Lightning split the darkening sky over Drakemere’s harbor as Ellie studied the supply ship from her hiding place among the cargo crates. Workers rushed to secure ropes and covers before the storm hit, their movements growing more urgent with each thunderclap.

Her burns throbbed beneath the rough servant’s shirt as she adjusted her cap lower. Following in the Tidedancer would be suicide in this weather. Even if she survived the storm, the increased patrols would spot her long before she reached Dragon’s Fang Island.

“You there!” A burly quartermaster’s voice cut through the wind. “Stop lazing about and help with these supplies!”

Ellie kept her head down as she merged with the flow of servants loading provisions.

“Storm’s coming fast,” a kitchen maid said, passing Ellie a crate of dried fish. “They say it’ll be a bad one.”

Ellie grunted in response, keeping her voice low as she handed the crate up the gangplank. The less she spoke, the less chance of someone noticing her accent wasn’t quite right for a Drakemere servant.

Thunder cracked overhead, closer now. Dragons wheeled between the fortress towers, seeking shelter in their caves.

“You!” The quartermaster appeared at Ellie’s elbow, making her jump. “Kitchen staff?”

She nodded, heart pounding.

“Good. Get below and help Greta prep the evening meal. Can’t feed the crew with everything rolling about in this weather.”

Ellie made her way below decks. The galley would be cramped, with nowhere to hide if someone grew suspicious. But it was also the perfect place to gather information—servants always talked while they worked.

The kitchen space was warm and humid, filled with the smell of boiling vegetables. Two women worked at a scarred wooden table, peeling root vegetables.

“Another one?” The older woman—Greta, Ellie assumed—barely glanced up. “Good. Start on them potatoes. We’ve got forty mouths to feed before this storm hits proper.”

Ellie found a knife and began peeling while she listened to the women’s conversation.

“Heard anything more about that wedding up at Dragon’s Fang?” the younger woman asked, reaching for another turnip.

“Hush now,” Greta said. “You know we’re not to gossip about the Dragonkin’s business.”

Above deck, someone shouted orders. The ship lurched as it pulled away from the dock. They were underway now—no turning back. Ellie sent up a silent prayer that she’d made the right choice.

The galley door burst open, letting in a blast of wet air. “Greta! Need hot food for the deck crew now. Storm’s getting worse.”

“Fool men,” Greta said, but she began ladling soup into wooden bowls. “You there, new girl. Take these up. And mind you don’t spill them—we won’t waste food on this crossing.”

Ellie gathered the bowls onto a tray, careful to keep her movements steady as the ship rolled beneath her feet. This was her chance to learn the vessel’s layout, to find hiding places if she needed them later.

She climbed the narrow steps. Lightning flashed as she emerged onto the deck. The storm grew fiercer as they sailed toward Dragon’s Fang Island.

Ellie made three more trips with food for the crew, each time gathering fragments of conversation that chilled her more than the rain.

“. . . princess’s chosen one . . .”

“. . . transformation went wrong . . .”

“. . . dead before the ceremony, they say . . .”

She nearly dropped her empty tray at that last whisper. Dead? No. She would have felt it if Pryce was gone. The pendant she’d given him, filled with their mixed blood, would have told her somehow.

“You’re shivering.” A kind voice startled her. One of the kitchen maids—Lena, she’d heard Greta call her—pressed a steaming mug into Ellie’s hands. “Drink. It’ll warm you up.”

“Thank you.” Ellie sipped carefully, tasting herbs and honey. She studied Lena’s face, deciding to risk a question. “Is it true what they’re saying? About the wedding at Dragon’s Fang?”

Lena glanced around the galley before leaning closer. “Shadow drake brought word just before we sailed. Princess Seren’s betrothed—that young trainer everyone’s been talking about—something went wrong with his training. They say he died, but . . .” She lowered her voice further. “They performed the ceremony anyway. Over his body.”

The mug trembled in Ellie’s hands. “How could they? Why would they—”

“Politics,” another servant said, joining their huddle. “That boy was from Crystal Shores. Without the marriage, the Dragonkin have no legal claim to the village’s resources.”

“Hush!” Greta’s sharp voice scattered them back to their tasks. “Less gossip, more work. We’ve still got supplies to prepare.”

Ellie returned to peeling vegetables as the ship pitched suddenly, sending root vegetables rolling across the galley floor. Ellie grabbed for the table as waves crashed against the hull. Through the porthole, she caught a glimpse of Dragon’s Fang Island. Lightning illuminated its peaks, revealing dragons wheeling between the towers despite the storm.

