Bedelth the Orange (Dragonwall Series #5)

Chapter 15 - Preparing to Depart

Fort Squall

Claire slid from Talon's scaly back, dismounting with the grace of a queen. She stepped forward to give him space. Around her, the courtyard lay in ruins. Walls pulverized, patches of char, even the central fountain was smashed. She blinked back tears at the destruction Kane's dragons had wrought. Purposeful destruction; they had enjoyed sending a message.

These were the same dragons she'd hoped would change their ways. The same dragons she'd given a choice. The same dragons who had chosen to continue down their ruthless, bloodthirsty path.

Her limbs grew heavy. In the end, they'd been irredeemable. That brought a profound sense of sadness. Even a sense of failure, despite it being silly to feel that way. She hadn't exactly failed, per se; it had been their choice. Yet, as a ruler, she felt as though it was her responsibility to fix things, people, circumstances...

"You will be able to fix it, won't you?" she asked, looking over at Tamara. Tamara stood silently, also regarding the space with a line etched between her brows.

"Yes, in time. The good news is, they were not able to fit into the smaller spaces of the fort. Only these large spaces were damaged. The fort leader's chambers remain in tact."

"Good," Talon said, his deep voice drawing near. "Let's see it, shall we?" He came up behind them. A hand landed at the base of Claire's spine. The heavy weight of it, the heat of his palm, seeped through her meager layer of fabric. A dragon's fire. She loved the way his height and bulk made her feel dainty and delicate as he crowded in behind her.

Last night had been the first they'd spent together in nearly a week. Too exhausted to do much, they lay together in their chamber within Lord Rhal's keep, limbs entwined, simply looking at each other. In the depths of his silver gaze, she'd seen her entire future. They'd kissed, then stared at one another, then kissed some more. He'd whispered things that made her blush, even now. Like the way he counted the days. His eagerness to make love to her. To claim her. What he intended when that night came.

She thought of those things as they moved through Fort Squall, letting it distract her from the obvious destruction on display. Dragons weren't made for small spaces—couldn't transform into humans like the Drengr. It's why they'd camped around the lake. But their message was clear enough. If we can't have it, no one can.

They stopped before a large door, elegantly carved. Tamara hesitated, then opened it. They stepped across the threshold and found Byron in discussion with several wing leaders and wing seconds. The new fort leader quickly dismissed them, turning to Talon. "It's not as bad as we initially thought. Much of the structural damage is confined to larger spaces, as Tam already told you. But the majority of smaller rooms are intact and untouched, thank the gods."

Claire looked around. "This is the fort leaders' chambers?"

"Aye." Pain flashed across his face. She regretted the question almost immediately. This had been Davi and Emmy's rooms. Now they belonged to Byron and Tamara. The cost of this war was on display everywhere, it seemed.

Byron gave them a tour and brought them into the study, inviting them to take seats around the giant desk piled with papers—papers that had probably been left behind by Davi. Another pang of sadness constricted her chest. She'd never met him, but she'd heard enough about him from Reyr. They were twins, and she could picture him, a replica of Reyr, sitting right there where Byron now sat, holding a quill in hand, scribbling on sheets of parchment.

She cleared the image away, swallowing against the building ache in her throat. How precious life was. Davi and Emmy had died together. It's how Reyr wished he'd gone, when his mate died. No doubt Cyrus felt the same.