Moonlit Rebellion

Chapter Four

“Do not seek to master your dragon. Learn instead to master yourself.”

— Instructor Aryn, Earth Division

The door closed behind Skye.

For several seconds, she didn't move.

Silence settled around her.

Not the familiar silence of Nightshade Castle, where there was always something beyond the walls—the distant footsteps of guards, servants whispering in the corridors, Luna barging into her room without knocking, or Aurezion's enormous wings beating somewhere beyond her balcony.

This silence was different.

It belonged to a place that didn't know her yet.

Skye finally turned.

And stopped.

Her room was beautiful.

Not in the extravagant way of her chambers at Nightshade. There were no gilded pillars or silk curtains, no carved royal crest above the bed. Nothing in the room announced that its occupant was a princess.

Skye liked that immediately.

Smooth gray stone covered the floors and walls, softened by a thick cream rug near the bed. A large bay window dominated the far side of the room, its curved seat buried beneath pillows in shades of cream and charcoal.

Beyond the glass waited nothing but stars.

Scaleborn hovered in a violet sea of night, its towers and bridges washed in moonlight. Clouds drifted thousands of feet below, glowing silver beneath the moon.

A dragon swept past the window.

Skye rushed toward the glass.

Its enormous wings carried it silently between the towers before it banked sharply and disappeared into the darkness.

A smile tugged at her lips.

She was actually here.

A wooden desk stood beside the window with a matching bookshelf, both worn smooth by generations of initiates. The shelves were empty, but Skye knew that wouldn't last long. She had brought enough books to make Luna question whether she planned on studying at Scaleborn or opening a library.

Her gaze traveled toward the opposite side of the room.

A queen-sized bed occupied one corner, covered in thick dark blankets.

And beside it—

Skye's breath caught.

A pedestal stood against the wall.

Resting atop it was a velvet-lined cradle.

An egg cradle.

Empty.

Skye approached slowly.

Unlike nearly everything else at Scaleborn, it carried no symbol.

No flame.

No wave.

No mountain.

No storm.

No light.

No elemental color marked the velvet.

It was simply waiting.

Waiting for something that belonged to her.

Or didn't.

“The right egg will find the right heart.”

Skye spun.

Keala leaned against the open doorway.

Skye pressed a hand against her chest.

“I thought you left.”

“I tried.”

Keala nodded toward the room beside hers.

“Your neighbor distracted me.”

Skye groaned.

“Ashen.”

“Apparently he doesn't understand the concept of unpacking.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

Keala grinned and nodded toward the cradle.

“It's mostly decoration tonight.”

“Decoration?”

“Most initiates don't stay here long before the Calling.”

Skye looked back at the empty cradle.

“The Calling?”

Keala's grin widened.

“You'll see.”

Skye hated those words.

Everyone at Scaleborn seemed determined to answer her questions with you'll see, you'll learn, or some equally irritating variation.

Keala pushed herself away from the doorway.

“The right egg finds the right heart,” she repeated. “That's what they tell us, anyway.”

Skye ran her fingers along the wooden edge of the cradle.

The surface was cool beneath her fingertips.

The right heart.

Her chest tightened.

Would hers be?

“Anyway,” Keala said, apparently oblivious to the question suddenly consuming Skye, “I'll let you two get settled.”

“Two?”

Keala pointed toward the wall.

“B18.”

“Right.”

Skye had almost managed to forget.

Almost.

“Dinner is in the Mess Hall if you're hungry. Follow the silver lanterns. You can't miss it.”

“Thank you.”

Keala started down the corridor.

Then she turned.

“Oh, and Skye?”

“Yes?”

“Don't be late.”

Something about the way she said it made Skye suspicious.

“Why?”

Keala smiled.

“You'll see.”

Skye stared after her.

“I already hate that phrase!”

Keala's laughter echoed through the tower.

Skye unpacked nothing.

Her satchel remained on the desk.

Her cloak hung limply over the back of the chair.

The books she'd spent so much time choosing remained buried beneath spare clothes, weapons, and the small pieces of home she'd managed to bring with her.

Instead, she sat curled inside the bay window.