“Depths take this weather,” Greta said. “We’ll never get the supplies unloaded in this.”

“They say it’s not natural,” Lena whispered. “That the dragons are stirring it up. Ever since the boy died—”

“I said enough!” Greta’s wooden spoon cracked against the table. “Get them vegetables cleaned up. And you, new girl—your cap’s slipping.”

Ellie’s hand flew to her head. The wet fabric had indeed slipped, threatening to reveal her red hair. She ducked into the storage alcove, pretending to search for dropped potatoes while she adjusted the cap.

“Storm’s holding steady on our stern,” a sailor called down from above. “Should make Dragon’s Fang on time!”

The storm raged as they approached Dragon’s Fang Island. Lightning revealed glimpses of the fortress—a mass of dark stone and dragon-carved architecture. Ellie’s arms ached from hours of kitchen work, but she forced herself to keep moving. Any sign of weakness might draw unwanted attention.

“There!” Someone shouted from above. “The signal fire!”

Through the rain-streaked porthole, Ellie saw a blue flame burning atop one of the peaks, guiding them toward a harbor on the island’s lee side. The supply ship turned, using the cliffs for shelter from the worst of the storm.

“All hands to stations!” The quartermaster’s voice boomed down the companionway. “Prepare for docking!”

The galley erupted into activity as servants gathered supplies and secured loose items. Ellie helped Greta tie down the cooking pots, her sailor’s knots drawing an approving nod from the older woman.

“You’ve got some skill there,” Greta said. “Worked ships before, have you?”

“My father was a fisherman,” Ellie said carefully.

A massive wave struck the hull, making the timbers groan. Through the chaos, Ellie heard fragments of conversation from sailors passing the galley door.

“. . . ceremony was rushed . . .”

“. . . keeping the body in cold storage . . .”

“. . . princess won’t let anyone near him . . .”

Cold storage. They hadn’t buried Pryce yet. There was still a chance to reach him.

The ship’s motion changed as they entered calmer waters. Dragons perched on ledges above the harbor, their shapes barely visible through the rain.

“Right then,” Greta said. “New girl, help Lena with them supply crates. Everything marked with the dragon seal goes to the main kitchens.”

Ellie followed Lena up to the rain-slicked deck. The harbor was smaller than Drakemere’s, but better protected. Ancient breakwaters rose from the depths like dragon teeth, sheltering the docks from the storm’s fury.

“Keep your head down,” Lena whispered as they approached the gangplank. “Guards are always edgy during storms. Especially now, with everything that’s happened.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting her cap lower. Guards in scaled armor patrolled the docks, their hands never far from their weapons.

As they waited to disembark, movement caught Ellie’s eye. A gray shape darted between crates near the dock—a cat, she realized.

“That’s odd,” Lena said, following her gaze. “The Dragonkin hate those beasts.”

The cat paused, looking directly at Ellie. Then it turned and vanished into the shadows.

“Next group!” A guard shouted. “Move quickly now!”

Ellie hefted her crate and followed Lena down the gangplank. The dock stones were slick with rain and sea spray, requiring careful steps. Above, dragons called to each other.

They joined a line of servants heading up carved steps toward the fortress.

The cat appeared again, always just at the edge of her vision.

“This way to the kitchens,” Lena said, turning down a torch-lit corridor. “Mind the floor—it gets slippery when—”

“You there!” A voice made them both freeze. “The new girl.”

Ellie turned slowly. A handler stood watching her.

“Sir?” She kept her eyes down.

“Those supplies go to the cold storage,” he said. “Follow me.”

Lena shot her a sympathetic look before hurrying away with her own crate. Ellie followed the handler deeper into the fortress.

The handler led her down steps, the air growing colder with each level they descended. Other servants passed them, carrying supplies or hurrying on errands, but none met her eyes.

They reached a heavy wooden door bound with dragon-forged iron.

“Inside,” he said, pushing the door open. “Place the crate with the others.”

Ellie stepped into the cold storage chamber. Shelves lined the walls, filled with supplies preserved by the cave’s natural chill. But her attention fixed on something else—a shape beneath a white cloth on a stone table in the chamber’s center.

The shape of a body.

The handler closed the door behind them. Ellie’s hands shook as she set down her crate, trying not to stare at the covered form.

“You’re here for him, aren’t you?” The handler’s voice quivered slightly.

Ellie’s heart stopped. Had she given herself away?

“I-I saw you watching,” he continued, wringing his hands. “On the docks. The way you looked when they mentioned . . .” He gestured nervously toward the covered form.

“Sir?” Ellie kept her voice carefully neutral.

