How long ago that seemed.
Rhen hardly recognized the boy he used to be, the façade he used to put on, the prince he used to play. Soaring around on Firestorm's back, Rhen was at home in his skin, exactly the man he needed to be, embracing a destiny he never knew he'd had yet somehow always yearned for.
Behind him, Bran and the newly awoken earth dragon were getting used to one another, spinning and dipping in the sky. The boy would do. Jinji had made a good choice. He was scrawny but strong in his conviction. And if the dragon had judged him worthy, that was good enough proof for Rhen.
Movement caught his attention, and Rhen glanced down only to find the princess and the water dragon breaking free from the sea, surging through the surface and dripping as they made their way toward him. Against the indigo sky, they were barely visible, camouflaged in a way Rhen and his dragon would never be. Fire wasn't made for stealth, it was bold and powerful and always simmering below the surface. It blazed against the sun and moon in equal measure.
He swooped down close to the treetops, a brilliant orange beacon in the sky, and the others followed. Then he sank into the clearing, coming to a stop a little distance away from Jinji and Janu. But the two siblings didn't hear the dragons land heavily against the ground, not even the earth dragon, made to move mountains with his hefty claws. And Rhen knew the woman he loved was in a different world, a place he couldn't follow, a place only Janu could go. They stepped as one, sang as one, and it was something he, a newworlder, would never understand.
"Stay here," he said, gesturing to the other riders to sit with their dragons, to settle in. He stepped into the trees, gathering dry branches before rejoining his new companions. With a little snort from Firestorm, a blaze started easily enough, catching on to the logs and burning bright.
"Do you know what they're doing?" Leena asked, glancing over her shoulder at the two oldworlders curiously.
Rhen shook his head. "All I know is we shouldn't interrupt."
"Can I…" Bran trailed off, mumbling quietly to himself, glancing at the two other riders warily.
"Speak up," Rhen commanded, tone filled with jest.
"It's only, I didn't ask before, but you said to call you Rhen. And I couldn't help but notice your hair, and your speech, and…" He trailed off again. Rhen raised his brows but gave away nothing, trying to teach the boy to gain some much-needed confidence. He was probably no more than a handful of years younger than Rhen, but he carried himself like a boy uncomfortable in his skin, not like a man. "Are you perhaps Whylrhen, Prince of the Kingdom of Whylkin, a Son of Whyl, with the blood of the conqueror in your veins?"
Rhen grinned. "That's a lot of words for a simple question. I was Whylrhen, but I am Rhen now, dragon rider and nothing more." And then Rhen smiled wider, hoping to drop the boy's jaw even more. "She, however, is a princess."
Leena immediately rolled her eyes, glancing pointedly at Rhen with frustration. "Don't listen to him. Like Rhen, I was once Princess Leenaka of Ourthuro, but now I am Leena and nothing more."
"So you are both royals?" Bran asked. They nodded. He gulped. "How in the gods did I get chosen?"
Rhen put his hand on the boy's shoulder, gripping his boney arm. "How is not important. You are a rider. The dragon chose you. Nothing from before matters. We're all equals in this."
Leena raised her brow playfully, smirking, showing Rhen a side of this poised, cold princess that he had yet to see. "You think we're all equal, Son of Whyl? I'm certain my dragon is faster and far superior."
"Firestorm will take that challenge," Rhen grunted, already rising to his feet.
"Firestorm?" she asked.
"Every good steed should have a name."
The princess nodded thoughtfully. But before she could respond, Bran and his dragon took off, surging into the air. He shouted down after them, "Catch up if you can!"
Leena met Rhen's eyes, and then the two of them jumped into action, chasing after the forest-green dragon. The last thing they saw before mounting their dragons were his thick, boulder-like claws disappearing over the trees. And then Rhen was flying. Leena was by his side, gaining fast. She caught Bran first, dragon screeching into the air in victory. They were smooth as liquid in flight, fast like a rushing river. The earth dragon was no match—it was stocky and large, all strength and little grace. But Rhen knew Firestorm could catch the princess. Fire was made to explode, so they did, speeding forward, hot on the water dragon's tail. But the princess didn't play by the rules. In one swift move, she plummeted straight down. Rhen followed, breathing fire on her heels, but before he could catch her, she vanished into the sea.