Her knees were tucked against her chest as she stared into the endless night.

Scaleborn looked different beneath the stars.

Ancient.

Almost alive.

Lanterns glowed along the bridges connecting the towers. Dragons soared through the darkness, their silhouettes briefly eclipsing the moon before vanishing again.

Every few minutes, one called somewhere in the distance.

The sound rolled through the island like thunder.

Skye rested her head against the cool glass.

She had dreamed of this place for four years.

Longer, really.

But after her mother's death, dreaming had become something different.

Before that night, Skye had been allowed to simply be a daughter.

A princess.

A child.

Afterward, everything changed.

Her father changed.

Grief swallowed King Thalion in ways Skye hadn't understood at the time. He became more distant, more protective, more consumed by ruling Nightshade and keeping what remained of his family alive.

And Skye had watched Luna lose her mother and, in many ways, lose pieces of their father too.

So Skye stepped into the spaces left behind.

She learned how Luna liked her hair braided.

Learned which stories helped her sleep when nightmares came.

Learned when to lie and say everything would be all right.

Learned how to hide her own fear so Luna didn't have to carry it too.

She trained.

She studied.

She fought.

She became everything everyone seemed to need.

Princess.

Daughter.

Sister.

Protector.

Future ruler.

But none of those things mattered here.

A dragon wouldn't care whose blood ran through her veins.

It wouldn't care that King Thalion was her father.

It wouldn't care that Aurezion had allowed her to climb over his scales when she was a child.

It wouldn't care that she'd spent four years preparing for Scaleborn.

The egg would judge her.

Skye's gaze drifted toward the empty cradle.

The right egg will find the right heart.

Her fingers tightened around her knees.

“What if mine isn't?”

The words sounded too loud in the empty room.

She immediately wished she could take them back.

Skye Vealwyn did not doubt herself.

At least, she wasn't supposed to.

Yet the question remained.

What if she wasn't good enough?

What if every sacrifice she'd made hadn't strengthened her but hardened her?

What if the dragon looked inside her and found too much anger?

Too much grief?

Too much fear?

Her mother's blood flashed through her memory.

Rhylar Thornshield.

Skye clenched her jaw.

“No.”

She stood abruptly.

She hadn't crossed the Whispering Woods, survived a Terraclaw, climbed a staircase designed by someone with an obvious hatred for human life, and dragged Ashen's irritating body from certain death just to sit in a window and convince herself she wasn't worthy.

Somewhere on this island was her dragon.

She only had to survive long enough to find it.

Her stomach growled.

Loudly.

Skye stared down at it.

“Really?”

“Hungry?”

Skye moved on instinct.

Her hand found the dagger at her thigh.

She spun and threw.

The blade flashed through the room.

Ashen ducked.

The dagger struck the wooden doorframe behind him with a solid thunk.

Silence.

Skye stared at him.

Ashen slowly straightened.

His eyes moved toward the dagger.

Then back to her.

A laugh escaped him.

Not the irritating little chuckle she'd heard before.

An actual laugh.

“Damn, Princess.”

Skye crossed her arms.

“You shouldn't sneak up on people.”

“I knocked.”

“No, you didn't.”

“I considered knocking.”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“Close enough.”

Ashen stepped into the room and pulled the dagger from the wood.

He inspected the blade.

“You nearly killed me.”

“Nearly.”

He looked at her.

Skye smiled sweetly.

Ashen laughed again and flipped the dagger in his hand before offering it back to her, hilt first.

“I knew you had fight in you.”

“You met me while I was holding you to the ground with my foot against your throat.”

“Fair point.”

She took the dagger.

His fingers brushed hers.

Only for an instant.

Still, Skye noticed.

Annoyingly.

Ashen glanced toward her untouched satchel.

“You haven't unpacked.”

“Neither have you, apparently.”

“How would you know?”

“Keala told me.”

“She's observant.”

“She's nosy.”

“Also true.”

Skye slid the dagger back into its sheath.

Her stomach betrayed her again with another growl.

Ashen's eyebrows rose.

She glared at him.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to suggest we find food before your stomach attracts a dragon.”

