals are currently aligned with ours. That’s all. We’re not talking of friendship or eternal loyalty here—this is strictly a bargain of the moment, to serve a mutual end.”

“Who’s to say they won’t burn us all in our beds?” This speaker is a woman as well, much older than the knife-spinning one. She is tall, gaunt, and leathery, with prominent cheekbones and eyes that look as haunted as my heart feels. One of her hands is curled tight, gnarled with scars. She holds it up. “Dragons did this to me. And you expect us to shelter them?”

Guilt drags its claws through my heart. I’ve never had to see the long-term results of dragon-fire, the lasting damage done to survivors like Meridian and this woman.

“We were wrong to ally with Vohrain.” My deep tones reverberate through the cavern. “I could explain why we did it. I could tell you that we were on the verge of starvation and needed the hunting grounds Vohrain could provide. But nothing can excuse the carnage we wrought. I neither deserve your respect nor demand your forgiveness. I only ask to scheme alongside you for the overthrow of the Vohrainian king, whose lust for conquest has already cost so many lives among your people and mine. Let us help you drive Vohrain from your nation. Let me kill Rahzien for you. I swear the only lives I take while I’m here will be Vohrainian.”

It’s a good speech—diplomatic, disarming, and spoken straight from my heart. If Varex were here, he’d lower his head as a sign of his approval and respect.

Meridian pipes up, “This is the dragon who carried off the Crown Princess. He’s madly in love with her now.”

Of course the rogue had to ruin my speech with such talk. My spines bristle and I suppress a growl.

“Princess Serylla.” The gaunt woman nods, her expression softening. “The Queen was a bitch, but the Princess is decent enough. A sweet girl. Spineless, but sweet.”

“The only good royal,” concedes Odrash.