The bridge groaned beneath their feet as another plank splintered and fell into the fiery chasm below. Ellie helped Jorr maneuver the wheelbarrow containing Pryce’s seemingly lifeless body. Steam billowed up from the thermal vents, making the wooden planks slick and treacherous.
The elaborate Dragonkin dress tangled around Ellie’s legs as she helped Jorr steady the wheelbarrow. The silver-threaded fabric, meant to mark her as visiting nobility, now threatened to be their undoing. She yanked at the heavy skirts, trying to free her feet as another plank gave way behind them.
“This blasted thing,” she said, ripping the delicate hem to give herself more mobility.
“My lady!” Jorr’s horrified whisper made her smile grimly.
“Better a torn dress than a dead son,” she said, gathering the remaining fabric and knotting it at her hip. The makeshift alteration gave her the freedom to move, though the corseted bodice still restricted her breathing.
“We need to lighten the load,” Jorr said. “The bridge won’t hold.”
Behind them, boots thundered on stone as more Dragonkin guards poured into the cavern. Ahead, through the swirling steam, Ellie caught glimpses of the far side—and their only chance of escape.
“The supplies,” she said, already reaching for the grain sacks.
They worked frantically, tossing sacks into the chasm. Each loss lightened their burden, but the bridge’s creaking grew more ominous. A support rope snapped with a sound like a whip crack.
“Surrender now!” An aristocratic voice carried over the sound of splintering wood. “There’s nowhere to run!”
Stormwing burst through an opening in the cavern ceiling. The storm dragon’s roar shook loose stones from above, forcing the guards to scatter. Wind and rain whipped through the space as Stormwing wheeled overhead, fighting to reach her unconscious rider.
“Keep moving,” Ellie urged, helping Jorr steady the wheelbarrow. Her son’s face remained still.
Another support rope gave way. The bridge pitched sideways, nearly sending them all into the abyss. Jorr grabbed Pryce’s body as the wheelbarrow slipped, its metal frame scraping against the planks before tumbling into the chasm.
“We’ll have to carry him,” Jorr said, straining under Pryce’s weight.
Ellie took her son’s legs while Jorr supported his shoulders. Together they staggered forward, every step a battle against the failing bridge and their own exhaustion. Steam made their grip slippery, and Pryce’s transformed body was heavier than she expected.
Above, Stormwing’s lightning forced the guards back, but more emerged from other tunnels. Princess Seren’s voice shouted: “Stop them! The burial chamber awaits its prince!”
The bridge gave a final, terrible groan. Wooden supports snapped like brittle bones. The entire structure began to collapse, starting from the far end and racing toward them like a wave of destruction.
“Jump!” Ellie screamed.
They leaped as the last planks disintegrated beneath them. For one heart-stopping moment, they hung suspended over the fiery depths. Then they crashed onto the far side, rolling away from the edge as the bridge fell away completely.
Ellie’s relief lasted only seconds. Through the steam, dark shapes emerged—more Dragonkin guards, weapons drawn. They were surrounded. Ellie’s knife was taken before she knew what was happening.
“A valiant effort,” a commander said, stepping forward. “But ultimately futile.”
Stormwing dove toward them, but a volley of arrows forced the dragon back. The storm dragon let out a cry of frustration, unable to reach them through the guards’ defenses.
“Well, well.” Princess Seren appeared through the steam. Her eyes narrowing as she studied Ellie’s stolen finery. “You must be the famous Ellie Harper-Green. How fitting to meet my new mother-in-law while she’s wearing stolen royal garments.”
Ellie lifted her chin. “Better stolen clothes than a stolen son.”
“Stolen?” Seren laughed. “Your son came to us willingly. He chose power, chose me, chose to become something greater than a simple fisherman’s son.”
“He chose based on your lies.”
“The only lie was believing a Shorling woman could raise a child of dragon blood. You’re too late. Your son is gone. The prince belongs to me now.”