The handler shifted anxiously. He was younger than she’d first thought, barely older than Pryce.

“I’m Jorr,” he said softly. “I . . . I help care for the dragons. And I know who you are. You’re his mother.”

Ellie’s hand moved to the knife hidden beneath her rough shirt. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please,” Jorr whispered, stepping back. “I want to help. Mira sent word you might come. She said . . .  said I could trust you.”

The knife was in Ellie’s hand before she consciously drew it. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I’ve been watching over him,” Jorr said. “Trying to protect him. The potion. Drakebane.”

“Drakebane? Then he’s not . . . ?”

“Not exactly dead,” Jorr said. “The transformation was hurting him. The Drakebane reverses it, but it also . . . it makes him appear . . .” He gestured helplessly at the covered form.

Ellie lowered her knife.

“The potion induces a death-like sleep,” Jorr explained. “It’s temporary, but the princess . . . she thinks he’s really dead. They’re planning burial rites at dawn.”

“Dawn?” Ellie moved to the covered form, her hand hovering over the cloth. “May I?”

Jorr nodded, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Quickly. The guards patrol every hour.”

Ellie drew back the white fabric. Her breath caught at the sight of Pryce’s face. Scales traced his jaw and temples. His skin was cold to the touch, but not with the finality of true death.

“The scales were worse before,” Jorr said. “But we have to hurry. If we don’t move him soon . . .”

A sound in the corridor made them both freeze. Jorr quickly replaced the cloth as footsteps approached.

“Hide,” he said, pointing to a storage alcove.

Ellie pressed herself into the alcove’s shadows as the storage room door creaked open.

“Check everything,” a guard commanded. “Princess Seren wants no mistakes with the burial preparations.”

“Seems wrong,” another voice muttered. “Burying a man so quick, even if he is transformed.”

“Orders are orders. And after that wedding ceremony . . .” The guard’s voice hardened. “Well, let’s just say I’m not questioning anything the princess does these days.”

Ellie held her breath as the guards moved through the chamber. From her hiding place, she could see Jorr standing rigidly by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, to hide their trembling, she assumed.

“All seems secure,” the first guard said finally. “Though someone, a servant, has been in here recently. These crate marks are fresh.”

“Supply ship just docked,” Jorr said. “I was supervising the storage.”

“Hmph.” The guard studied him. “Well, see that everything’s properly recorded. Princess wants an inventory before dawn.”

The guards’ footsteps faded. Ellie waited until Jorr gave a nod before emerging.

“We have to move him,” she whispered. “Now, before they come back.”

“But where?” Jorr wrung his hands. “The whole fortress is on alert. And he’s too heavy for me to carry alone.”

Ellie studied her son’s still form. “Together then. But first, tell me everything you know about this Drakebane potion. How long until he wakes?”

“Master Vex said a day at least. But . . .” Jorr glanced nervously at the door. “There’s something else. The princess plans to seal him in the royal crypts at dawn. If he wakes there . . .”

“He’ll suffocate. Where can we take him? Somewhere warm, where he can recover safely?”

“The old dragon caves,” Jorr said after a moment’s thought. “Below the training grounds. They’re mostly abandoned now, except for Ragnarok, but he’s kept far from the entrance. There’s a chamber there with thermal vents—warm and dry.”

A sound like distant thunder rolled through the fortress. But this was something else.

“The dragons are restless,” Jorr explained. “They’ve been like this since Pryce . . . since the potion. Especially Stormwing, his storm dragon. She’s been fighting the chains since he collapsed. The guards had to double her restraints.”

“Can you get us to those caves?”

Jorr nodded. “But we’ll need a distraction. The guards watch everything since the wedding ceremony. And you can’t move through the fortress dressed as a servant—too many questions.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Wait here.” Jorr slipped out, returning later with a bundle of rich fabric. “Visiting nobles have been arriving for days, celebrating the wedding. No one questions them, especially if they’re with a handler.”

Ellie shook out an elaborate dress in deep blue, decorated with silver dragons. “Won’t they notice I’m not one of them?”

“Keep your head high and no one will dare look too closely.” Jorr helped her with the complicated fastenings. “Dragonkin nobility are notoriously proud. Servants and guards know better than to stare.”

The dress fit well enough, though the sleeves irritated her burns. Jorr produced a silver circlet set with dark stones.

“This won’t hide your hair,” he said. “But it will mark you as visiting royalty. I’ll say I’m showing you the fortress.”

“The supply cart,” Ellie whispered, gesturing to an abandoned wheelbarrow filled with sacks of grain. “We can hide him beneath the supplies.”

