realistic dream he’d had moments before. He’d been flying in the sun, the sweet smell of a tribiscal vineyard filling his lungs, his wings carrying him on a soft, warm breeze. He’d dreamed of freedom, of Paragon, of flying. He’d dreamed of the mountain.
It felt like an eternity since he’d spread his wings. He almost wished he hadn’t experienced the dream. The ultimate despair of his predicament only cut deeper in comparison.
Another scream reached his ears from somewhere deep inside the dungeon, and Xavier came fully into his reality. The wail of agony echoed against the stone and then pinched off as if whatever wretched soul had uttered it had run out of breath. He stretched a talon to the stone and etched a line next to the others. Hundreds of others. If he’d calculated correctly, he’d been trapped in this cage for nearly two years.
Footsteps approached—a guard with his nightly meal. The sandy-haired young man was dressed in clan colors but was oddly a stranger.
“Ye must be new,” Xavier said. “I donna recognize yer face.”
Without speaking or making eye contact, the guard slid the tray he was carrying along the stone floor, through the slot in the door, and into the cage. Venison, bread, greens, and water. It was a decent enough meal, although Xavier would kill for a whisky.
“Ye might be new, but it seems ye ken the rules well enough. Why does that arse ye slave after bother feeding me if he plans to leave me to rot in this hole?”
The guard didn’t answer him, but then he was already halfway down the hall before Xavier asked the question. None of them ever lingered. Feed the dragon and then leave quickly, Lachlan must have told them. Wouldn’t want to risk Xavier breaking the mind control Lachlan kept them all under and perhaps convincing one of them to let him go.
Anyway, Xavier knew exactly why Lachlan continued to feed him. He had to. The very existence of the builgean depended on Xavier’s magic. If he died, their world would collapse. If he became weak, the crops might wilt and the animals would stop producing young. His magic was keeping the clan alive. His clan.
Without the builgean and his clan, there’d be only one place for Lachlan to go, and the evil fairy would do anything to keep from returning to his kind.
Xavier closed his eyes against the rage that burned in his blood and turned his vision red. He must get free, must save his people from the scourge that even now sat on his throne and ruled his clan.
He stared at the food. His stomach rumbled with hunger but somehow still managed to roil at the thought of his predicament. He was helpless here. Trapped. There was no way out. He’d exhausted every option. Unless one of those guards had a change of heart or his oread, Glenna, found a way to break the spell containing him. He wouldn’t be holding his breath for either. In two years of trying, they’d never managed to budge the gate.
All the while he contemplated his fate, his mind kept taking him back to his dream. The sun. The mountain. The beauty of Paragon. Why was his head going back there now? It had been a long time since he’d thought of the place as home. Happy memories of his childhood were few and far between after almost three centuries. Still, he was a child of the Mountain, he supposed. You could take a dragon out of Paragon, but you’d never get Paragon out of the dragon.
A child of the Mountain. His mind flashed through images of his youth, the myths and legends of his people. Xavier had never been a religious dragon, but every citizen of Paragon understood that the mountain was the physical manifestation of the goddess. The scribes who had taught him in school always said the goddess of the mountain was his creator and his protector. Funny, in all the days he’d spent in this cell, he’d never once thought to ask her for help.
There was a first time for everything. He fell to his knees and bowed his head, his arms spreading, palms upturned, and eyes closed in the way of his people. When he spoke, he did so in his first language, one he hadn’t used in hundreds of years. The words, his solemn plea for help, came to him in a rush.
Goddess, I am unworthy of your compassion, but your creation needs your help.