“Take the boy,” the commander ordered. Guards moved forward, tearing Pryce from their grasp despite Ellie’s desperate resistance. “The burial chamber has waited long enough for its prince.”
“No!” Ellie lunged for her son, but strong hands held her back. “He’s not dead! The potion—”
“Silence! You’ve interfered with sacred rites. Perhaps a sacrifice to the volcano will teach you the price of defiance.”
Ellie struggled as guards held her. She watched helplessly as they carried Pryce away, his scaled face peaceful in his death-like sleep.
They were marched through torch-lit corridors, deep into Dragon Fang’s dungeons. The cell they threw her and Jorr into was carved from volcanic rock. The air stank of sulfur.
“I’m sorry,” Jorr whispered once they were alone. “I thought we could save him.”
Ellie pressed her forehead against the cold bars. “How long? How long did you say before they seal him in that chamber?”
“The burial rites begin at dawn,” Jorr said. “But even if we could escape, the chamber is deep within the sacred vaults. The guards will be doubled now.”
“Then we’ll find another way.” Ellie paced the narrow cell, her torn Dragonkin dress dragging in the volcanic dust. “What about the thermal vents? Could we use them to reach the burial chamber?”
Jorr shook his head. “The vents are too narrow, and the heat would kill us. Besides, they’re all fitted with dragon-forged grates specifically to prevent escape.”
“The guard rotation then. You said they change at dawn—there must be a moment when . . .”
“They overlap shifts,” Jorr explained. “The next guards arrive before the others leave. There’s never a gap.”
Ellie slumped against the wall. “What about Stormwing? If we could somehow signal her . . .”
“The burial chamber is too deep underground for her to reach. The sacred vaults were built to withstand dragon attacks.”
“Mira—could she help? She has access to the kitchens, maybe . . .”
“She’d never make it past the increased security. And even if she did . . .” Jorr gestured at their surroundings. “We’re in the deepest part of the dungeons. The kitchen passages don’t connect to this level.”
“If we could just create some kind of distraction,” she said, more desperate now. “We could signal someone to create a fire in the stables, or . . .”
“The stables are too far from the burial chamber. And with the wedding chaos, they’ve stationed extra guards at every strategic point.” Jorr’s shoulders slumped. “They’ve thought of everything.”
The sound of approaching boots made them fall silent. A guard passed, torch light casting ominous shadows through the bars. When his footsteps faded, Ellie turned back to Jorr.
“There has to be a way,” she whispered.
But as time passed in their volcanic prison, even her fierce hope began to fade. Every plan they discussed felt more impossible than the last. The guards were too many, the defenses too strong. And time was running out.
“The volcano sacrifice,” Jorr said suddenly. “It’s not just an execution—it’s a ritual. They’ll have to transport us through the temple passages.”
Ellie looked up. “The same passages that lead to the burial chamber?”
“Yes, but—” Jorr’s words cut off as boots approached their cell.
A guard appeared at the bars. He looked at Jorr. “I never thought I’d see you here. After all Master Kestrel did for you, taking you in when no one else would. Teaching you to care for the dragons.” He shook his head. “And this is how you repay that kindness? By helping this Shorling woman steal our prince?”
Jorr looked away, but the guard wasn’t finished.
“I remember when you first came to us—couldn’t even look a drake in the eye. Now you tend the great ones without flinching.” The guard’s voice held a mix of disappointment and grudging respect. “You had a future here, Jorr. Could have risen high in the ranks. Instead . . .” He gestured at the cell. “Well, the volcano’s flame burns traitor and enemy alike.”
His expression softened slightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it came to this. You were good with the dragons. But orders are orders, and the princess was quite clear about your punishment.”
The guard looked at Ellie. “As for you, woman, you should have stayed in your fishing village where you belonged.”
As the guard turned to walk away, he said, “Enjoy your last hours. At dawn, the volcano awaits its tribute.”