They quickly transferred the sacks to the ground, then carefully laid Pryce in the wheelbarrow, covered snuggly by the cloth. Ellie arranged the grain sacks around and over him, creating a convincing pile of supplies.

A roar shook the very stones, making Ellie stumble as she placed the final sack.

“Stormwing,” Jorr said. “She’s getting worse.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Ellie said.

Jorr pushed the wheelbarrow forward. “The old passages—they’ll lead us to the thermal caves.”

They hurried through dimly lit corridors, the wheelbarrow’s wheel squeaking despite their efforts to move quietly. Every few moments, another roar shook the stones, closer each time. Dust filtered down from the ceiling.

Guards shouted in the distance. Patrols mobilized, responding to the growing chaos.

“This way,” Jorr whispered, guiding them down a narrower passage. “The old servants’ corridors connect to maintenance tunnels that haven’t been used in generations.”

The passage grew darker, lit only by occasional crystal brackets casting weak blue light.

“The dragon handlers will be too busy with Stormwing to notice us,” Jorr said. “But the princess’s guards—they’ll be searching everywhere when they notice he’s missing.”

They reached a junction where three corridors met. Jorr pressed his hand against a seemingly solid wall, revealing a hidden passage.

“The old ways,” he explained, carefully maneuvering the wheelbarrow through the opening. “From before the Dragonkin rebuilt the fortress. They connect everything, but few remember them now.”

The passage was narrow, lit only by luminous crystals set in iron brackets. The wheelbarrow’s wheel squeaked despite their care.

“The caves aren’t far,” Jorr whispered as they navigated the corridor. “Just a bit further and—”

But before he could finish, voices echoed from the distant main corridor. Jorr froze, his hands tightening on the wheelbarrow’s handles.

“The princess demands answers!” The speaker’s voice carried clearly through the stone. “How could you lose track of a dead man?”

“I swear, the cold storage was secured—”

“Find him!” Princess Seren’s voice cracked like a whip. “Search every chamber, every passage. He must be found.”

“The guards are searching already,” Jorr said. “We need to move faster.”

They pushed forward through the hidden passage, no longer trying to maintain the pretense of a casual tour. The ancient corridors twisted deeper into the mountain, the air growing warmer with each turn.

Another roar shook the fortress. The dragon’s cry held something beyond mere anger—there was pain in it.

“She knows,” Jorr said, steadying the wheelbarrow as they navigated a particularly narrow turn. “Somehow Stormwing knows his rider is disposed. The dragons . . . they’re more aware than most realize.”

They emerged into a vast cavern lit by streams of molten rock flowing through channels in the walls. The heat was intense but not unbearable.

“The thermal chamber,” Jorr said. “We can keep him warm here, but—”

Footsteps echoed from the passage they’d just left. Multiple sets, moving quickly.

“This way!” Jorr pulled the wheelbarrow behind a fallen column. “They’re searching the old ways too.”

They pressed themselves against the warm stone as guards passed the chamber’s entrance. Ellie caught fragments of conversation.

“. . . checking every level . . .”

“. . . princess wants him found . . .”

“. . . burial preparations already begun . . .”

When the sounds faded, Ash appeared on the fallen column above them, tail twitching. The gray cat meowed softly, then leaped down and padded toward a narrow opening near the floor.

“He knows the way,” Jorr whispered. “Through the maintenance tunnels.”

They carefully maneuvered the wheelbarrow toward the bridge spanning a deep chasm.

“Stop!” The command rang out behind them. “By order of Princess Seren!”

Ellie looked at the bridge, then at her son’s concealed form. The wood looked barely strong enough to hold them all.

“We have no choice,” she said.

They stepped onto the first plank. It groaned under their combined weight.

“Surrender now,” the guard captain called. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Another dragon roar shook the cavern. Closer now. Much closer.

“Keep moving,” Ellie said.

They were halfway across when the first plank snapped behind them.

The bridge swayed as another plank gave way. Behind them, guards crowded the edge of the chasm, arrows nocked but holding their fire—they needed Pryce’s body intact for the princess’s plans.

Ahead, through the steam rising from the thermal vents, Ellie could see the relative safety of the far side. But the bridge was failing faster now.

A massive shadow passed over them as something huge moved in the cavern above. Stormwing’s roar filled the space, closer than ever.

Jorr carefully moved the wheelbarrow forward. “She knows we have Pryce.”

As the next plank splintered beneath their feet, Ellie met Jorr’s terrified gaze. They were out of options and out of time. The bridge began to give way.