Firestorm screeched, caught by surprise as the water came quicker than he or Rhen had realized in the dark. They pulled even just in time, claws and tail whipping against the surface, sizzling where fire met ocean. He and his dragon were not made for the sea. Neither was the earth dragon, but Bran realized his mistake too late. Rhen looked over his shoulder as a crash split the air. All he saw was a great wave shooting high, and a moment later the splash soaked him.
Giggles filtered into his ear.
Rhen looked over to see Leena and her dragon hovering to the side, watching with mirth. Even the dragon had an icy grin.
"I told you, Rhen, not all dragons are created equal!" she teased.
"We'll see," Rhen muttered. Firestorm started the chase again.
For the rest of the night, three dragons and their riders played. Chasing after each other, testing their powers, testing their abilities. They learned how each other moved, how they flew, how they fought. But most of all, they bonded, formed a friendship. They were riders, and they were the only three people in the world who truly knew what that felt like. Comrades forced together by fate, but after a few hours, it began to feel like they had chosen each other, like they fit together. Rhen, a natural born leader, finally embracing those parts of himself he never could before, no longer on the sidelines as a third son but at the front of the pack. Leena, mysterious, yes, but also mischievous and spirited and strong, bringing both a sense of fun and a sense of duty to the group. And Bran, self-conscious, maybe, but it balanced out the other two personalities. He was cautious where the other two were bold, and he carried a sense of reason and youthful optimism that Rhen and Leena sorely needed.
Who would the fourth member be?
Rhen thought about it as the three of them returned from their games, settling against their dragons to sleep for the night. He let his head fall to the side, toward the fire on the other side of the clearing, to the two bodies slumbering near its flames.
Jinji.
He fell asleep thinking of her, wondering why she was so far away. But he woke to the gentle purr of her voice whispering in his ear.
"Rhen," she murmured softly. "Rhen, we must go."
"What?" He shot up, barely missing her forehead with his own. Glancing fervently around, he was confused for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings, the trees, the cliffs, the sea far below. Then he blinked a few times, remembering the day before. Jinji watched him mirthfully, smiling slightly, eyes bright. He rubbed his hand over his nose and through his unruly red hair, wiping the exhaustion away. Still bleary-eyed, he asked, "Where are we going?"
"Well, I was hoping you might have a suggestion again?" she mumbled.
Rhen glanced around. Four pairs of eyes turned in his direction, all waiting for him to give them a clue to the next adventure. The truth was, his guess would be just that—a guess. An informed one, but not foolproof. Not even close. "We need to find the air rider?"
Jinji nodded.
"My best guess would be a ship, a merchant ship perhaps, somewhere in the open ocean?"
Jinji bit her lip, thinking.
"But won't that be too hard to find?" a somewhat unfamiliar voice asked. Rhen glanced at Janu, meeting his eyes curiously. The Arpapajo didn't back down—he met Rhen's gaze full on. There was something hard deep in the depths of his irises. "What about a city?"
"A city?" J
inji repeated, turning to her brother.
"Well, we came here to find the earth dragon. It seems a specific destination might be best, rather than searching for ships we may never find."
Jinji reached for his hand, squeezing it and smiling up at him in thanks. The sight made Rhen's stomach coil. Something about her brother's tone was too innocent. "You're right, Janu. We should travel to a place. We should have a set plan. Rhen?"
He broke his scrutiny of Janu, gritting his teeth in concerned thought. After a moment, he said, "What about Brython?"
"The mountain city," Bran commented, agreeing with a nod.
Jinji and Leena both followed suit, supporting Rhen's decision.
It was Janu who spoke next. "Where is Brython? Why there?"