Skye grabbed her cloak.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

She stopped.

Ashen walked into the corridor without looking back.

Skye stared after him.

The confidence in his voice irritated her more than it should have.

“Keep telling yourself that, Thorn.”

His laughter drifted down the hallway.

The Mess Hall had been carved into the oldest tower of Scaleborn.

Skye knew that before entering.

What she hadn't known was that its walls were made from the dead.

She stopped beneath the enormous stone archway.

Dragon bones stretched along the walls.

Thousands of them.

Ribs curved upward toward the vaulted ceiling, forming enormous ivory arches. Skulls rested within alcoves carved into the stone. Some were no larger than Skye's hand.

Others were bigger than horses.

Runes had been carved into the bones.

They pulsed faintly.

Gold.

Blue.

Red.

Silver.

Green.

Each shimmered with residual magic, as though death had never fully convinced the dragons to surrender their power.

Ashen stopped beside her.

“Comforting.”

Skye looked at him.

“You really can't help yourself, can you?”

“No.”

At least he was honest.

They joined the stream of students entering the hall.

Dozens of initiates filled the chamber.

Some whispered excitedly.

Others looked pale enough to faint.

Uniforms created a sea of color beneath the dragon bones—deep blues for Water, crimson for Fire, forest greens and earthen browns, pale golds, silvers, and colors Skye couldn't yet place.

She caught people staring at her.

Whispers followed.

Princess.

Vealwyn.

Nightshade.

Skye kept walking.

She had expected this.

That didn't make it less irritating.

The center of the hall was dominated by a long curved table surrounded by stone benches. Wide spaces interrupted the seating at strange intervals.

Skye stared at them.

“Why are there gaps?”

Ashen followed her gaze.

“For dragons?”

“Inside?”

He looked toward the massive doors at the opposite end of the hall.

“They'd fit.”

Skye wasn't sure if that excited or terrified her.

Probably both.

They found seats near the end of the table.

Ashen sat beside her.

Skye pretended not to notice how naturally that had happened.

Across the hall, Keala caught her eye.

The Water student gave her a small wave before returning to her conversation with Radelia.

Radelia was saying something animatedly, gesturing with one hand while the other rested near the dagger strapped to her hip.

Skye made a mental note to speak to them later.

Friends.

She wanted friends here.

Not subjects.

Her attention drifted toward the head of the table.

A woman stood there.

Tall.

Still.

Silver hair fell down her back, nearly blending with the pale ceremonial robes covering her slender frame.

She wasn't speaking to the room.

Yet something about her presence demanded more attention than shouting ever could.

Skye leaned slightly toward Ashen.

“Who is that?”

He looked.

“No idea.”

The woman appeared to be whispering.

Skye strained to hear.

Nothing.

Only fragments.

Ancient words spoken too softly to understand.

The runes carved into the dragon bones seemed to brighten with every syllable.

Skye's skin prickled.

Then—

Clink.

She jumped.

Every bronze plate on the table had filled simultaneously.

Food appeared without warning.

Root stew steamed within black bowls. Dark grain bread rested beside stonefruit preserves, and ceramic cups filled themselves with amber-colored herbal tea.

The smell hit Skye immediately.

Warm bread.

Roasted vegetables.

Spices.

Her stomach growled again.

Ashen glanced sideways.

“Not a word.”

His mouth closed.

Skye picked up her spoon.

Around them, everyone began eating.

The stew was simple but good.

Warm.

Hearty.

Nothing like the elaborate dinners served at Nightshade.

Skye found she preferred it.

She tore a piece from the bread and dipped it into the broth.

Ashen was already halfway through his bowl.

“Do you inhale food?”

“I was hungry.”

“You've been eating for thirty seconds.”

“Efficient.”

Skye shook her head.

Her attention shifted toward the tea.

Steam curled above the black ceramic cup.

She lifted it.

The scent stopped her.

Sweet.

Fruity.

Familiar.

Skye took a sip.

Home.

For one impossible moment, she wasn't at Scaleborn.

She was fourteen again.

Barefoot.

