Elara's POV
Flying on a dragon's back was nothing like I imagined.
It was terrifying. The wind tore at my hair and clothes. The ground disappeared so far below that people looked like ants. My stomach lurched with every beat of Ashkaroth's massive wings. I clung to the scales on his back, certain I'd fall and die.
But it was also... incredible.
We soared above clouds. The sunrise painted everything gold and pink. For the first time in days, I could breathe without fear crushing my chest. Up here, Seraphine couldn't reach me. Cassian couldn't hurt me. My father's disappointed face couldn't haunt me.
Up here, I was free.
"Stop smiling," Ashkaroth's voice rumbled in my mind. "This isn't a pleasure flight. We're fleeing before they send an army after us."
"Can't I enjoy one moment before everything gets worse?"
"Everything is already worse. You're bonded to me now. That means every kingdom on this continent will hunt you."
He had a point. But I refused to let reality crush this tiny moment of freedom.
We flew for what felt like hours, heading deeper into the mountains. Finally, Ashkaroth descended toward a massive cliff face that looked completely solid.
"Um," I said nervously. "You're going to crash into that rock—"
At the last second, he twisted sideways and dove through what looked like solid stone. It rippled like water as we passed through—an illusion spell. Beyond it was a huge cave that opened into an even larger cavern.
Ashkaroth landed and shifted back to human form. I slid off his back, legs shaking so badly I almost collapsed.
"Welcome to my lair," he said dryly. "It's not much, but it's survived three hundred years without humans finding it."
I looked around, amazed. The cavern was enormous, with a ceiling so high it disappeared into darkness. Piles of gold and jewels glittered in corners—dragon hoards from the stories. Ancient weapons hung on walls. Books stacked everywhere, their pages yellow with age.
But what caught my attention was the skeleton.
A massive dragon skeleton, perfectly preserved, lying in the center of the cavern like a monument.
"That was my sister," Ashkaroth said quietly, seeing where I was looking. "Killed in the Dragon Wars. I brought her body here before they imprisoned me."
"I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate.
"Don't be sorry. Be angry." He turned to face me, his golden eyes burning. "That's what you need to learn if you want revenge. How to turn grief into rage. How to make rage into power."
"I already know how to be angry."
"No, you know how to be hurt. Anger is different." He stepped closer. "Anger is cold. Calculated. It doesn't scream and cry. It plans and waits and strikes when the enemy least expects it."
I thought about Seraphine's smug face. Cassian's cruel laugh. My father turning away. "Teach me," I said. "Teach me how to make them pay."
Something almost like approval flickered in his expression. "Finally, you're talking sense. But first—" He grabbed my injured arm, the one still bleeding from where I'd cut myself. "We need to stop this bleeding before you die and drag me back to prison with you."
His touch was surprisingly gentle as he examined the wound. Magic flowed from his fingers—warm and tingling—and the cut began closing.
"How long were you imprisoned?" I asked suddenly.
"Three hundred and seventeen years. Four months. Eighteen days." His voice was flat. "I counted every single one."
"That's..." I couldn't imagine it. Three centuries of torture. "How did you stay sane?"
"I didn't." He finished healing my arm and stepped back. "I went mad around year fifty. Came back to sanity around year two hundred. Then went mad again. Eventually, I became something beyond either—something that existed purely to hate." He looked at me. "Your blood breaking the seal didn't just free my body. It freed my mind from that cycle. For the first time in centuries, I can think clearly."
"Is that... good?"
"Ask me in a few days." He turned away, walking toward a pile of ancient books. "Now. You want to expose your family's crimes and bring down the kingdom. That requires proof. Evidence even common people will believe."
"Where do we get that?"
"Here." He gestured at the books. "Every dragon kept records. History. Treaties. The truth about what really happened during the Dragon Wars. The nobles destroyed most of these, but I saved what I could."
I moved closer, looking at the ancient texts. "Will people believe dragon records?"
"They will when combined with other evidence." His eyes gleamed. "Your palace has a secret archive. Deep beneath the throne room. It contains the original treaties between dragons and humans, the forbidden spells used to imprison us, and records of every Dragon-Speaker your family murdered over the centuries."
My blood ran cold. "How many?"
"Forty-three. Over three hundred years." He said it without emotion, but I felt his rage through our bond. "They killed them as children, mostly. Before their powers could fully awaken. Your mother was the last one to survive to adulthood. And you saw what they did to her."
"They poisoned her." The pieces were falling into place. "Zara told me. They made it look like illness."
"Because she was going to free us." Ashkaroth pulled out a specific book, its cover burned black. "She came to me once, before I was fully sealed. Promised she'd break the enchantments. Promised she'd stop the harvesting of dragon blood." His voice dropped. "She died three days later."
"Did you love her?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He was silent for a long moment. "I respected her. She was brave and kind in a world that punished both. Love?" He shook his head. "Dragons don't love easily, little Speaker. We're too long-lived. Too aware of how quickly humans die."