This time Rhen was not the only one who turned to Janu with brows pinched. Jinji did too. And the sight of her watching her brother—no, examining her brother—made his gut tighten even more. Rhen knew he was wary of the man, but why on earth was Jinji?
"Brython is a city high up in the Weeping Mountains," Bran commented, unaware of Rhen's clenched jaw. "They have rock quarries that some say stretch a thousand feet high. And most of the ice in the kingdom is cut from the tops of those mountains. I hear the peaks are frozen all year round. In the spring and summer, they weep rivers. In the fall and winter, the mountains are covered in icy tears. My ma told me they have the best library in the kingdom too, she went there once as a child."
Janu shrugged. "I've never heard of it."
Rhen flicked his eyes to Jinji, studying the way her shoulders dropped in certain relief. He was the only one looking close enough to notice.
"Let's go," Jinji said, spurring the group into action. Rhen offered her his hand before climbing onto Firestorm's back. But this time, she declined, shaking her head. "I'll ride with Janu."
Rhen licked his lips for a moment then gave her a weak smile, turning before she could see the hurt flash over his eyes. Something so small. And yet, he had the feeling it signified something larger, something he wasn't ready to see.
And the sense of unease didn't go away as they entered the sky—it strengthened. With each flap of Firestorm's wings, the pit in Rhen's stomach shoveled deeper. Along the ground, all he saw were shadows. From the clouds, from the trees, from homes, even the soaring shape of the dragons in flight. But to Rhen, the darkness began to seem alive. The ebony spoke to him, promising doom. No matter how hard he concentrated on the grass or the rippling sea or the river mapping their course to Brython, the shadows in his peripheral wouldn't vanish. They couldn't be squashed.
The sky grew colder the closer they flew. The breath pressing through his lips began to puff out in white smoke. The air was thinner, harder to pull into his chest. And the ground started to rise in sharp spikes, gradually growing taller. Mirroring the terrain below, bumps rose along Rhen's warm skin. For some reason, the cool temperature didn't seem like the cause. The ridges were a warning, sent straight from his heart, ominous as they rippled across his arms.
The group began to weave through the mountains, following the winding river, a path they could track from the sky. The peaks stretched over their heads, disappearing into thick clouds. And though they could fly higher, Rhen kept everyone low where the air was clear and the world visible. The last thing they all needed was to dive into the fog.
As they curved around the next mountain, the city of Brython slipped into view, nestled in a wide valley, hugging the side of the river. The ground here was still covered by a layer of white, remnants of the winter. The houses were made of gray stones in varying shades, blending into the rocky landscape around them. And the castle was built into the side of a mountain, high above the sleepy town below, watching over it protectively. A small curving road was the only path leading to the fortress.
At first, the city seemed quiet in its solitude. But the closer they flew, the more Rhen noticed life and activity filling the streets below. Yet, the discomfort filling his chest didn't go away. The closer they traveled, the stronger it became.
Upon landing, the hairs on the back of his neck stood. Jinji stepped toward the entrance to the castle, already lifting her hands to stop whatever arrows or blades might fly in her direction. The process was becoming too familiar. First in Rayfort, then Fayfall, now Brython. But the moment she opened her mouth to call out to the guards, to demand a welcome entrance, a sound stopped her. Stopped them all.
Screams.
At first, Rhen thought it was the wind—the gentle howl of gusts billowing through the mountain valley. But as the sound traveled high over the town, reaching the castle gate, he recognized it for what it was. Human screams. People yelling in terror.
Rhen spun. They all did, looking down at the city, which was frantic with activity. Men and women and children ran in every direction. The air turned electric, prickling his skin, charged. The sensation was all too familiar. Rhen had felt it before—in the dragon's vision. He recognized the airborne current, the tingling premonition of doom. And the more he watched the people below, the more he realized he was looking in the wrong direction. All their faces were turned up, were aimed on the sky. They were running in terror, and their eyes weren't on the dragons.
Everyone in the group realized it at the same time.
All five of them spun on their heels, eyes traveling up.
