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Sylvane seems to have gotten her stride back and points out dragons two and three are Bellatrix and Syrinx, a mother and daughter. "My younger brother, Faolin, rides Bellatrix, and his daughter Kamari is bonded to Syrinx. Both even tempered, until you cross their riders."
"Duly noted," I say in reverential fear, moving on to the fourth dragon's pen.
Enormous and positively stunning, the male dragon is named Artax and his rider is none other than Prince Thrane Basilius. I should have guessed the pairing from the skeptical side-eye and judgmental disposition Artax sports, but there's something in his confident body language that makes me wonder, if beneath the scales there's a soft and caring heart.
Beside Artax are two empty stalls.
"Are those dragons still out?" I crouch to look out the open backside of the pen but there aren't any dragons flying.
Sylvane shakes her head slowly, meeting my gaze. "Drax and Elexus died in the Great War, along with their riders. My brother, Eiran, who was Thrane and Hael's father, and his dragon Drax were shot out of the sky, but not before they wreaked havoc on Drogon's army for months. Elexus and my Aunt Anwyn sacrificed themselves by protecting a battalion of Dwarven soldiers who had been cut off from the rest of our allies. Had she not taken on Drogon's minions, over three hundred Dwarves would have perished. From my understanding, the Dwarves erected a statue of her and Elexus in Durne, honoring their courage and sacrifice."
"Oh," I clear my throat. "I'm sorry to hear they died."
"Don't be," she says simply. "They died warriors' deaths and are remembered for their bravery."
We stare at one another in complete silence and so many questions swirl in my head, but I'm too cowardly to ask any of them.
"I thought I counted five dragons flying?" I break the tense silence.
"We currently have seven dragons." Sylvane composes herself and moves passed the two empty stalls and comes to another male dragon. He's definitely younger than Thrane's dragon, Artax, but not by much. "This is Mandrax. His rider is Prince Hael, Thrane's younger brother. They're both quiet and prefer to be by themselves."
"So, do the dragons take on the personalities of their riders?" Atlas finally chimes in, startling my mother, as if she had forgotten he was with us at all.
She nods. "In some ways, yes. Frost Dragons sense when a Basilius is pregnant, and the need for another dragon spurs one to be created. Dragon and babe are bonded from birth, and they tend to take on similar qualities. However, they also take on some of our shortcomings. We must be in tune with ourselves and maintain balance within, so our dragons pick up on that as well."
"I didn't know that," he admits, his childhood love for dragon lore rears its head. "Thank you for sharing."
"You're welcome, Tronovian." She tilts her head in respect, before moving on to the next pen. "Did you know" – she glances at me – "that only members of House Basilius are paired with a Frost Dragon?"
I bob my head. "Only descendants of House Basilius are granted dragons because they are the only Frost Elves blessed with magic."
Sylvane smiles with pride radiating from her eyes. "That's right."
Standing in front of the next pen, Sylvane's dragon, Corvex, rears his head and his blue eyes light up the moment he sees my mother. The enormous male has a large scar slashed across his chest, but it's clearly old and healed. He is the only dragon to approach the barrier between us and slips his head over the lip, so Sylvane can stroke his snout and kiss him. "Corvex and I have been through many adventures together, haven't we, boy?"
Corvex clearly understands and bobs his head when she kisses his snout, before he stomps off to relax. They're basically giant dogs. I'm beginning to see the similarities.
"The stall at the end of the hall is empty," Sylvane continues. "It will be given to the next dragon born." We stop at the pen beside Corvex's and I peak inside to see a female dragon, smaller than the others, lounging. Her white scales almost look purple in the sunlight, but once she stretches her wings and four legs, her coloring changes to a bluish tint. Her long neck is extended in front of her, and her tail is tucked around her body like a canine's would be.
"What is her name?" I ask.
"That's Seraxes."
The mere mention of the dragon's name spurs her eyes to fly open. She slowly pulls her head upright and lazily scans us until her piercing blue eyes fall to me. Is she… frowning? Is it possible for a dragon to scowl?
"Why is she looking at me like that? Who is her rider?" I ask, though my eyes are glued to the dragon's.
"Seraxes is your dragon."
"Mine?" I whip to face her. "What do you mean?"
"I told you, every royal born in House Basilius is gifted a dragon to bond with. No dragon will be ridden by another rider and no rider will have another dragon."
"She's been waiting for me all these years?"
"That is the dragon way," Sylvane bobs her head.
Guilt lodges in the pit of my stomach. Seraxes has been riderless for twenty-one years. I know it's not my fault, but a part of me feels immeasurable remorse, and I want to make things right for her. All these years, she's been alone. She's watched every other dragon fly with their rider and take up their place in the Basilius household with no hope that she'd ever be seen in the same light.
