Page 164 of Heimlock

Trinte’s chest glows white hot and he releases a fireball right into his father’s face. The crowd roars, cleaving the air with the depth of it. Trinte’s wings slap together upward, painting one of the most graceful and terrifying images.

His father clamps onto the base of his neck, closer to his chest, and tears into it. Trinte roars as he takes advantage of the position. His father must not be thinking correctly, because all it does is give his son the opportunity to bite the top of his neck, at the base of the red skull, forcing him to stop biting.

There’s only a few hundred feet left.

67

Quietly into his mind, I tell him, When this is done, when it’s all over, the name Racidious Gleanscale will only ever be mentioned in reference to the day his son destroyed him.

He’s panicking, that single amber eye locked on me, wide with terror. It feels phenomenal, knowing that his time; my time, is approaching. Wind screams around us, howling for blood. Inside, I feel nothing but cold retribution.

Please forgive me, he says, sounding genuine.

It means nothing. He means nothing.

You stole my innocence. You robbed me of a future. You made me afraid. You stole my fucking eye. The ground is a couple hundred feet away. I shake his head, tasting his torn flesh against my forked tongue. Say hello to Fortuna for me when she escorts you to her icy hell.

Panic laces his tone. Son, I—

Snow explodes around us and underneath me, the body of my father shatters under the impact. My body breaks in different places, but I pay it no mind. With one final wrenching pull, I snap his head off that graceful neck.

Maw full of skull, I look toward my family and toss it toward them. Blood flies through the air, crystalizing in the freezing cold. It lands at their feet, its wide amber eye dull with death. The crowd roars, plumes of fire filling the air.

It’s done.

Stumbling off the bleeding corpse, I grunt at my shattered back leg. Bones in my wings have snapped from the impact. Blood trickles out of the many injuries on my body.

But when I focus on my creamsicle dream, I’m met with a proud woman’s gaze, her face flushed and shining. The smile spreading on her face is full of diabolical promise.

68

It’s chaos all around, with Dragons roaring and people screaming. Maybe there’s something official required, but I’m already vaulting over the rope and sprinting toward Trinte.

My wonderful blue Dragon stumbles on a broken leg with his left wing dragging on the ground. Blood runs from different wounds as he rubs his face into the snow to wipe away the blood. When I’m close enough, I leap onto his snout, not caring about the blood.

“You did it, baby! You did it!”

He chuffs. Of course, I did. I told you I would.

I laugh, kissing a big, blue scale. He does the Dragon equivalent of purring, vibrating my whole body. “I love you so much.”

I love you too. Would you like to join me for the glassing?

For the first time in five minutes, my heart beats wildly in excitement instead of fear. “Yes! And then we go find some place so I can ride the champion of the Cairanin?”

Goddess, I hope so.

“Why in all twelve Hells am I always around for the worst parts of your conversations?” Fynn grumbles, walking up to us. “Or do the both of you only discuss fucking?”

Orliana laughs, an arm around a crying Joulian. Trinte presses his snout against the boy’s chest. Don’t cry, buddy. I’m okay.

Joulian points at his broken leg. “That doesn't look okay.”

I look at the punctured, bloodied skin, and white bone splitting the muscle. Fynn puts a hand on Joulian’s shoulder. “It’s temporary; the magyck of the Cairanin will heal it.”

To my amazement, the skin rapidly stitches itself back together. He grunts when the bone snaps back into place, but the vestiges of that disappear within thirty seconds. Relief is palpable inside me when his wing heals and he can move it again.

“Excellent job,” a weathered feminine voice says from behind us. We turn to see a magenta female Dragon approaching us. She’s wearing layers of purple and blue fabrics that have beads sewn in on the edges, making loud clanking sounds. Her purple eyes skim me with appraisal; she smiles at Orliana. “Good to see you again, my dear.” Her eyes flick to Fynn. “And to see that you continue to tolerate my broody nephew.”