O’er cliff and cave, through mist and gloom,
She carries life back to the womb.
A phantom swift, a breath, a sigh,
The thief who makes the dragons cry.
Skylar
I jolt awake, disoriented because of the very real dream I was having where a golden dragon was talking to me.
I shake my head. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a dream. Maybe that was real. Or was it?
“My lady! My lady, you have to get up. The thief stole the egg! King Augustus is furious!” one of my maids says.
“The thief?” I ask, my mind still reeling from the dream or memory of that queen dragon.
‘The human lives.’
Me. I’m the human. I got to live, because the golden queen said so.
“My lady, please! His majesty is calling everyone to the council chambers. He’s calling for the head of the thief and for the blacksmith who created
