But, if she were those things, then she wouldn’t be her either. Her knowledge and wit and charm had gotten her so far. The training she had received might not have been a lifetime of battle strategy, but she had a sharp mind and bottomless magic. She hated so much that none of it mattered.
Even if it was Malysa’s influence, it still hurt.
She heard the flutter of Sarielle’s wings and a soft drop as she landed behind her. Cyrene hastily wiped at the tears on her cheeks.
May I tell you a story?
Cyrene swallowed and then cleared her throat. “Of course.”
I am Sarielle of Laciara and Mazzon. I was born of the Draíocht. Not many dragons are laid within the Fae’s sacred waters or hatched within the confines of their ancient caves. It is a privilege afforded to the greats. Both of my parents were magnificent creatures who chose to breed to create me. To create something special. So, I, as you, have thought quite highly of myself much of my life.
“You?” Cyrene couldn’t help asking with a bite of sarcasm.
I know it is hard to believe.
Cyrene grinned up at her.
Dragons who are intended to be bound to a rider are brought to Draco Mountain to be raised by Society dragons and the Dragon Blessed, like your little redheaded friend, Kerrigan.
“That much I did know. Kerrigan told me some. Matilde and Vera the rest.”
All dragons go through an ancient dragon rite to reach maturity. One can only receive a rider after passing this test.
“What kind of test?” Cyrene sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, intent on this new information from Sarielle.
It’s sacred, so I won’t reveal our ways with you, as that is not the reason I tell you this story. The important part is that dragons never pass their test on the first time through the rite.
“Why not?”
They haven’t matured enough. They don’t have enough knowledge. They aren’t ready. It can be any number of reasons. But no one passes on the first try. Not in all of dragon history in Alandria. Many dragons fail over and over again. You fail and then return to your work, humbled, and try harder. You fail again and return even humbler and work even harder. The learning is in the failing.
Cyrene shuddered at her words. They were so accurate. So close to home. They brought the tears back to her eyes.
These circumstances look bad for you right now. But it is your process of failure, soul sister. And failing is for learning. Think on what you have learned from it and figure out how to take the test again and succeed.
She stared up at her friend in the twilight, admiring the great knowledge she had, and Cyrene had never felt more fortunate to have her at her side.
“Thank you,” Cyrene whispered.
Sarielle bowed her head, and Cyrene lay back down on her bedroll, thinking of Sarielle’s words. Trying to figure out what she still needed to learn from failing.
7
The Faithless
Dean
“Captain, there is a woman here who claims to have a message for you. Shall I send her away?” the guard asked.
“A woman?” Dean asked.
He lowered his weapon and took a step away from the sword practice. He’d been working twice as hard as his own men. Half to get back into shape after months of using his magic and not a weapon. And half to keep the men from getting restless, waiting for direction. That was the kiss of death for an army as much as food stores.
“Yes, sir. She, uh, flew in on a dragon.”
Cyrene.
“Let her in,” Dean said with a smile.
He sheathed his sword and then reached for his discarded shirt to pull over his sweaty chest. His other soldiers quickly followed suit. Then, he nodded at the guard to allow her into their makeshift sparring ring.
But it wasn’t Cyrene. It was Vera.
“Hello, Vera. How can I help you? Is everything all right?”
“Might I have a word in private, Captain?” she asked solemnly.
He frowned. This couldn’t be good. “Of course.” He gestured for her to enter his tent. But she didn’t. “Were you thinking somewhere else?”
“I was thinking on the way to our dragons.”
The furrow in his brow deepened. “Certainly.”
He gave a short order to continue to spar and then went with Vera out of the Eleysian army and to where Ameerath stood with his dragon, Halcyon. It was still amazing to him that he was back here at all. He had crossed the bridge to Domara and spent years there, earning his own magic. It had been mere weeks in this world. He’d had no recollection of his past, only the strong sense of purpose to acquire magic and claim a dragon. After he’d won the dragon tournament, he’d returned here with Cyrene, only to reclaim his stolen heart from the sea nymphs at the entrance to the bridge and have his memories return in a rush.
Weeks—at most, months—since everyone thought that he had abandoned his sister to try to reclaim her throne. But years to him. They still saw him as the untried young captain. He knew that he was anything but. He almost wished that he could forget his years in Domara the way he had forgotten Eleysia. It seemed a fair trade.
“What can I help you with?” Dean asked. “Has something happened?”
“The war council has turned against Cyrene. They’re making Gwynora the commander of both armies and told Cyrene that, if she couldn’t fall into line, then she should leave.”
He understood before she said anything else. “She left.”
Vera nodded. “She did.”
“And they just let her?” he demanded, his voice low and calculating. “After everything she had done?”
“They did not stop her.”
A roaring boomed in his ears. Those bastards had done this. His sister and her bloody politicians. Even Darmian, who saw Dean the most as that blind young captain with a quick smile and light heart. He did not know the new person he had become while gone. The hardened warrior that he’d had to find within himself.
“Thank you for telling me,” Dean said as he stepped toward Halcyon and jumped on his back. “Fly.”
He left Vera far behind as Halcyon took to the skies. They were to the other camp in a matter of minutes. Dean hopped down and took off at a run into the heart of the camp. He hadn’t had time to be here for Cyrene. He’d sent Darmian in his place, believing that he would take care of his interests and keep the dirty politicians in check. But he should have known better. He couldn’t delegate these matters.
He didn’t wait for the Network guard to get out of his way. He just barreled straight forward into the tent. “What in the Creator’s name have all of you done?”
Shocked faces stared back at him. Even a few guilty faces. But they all looked as if they didn’t understand what he was doing here. When it was clear that they knew.
“You sent her away?”
Gwynora straightened considerably. “We did not send her away. We had a meeting. She offered an ill-advised plan to defeat Malysa. We agreed we needed more time. She wouldn’t listen. So, we voted for me to run this. And Cyrene could not accept that. So, she left.”
“Are you all insane?” Dean asked with a shake of his head.
“No,” his sister said. “Dean, we’re not insane. We’re trying to do the right thing here.”