Leena gasped by his side. But Rhen was stuck, eyes wide, as he watched a black fog descend from the mountain. Ebony tendrils stretched out, slowly and deliberately, like fingers reaching to claim the city below. The mist moved lazily, gradually blocking out the sun as it sank, made all the more terrifying by the anticipation crackling in the air. Midday turned to midnight. And the closer the haze traveled, the more distinct it became. Bodies separated. Shapes formed. A ghostly army materialized.
The phantoms were here.
The shadow was here.
"Fly!" Jinji screamed.
The riders needed no other prompting. With one glance back at Jinji, whose eyes were locked on him, Rhen jumped onto Firestorm's back. He hated to leave her, and he could read the same fear for him in her gaze. Yet as the screams grew louder, echoing across the valley, Rhen knew there was no other choice. They both did. His destiny was to fly, and hers was to remain on the ground, each fighting in the only way they knew how.
So he took off. And in the same moment, the fog finally hit the town. Just like when the armies outside Rayfort were dying in his flames, Rhen immediately felt the pain of the people below. Through Firestorm, he lived their terror, their fear. In his heart, he could feel each life end as the phantoms claimed them. First, the black mist brought paralysis, stilling each person that came into contact with it. Then the freeze, as though their bodies filled with ice. And then heat, a fire bubbling beneath the surface of their skin, excruciating. Then the seizures came, violent twitching, until finally the shadow claimed their souls, ending their suffering and pulling them into his realm.
Rhen was lost in the agony.
They all were.
The dragons and riders hovered over the city, unable to see beyond the pain, unable to separate themselves from those dying below.
Fight!
The scream ripped through Rhen's mind, shattering through the pain.
Fight! Jinji shouted again, speaking to them through the magic tying the dragons to her, tying them all together. Her voice shocked the riders to their very core. But it was the jolt they all needed.
Firestorm roared.
The other dragons did too.
And just like the practice from the night before, all three riders were connected. Rhen felt them in his own mind. He knew where they were, sensed what they were doing. And just the same, he felt Jinji with him, almost as though her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist. Her presence gave him strength, gave him courage.
"Let's go," he whispered fervently to his dragon. And through this spiritual connection, all of the riders heard him. And all of them listened.
He and Firestor
m dove, invincible together. Flames roared, shooting into the sky, burning the thin air. Rhen's world became a canvas of black and orange, of fire and mist, of phantom and flame. The haze separated where he flew, avoiding contact with his power. The ebony shrank beneath his flames, but it didn't disappear entirely. Instead, the ghosts vanished, only to reappear safely behind him, out of the path of his fire.
The dance was maddening.
Every time Rhen turned, the phantoms were there. Like oil and water, they slinked away from his flames, anticipating where each blaze would go and swerving to avoid it. For every one phantom Rhen managed to slow, ten more escaped.
And Rhen sensed the others were having similar luck.
Ice shards spotted the ground, sharp, piercing the earth but not the mist. Water flooded the streets, trying to wash the phantoms away from the bodies writhing in pain. But Leena's mind was full of the same frustration as Rhen's. No matter what she tried, none of it was working.
The ground trembled and quaked. Rocks slipped free of the mountains, trying to bury the ebony haze beneath a bed of broken stone. But the shadowy cloud slipped through the cracks, oozing free of the landslide. Bran and his dragon spewed dirt over the mist, but no matter how deep it sunk, it wouldn't stay buried.
And in the back of his mind, Rhen heard something that made him pause.
That made his heart sink.
That made any hope he had left vanish.
Jinji was whimpering.
"Help me," she whispered. He heard her plea through the magic. The spirits brought her voice to his ear. But Rhen knew the words weren't meant for him, they weren't meant for the riders. But he had no idea who she might be speaking to. "What do I do? Help me."
Whoever it was, nothing came.
They were alone.
And they were losing.
With each passing moment, Rhen felt the city slip further and further from his grasp. More and more people were dying. More and more souls were dropping away. The shadow was winning, and even with the dragons, there seemed no possible way to stop him.
The Phoenix Born (A Dance of Dragons #3) Page 10