"But the bond—"
"The bond forces connection. Not love. Never confuse the two." His golden eyes met mine. "I feel what you feel. Share your emotions. That doesn't mean I care about you beyond what's practical."
The words stung, but I understood. He'd been betrayed by humans before. Of course he wouldn't trust me. Wouldn't let himself care.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin. "Then let's keep this practical. You want revenge for your family. I want revenge for mine. We use each other until both goals are achieved."
"Exactly." But something flickered in his expression—surprise? Respect? "You learn quickly."
"I had good teachers." I thought of Seraphine's cruel lessons. "Now show me these records. Show me everything."
We spent hours going through ancient texts. Ashkaroth explained how the first King had pretended friendship with the Dragon Lord—his ancestor—then betrayed him with cursed weapons. How they'd slaughtered dragon families for their blood, which could be refined into magical essence. How they'd built the entire kingdom's prosperity on genocide.
"The nobles know," Ashkaroth said. "Maybe not all the details, but they know their magic comes from dragon sacrifice. They just don't care."
"Then we make them care." An idea was forming in my mind. "The spring festival is in two days. Every noble in the kingdom attends. What if we crashed it? Showed them the evidence publicly? Made it impossible to deny?"
Ashkaroth stared at me. "You want to walk back into the capital? Where they'll try to kill you on sight?"
"They won't expect it. They think I'm dead or hiding." I stood up, excitement building. "We expose everything at the festival. In front of everyone. Make it so big they can't hide it."
"That's insane."
"You have a better plan?"
He considered. "Actually... no. It's insane enough to work. The spring festival happens in the Grand Plaza. Wide open. Hundreds of witnesses. They couldn't silence everyone."
"Exactly."
"But you'd need to survive long enough to present the evidence. The moment they see you, guards will attack." He crossed his arms. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless I cause a distraction big enough that they're too busy to kill you immediately." A dangerous smile crossed his face. "Dragons are very good at distractions."
"You mean—"
"I mean I'll give them something to be terrified of while you show them something to be angry about." His eyes gleamed. "Let them see the monster they created. Let them understand what's coming for them."
A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear—from anticipation.
"We'll need help," I said. "People who can spread the information once we reveal it. People the common folk trust."
"The resistance." Ashkaroth pulled out another book, this one newer. "There are groups throughout the kingdom who've been fighting the nobility quietly for years. Rebels. Criminals. Outcasts." He looked at me. "People like you now."
"Can we trust them?"
"Can we trust anyone?" He shrugged. "But desperate people make useful allies. And everyone in the resistance has reasons to hate the current regime."
"Then we find them. Build an army of the unwanted and forgotten." I felt my mother's dragon blood singing in my veins, the mark on my arm glowing softly. "Show the kingdom what happens when you throw away the people who could have saved you."
Ashkaroth studied me for a long moment. "You're different from when I first saw you. More focused. Harder."
"You said I needed to learn anger. I'm learning."
"Good." He turned back to the books. "Because in two days, we're going to war. And this time, the dragons won't lose."
As we continued planning, I felt something shift through our bond. Not affection—Ashkaroth had made it clear that wasn't happening. But something else. Partnership. Understanding. Two broken creatures learning to work together because neither could survive alone.
"Ashkaroth," I said suddenly. "When this is over—when we've exposed them and gotten revenge—what happens to us? To this bond?"
He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was carefully neutral. "I don't know. Soul-bonds are supposed to be chosen, not forced. The ancient texts say they can only be broken by mutual consent or death."
"So we're stuck together."
"Unless you die of old age in fifty years and free me naturally." He said it without emotion, but I felt something through the bond—loneliness. Ancient, crushing loneliness.
"Or," I said carefully, "we figure out how to make this work. Partners who chose to stay bonded."
He looked at me sharply. "Why would you want that?"
"Because I'm tired of being alone too." The truth came out before I could stop it. "Everyone I loved betrayed me. You're the only one who hasn't lied to me yet."
"I'm a dragon. We're not known for emotional connections."
"But you're connected to me whether you like it or not." I met his eyes. "So we can either fight it for however long this lasts, or we can try to make it bearable. Your choice."
Ashkaroth stared at me for a very long time. Finally, he said, "You're either very brave or very stupid."
"I've been hearing that a lot lately."
The smallest smile tugged at his mouth—barely there, but real. "Two days until the festival. Let's survive that first. Then we'll talk about... making things bearable."
It wasn't a promise. It wasn't even a maybe. But it was something.
And right now, something was enough.
As night fell and we continued planning our attack on the kingdom, I realized I hadn't thought about crying in hours. Hadn't felt helpless or broken.
I felt powerful.
Dangerous.
Ready to burn the world down and rebuild it better.
Seraphine had tried to destroy me. Instead, she'd created exactly what she feared most:
A Dragon-Speaker with nothing left to lose and a very angry dragon at her side.
They were all going to regret letting me live.