A bitter wind whipped across Lake Dragontide as Finnegan guided his boat toward the Island of Emberfall. Dark clouds roiled overhead, promising a storm.
He gripped the boat's wheel tighter as he approached the dock. Something felt wrong—the island's usual sounds were missing.
"Too quiet," he said, tying off his boat.
His walking stick tapped against the planks as he made his way to the barracks. He noticed Stormwing's empty cell, its door hanging open.
The barracks was dark. No smoke came from the chimney, no sign of Pryce or his pets. Finnegan approached the door.
"Pryce?" he called out, knowing already there would be no answer. "Lad?"
Inside, the hearth held nothing but cold ashes. No flapping of Skye's wings disturbed the silence. Ash's usual perch by the window sat vacant.
Finnegan looked around the abandoned room. "Oh, lad. What have you gone and done now?"
Finnegan shuffled further into the barracks, his walking stick catching on the uneven floorboards. A scrap of paper on the table caught his eye, weighted down by a mug. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it.
"What's this, then?" He squinted at Pryce's hurried handwriting.
"Princess Seren?" Finnegan spat the name like a curse. "Nymeria's daughter, no less." He crumpled the note in his fist and stuffed it into his pocket, remembering his warning to Pryce about the Dragonkin queen's appearance in the shadows.
A loose floorboard creaked under his foot as he paced. Finnegan paused, noting how it shifted differently than the others. Kneeling with effort, his joints aching, he pried up the board. A small pile of coins glinted in the dim light.
"Smart lad. At least you didn't trust them completely." He pulled out a coin, turning it over in his calloused palm. Most of Gavin's loan lay hidden here—a sign that some part of Pryce had doubts about his decision.
The memory of Nymeria watching from the treeline flashed through his mind. Her predatory stance, the way her cloak had melded with the shadows. He should have known she wouldn't leave the boy alone, not after seeing his gift with dragons.
"Should've kept a closer eye on you, lad. Should've known they'd send someone younger, prettier to turn your head."
The journey back to Crystal Shores felt longer than usual, each wave pushing against Finnegan's boat like a personal attack. He replayed the past few days in his mind, searching for signs he might have missed.
"The way the lad looked at that saddle," he said, adjusting his course against the strengthening wind. "Stars in his eyes, just like his mother at that age."
Dark clouds gathered overhead. A gull—not Skye, but similar enough to twist his heart—wheeled past, fighting against the growing storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Finnegan remembered Pryce's questions about dragon training, his quick mastery of basic commands. The boy had a gift, no denying that. But gifts could be weapons in the wrong hands.
"Should've told him more about the mineral deposits. About why the Dragonkin really want Crystal Shores." He approached the shoreline. "They're not after some fishing village—they want what lies beneath."
The harbor came into view. Waves crashed against the pilings with growing force as the storm drew closer. Finnegan could see people hurrying to secure their boats, battening down against the weather.
His own vessel groaned as he guided it into its berth. There was no time to properly tie everything down—not with this news burning in his pocket. He had to reach the Harper-Greens before the storm broke.
"Hold together, old girl." He patted the boat's rail as he secured the minimum necessary lines. "Won't be long."
Thunder crackled overhead as Finnegan made his way through Crystal Shores' winding streets. His walking stick splashed through growing puddles. When he reached the Harper-Green home, he paused, gathering his resolve before knocking.
Ellie opened the door, her smile fading at his expression. "Finnegan? What's wrong?"
"Need to speak with you and Tyler," he said, his voice gruff. "About Pryce."
Tyler appeared behind his wife, drying his hands on a cloth. "Come in, old friend. You look like you've seen a seadrake."
Inside, Finnegan sank into a kitchen chair, his joints creaking almost as loudly as the wooden seat. He pulled out Pryce's crumpled note, smoothing it against the table.
Ellie snatched up the paper, her eyes darting across the words. "Seren? The Dragonkin princess?"
