Patron of Dragons by Cordelia Castel

Author:Cordelia Castel [Castel, Cordelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Twigs and stones dug into my back, and my head pounded like a dozen marching soldiers had decided to traipse through my skull. This had to be the real world. Nothing else could feel so unpleasant. I opened my eyes to find King Magnar dabbing my face with a wet cloth. Slivers of sunlight shone through the canopy of trees, lighting up his hair like spun gold. My throat convulsed, making its membranes stick together. How long had we stayed in that dream?

I rasped out the word, “Water.”

He ducked away, removing my barrier from the needle-like shards of sun.

With a groan, I closed my eyes. “Fyri, are you awake?”

“Was that really you in my dream?” she asked.

“That depends. Was I a silver dragon?”

“Yes, and Niger was being annoying.”

“That was me, then,” I said.

King Magnar returned seconds later with a water skin. “What took you so long? Most of us emerged from our visions last night.”

I jerked up. “Last—How long have we been unconscious?”

“About twelve hours.” He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and eased me back down to the ground. My head sank into something soft, which I assumed was his flying jacket. His brows drew together. “I take it that your challenge was linked to Fyrian’s?”

“Gladius was in it too.”

His lips thinned. “I see.”

“Did the ship come in?”

King Magnar gave me a sharp nod. “Evolene and my sisters flew out with Byrrus in the middle of the night and sank the boat.” I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he said, “Don’t worry about the crew. They all made it to shore.”

“Is the sarcophagus safe?”

“Let’s not discuss its location so close to the palace. We need to leave before they realize what’s happened to the ship.”

I sat up and rubbed my temples. Fyrian sat on her haunches, looking around the clearing and blinking through dull, red eyes. To her left lay a groaning, male figure half-buried in a pile of leaves. I leaned toward him, resting my palms on the clearing floor. “Gladius? Are you all right?”

He groaned. “I have suffered worse.”

“Are you well enough to transport us?”

“As long as I don’t have to stand.” Gladius lay on his side and reached for Fyrian’s tail. “Magnar, where are we going?”

“About three hundred and fifty leagues south-east from here,” replied the King.

“Hold on to my arm, then.”

I shuffled across the clearing to where Gladius lay and clasped his hand. King Magnar grabbed the wild dragon’s wrist, and in a stomach-wrenching blink of an eye, we lay within an orchard of Golden Callisti apples and King Midas pear trees filled with gold fruit that glinted in the morning sun. Sea air drifted across the orchard, mingling with the scent of ripe fruit. Above us, lime-green birds with hooked beaks jumped from branch to branch trilling so loud, they made my eardrums rattle.

“What’s this place?” I shouted over the noisy birds. Pain lanced through my skull, making me wince.

“The Midas Islands,” replied King Magnar.

I drew my brows together. “But that’s leagues away from everywhere.

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