Sneaking through Nightshade Castle after midnight with Luna desperately trying not to laugh beside her.

They'd creep into the kitchens after everyone had gone to bed and steal whatever the cooks had prepared for the next morning.

Daydream scones.

That had always been Luna's favorite.

Skye preferred the dragon mango tea.

They would sit on the cold stone counters with their legs swinging beneath them, whispering about the latest court gossip.

Sometimes they talked about boys.

Sometimes about Scaleborn.

Sometimes about absolutely nothing.

And occasionally, when their father had been particularly irritating that day, they would spend an hour impersonating him.

Luna had been terrible at it.

Skye had been frighteningly good.

A smile tugged at her lips.

“What?”

Skye blinked.

Ashen was watching her.

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“I do that.”

“Rarely around me.”

“There's a reason for that.”

His mouth twitched.

Skye took another sip.

The warmth spread through her chest.

Then someone collapsed.

Thud.

Skye turned.

A broad-shouldered boy with dark brown hair had fallen forward onto the table.

His cheek landed directly in his stew.

Skye stared.

“What the—”

Another initiate dropped.

Then another.

A girl across the table slumped sideways against the person beside her.

Someone's cup shattered against the floor.

Skye shot to her feet.

Panic erupted through the hall.

But only among the new initiates.

The older students weren't moving.

They weren't screaming.

They weren't surprised.

Some were actually smiling.

Skye's blood ran cold.

Her gaze snapped toward her tea.

“No.”

Her fingers went numb.

The cup slipped from her hand and struck the table.

Ashen stood abruptly beside her.

“What the f**k is happening?”

Skye barely recognized her own voice.

The room shifted.

She grabbed the edge of the table.

Something heavy pulled at her mind.

Not exhaustion.

Magic.

Her vision blurred.

She reached instinctively for her Light.

Amber flickered beneath her skin.

For one heartbeat, it answered.

Then the magic faltered.

“Skye.”

Ashen's voice sounded far away.

She turned toward him.

He was still standing.

Why was he still standing?

His face remained sharp while everything else blurred around him.

His hand closed around her arm.

“Ashen…”

His eyes moved toward the silver-haired woman.

Then the tea.

Understanding flashed across his face.

Something darker followed.

Skye tried to focus.

Around them, initiates continued collapsing.

Ashen's grip tightened.

Yet he still wasn't falling.

Skye frowned.

Why wasn't he—

A hand touched her shoulder.

She spun.

Or tried to.

Keala stood behind her.

Calm.

Completely calm.

“Don't fight it,” she said.

Skye stared at her.

“You…”

Her tongue felt heavy.

“You drugged us.”

Keala winced.

“Technically, I didn't.”

“Not… helping.”

“I know.”

Skye's knees buckled.

Keala caught her before she hit the floor.

“Easy.”

Golden light flared across Skye's hands.

Instinct screamed at her to fight.

Her father's voice echoed through her memory.

Control your emotions.

She tried.

Gods, she tried.

But whatever had been placed in the tea was stronger.

“What…” Skye forced the word through numb lips. “What is happening?”

Keala lowered her carefully toward the stone bench.

Her expression softened.

“We all went through it.”

Skye's heart pounded.

Around her, the Mess Hall disappeared beneath shadows.

The dragon bones overhead seemed to bend.

Move.

Breathe.

“Why?”

Keala brushed fiery hair away from Skye's face.

“It's how they find you.”

Skye fought to keep her eyes open.

“Who?”

The word barely escaped.

Keala smiled.

“Your dragon.”

Skye's breath caught.

The darkness swallowed her.

For several seconds, there was nothing.

No pain.

No sound.

No Scaleborn.

Then—

Skye.

Her eyes opened.

She wasn't in the Mess Hall.

She wasn't anywhere she recognized.

Black sand stretched beneath her feet.

An endless night sky surrounded her, filled with thousands of stars.

Skye slowly turned.

No towers.

No mountains.

No floating island.

Only darkness.

She looked down.

Her uniform was gone.

Instead, she wore a simple white dress that moved around her ankles despite the absence of wind.

“Hello?”