"What's this about?" Tyler moved to read over her shoulder." Those cursed books of his—filling his head with nonsense about dragon training and glory."
Faye crept down the stairs, drawn by the tension in their voices. She lingered in the doorway, her red hair a mirror of her mother's.
"It's not just the books," Finnegan said, clasping his walking stick. "Queen Nymeria herself appeared at the island. I warned the lad about her, but . . ." He shook his head. "That boy has a gift for talking to dragons. A rare gift. One the Dragonkin desperately want on their side."
"But why now?" Faye stepped fully into the kitchen. "The Dragonkin haven't bothered us in years."
Finnegan's expression grew grave. "Because they know what lies beneath Crystal Shores. The mineral deposits—dragon-magic ore that could make their forces unstoppable. We've had peace only because they couldn't access it. But with a talented dragon trainer like Pryce . . ." He let the implication hang in the air.
"They've been waiting," Tyler said quietly. "Waiting for someone like our son."
"He's been brainwashed," Ellie said, pacing the kitchen. Her fingers twisted the note until it was nearly shredded. "They must have fed him lies, twisted everything to make him think he was doing the right thing."
"He's of age now, Ellie," Tyler leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Old enough to make his own choices, even if they're wrong ones."
"Choices?" Ellie faced her husband. "He's been sheltered his whole life. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe if I'd told him more about our bloodline, about the true nature of the Dragonkin—"
"Don't blame yourself," Finnegan interrupted, thumping his walking stick against the floor. "The dragon blood runs in his veins, just as it runs in yours. Some calls can't be ignored."
Rain lashed against the windows as the storm finally broke. Lightning flashed, illuminating Faye's worried face. "Will we have to fight him? If the Dragonkin come for the deposits?"
"No," Ellie said. "I'm going after him. I'll bring him home before it comes to that."
Tyler pushed away from the counter. "And how exactly do you plan to do that? Storm the Dragonkin stronghold single-handed?"
"Is his skiff still at the island?" Ellie asked Finnegan, ignoring her husband's question.
Finnegan nodded. "Aye. He must have flown off on that dragon of his. Took his pets with him too, I'd wager."
"El," Tyler's voice softened. "You can't just—"
"I can and I will." Ellie strode to the corner where an old trunk sat. "Grandpa Joe knew the secret ways to Dragonkin territory. He mapped them all."
Ellie opened her grandfather's trunk, the hinges squealed. She dug through layers of memories—old sailing charts, weathered logbooks, a compass with a cracked face—until she found what she sought.
"Here." She spread a yellowed map across the kitchen table. Finnegan leaned forward, squinting at the faded ink. Complex routes wound through the Dragonspine Reaches, marking hidden passages and secret coves.
A particularly violent thunderclap shook the house. Faye jumped, moving closer to her father.
"These routes," Finnegan traced one with a gnarled finger, "they're treacherous."
"I don't care. I won't let them use my son like some pawn in their games."
Tyler drew Ellie into his arms. "I'll go after him. Bring him back before—"
"No, I'm going. I just need to get the Seafarer's Sigil."
"Ellie," Tyler said. "You lost that compass in the Thornveil Wilds years ago. In that cave where—"
"Then I'll find it again," Ellie cut him off. "That compass can track dragon blood, and Pryce still wears my pendant. It will lead me straight to him."
The determination in her eyes reminded Finnegan of another headstrong Harper-Green who'd just flown off on a dragon.
"You can't stop him from making his own mistakes," Finnegan said. "Some lessons have to be learned the hard way."
Lightning split the sky again, and in that brief, brilliant flash, Ellie's features seemed to glow with something ancient. Something that spoke of dragon blood and old magic.
"Maybe." She tucked the map into her belt. "But I can stop him from making ones that'll get him killed."
Finnegan felt the time of peace was ending. And somewhere out there, beyond the storm, a young man with dragon blood in his veins was flying straight into the heart of an ancient conflict.