Her voice echoed.

Something answered.

Not words.

A heartbeat.

Thump.

Skye froze.

Another.

Thump.

The ground trembled.

Far ahead, something began to glow.

Skye's breath caught.

An egg.

It rested alone in the darkness.

She couldn't see its color from here.

Couldn't make out its markings.

But she felt it.

Something inside her chest pulled toward it.

Not magic.

Not exactly.

Something deeper.

Skye took one step forward.

The egg pulsed.

Amber light flashed beneath its shell.

Her heart raced.

Another step.

The darkness shifted.

Whispers surrounded her.

Princess.

Skye stopped.

Daughter.

The voices multiplied.

Sister.

Failure.

Her stomach twisted.

“No.”

You couldn't save her.

Her mother's scream ripped through the darkness.

Skye staggered.

Blood appeared across the black sand.

“No.”

You won't save Luna.

“Stop.”

You won't save your father.

“Stop.”

You aren't worthy.

Golden light exploded from Skye's hands.

“STOP!”

The darkness recoiled.

Silence.

Skye stood shaking.

Her mother's blood disappeared.

The voices vanished.

Only the egg remained.

Waiting.

She stared at it.

Instructor Aryn's words returned to her.

Do not seek to master your dragon.

Skye breathed.

Learn instead to master yourself.

She slowly unclenched her fists.

The golden light dimmed.

She wasn't here to conquer anything.

She wasn't here to prove she was stronger than everyone else.

She wasn't even here to prove she was worthy.

Skye stepped toward the egg.

“I don't know if I have the right heart.”

Her voice trembled.

The egg pulsed.

“But it's mine.”

Another step.

“And I've spent too long being afraid there's something wrong with it.”

The darkness remained silent.

Skye approached until only a few feet separated them.

“I can't promise I'll always be brave.”

A faint crack appeared across the shell.

Skye's breath stopped.

“I can't promise I'll always know what I'm doing.”

Another crack.

“But I can promise I'll keep trying.”

The light inside the egg brightened.

Skye reached toward it.

Her fingers were inches from the shell when—

Darkness slammed between them.

Skye gasped.

The egg vanished.

“No!”

Something moved behind her.

She spun.

A figure stood in the distance.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Male.

His face was hidden.

Shadows twisted around his body like living smoke.

Skye's blood turned cold.

“Who are you?”

The figure didn't answer.

A silver light flashed at his throat.

A snowflake.

Skye froze.

She knew that pendant.

“Ashen?”

The shadows surged.

The world shattered.

Skye woke with a violent gasp.

Her body jerked upright.

The Mess Hall returned all at once.

Dragon bones.

Stone walls.

Lanterns.

Voices.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She was lying on the floor beside the table.

Keala crouched several feet away, helping another initiate sit up.

All around the hall, students were waking.

Some cried.

Some screamed.

Others simply stared into nothing.

Skye pressed a hand against her chest.

The egg.

She had seen an egg.

Hadn't she?

She could still feel its pull.

Warm.

Familiar.

Calling.

Then she remembered the figure.

The shadows.

The silver snowflake.

Skye's gaze snapped toward the place beside her.

Empty.

Ashen was gone.

Her pulse quickened.

She searched the hall.

Nothing.

No black cloak.

No dark hair.

No irritating smirk.

“Ashen?”

Keala looked toward her.

“What?”

“Where is he?”

Keala frowned.

“I thought he was with you.”

“He was.”

Skye stood too quickly.

The room tilted.

She grabbed the table.

Keala moved toward her.

“Skye, wait—”

But Skye was already searching.

Her eyes swept across the unconscious initiates.

One by one.

Nothing.

Ashen Thorn was nowhere in the Mess Hall.

At the head of the table, the silver-haired woman was watching her.

Skye stilled.

Their eyes met across the enormous chamber.

The woman's expression revealed nothing.

Then her gaze shifted.

Toward the open doors.

Skye followed it.

Beyond them, the corridor was empty.

Except for a thin trail of darkness curling across the stone floor.

Like smoke.

Like shadow.

And somewhere far beneath Scaleborn, something began to crack.