novelraw Chapter 10
Chapter 10
When the feast was done, all that remained of the Manticore was a scattering of shattered black carapace, gleaming like obsidian shards on the canyon floor. The work of moving the corpse was now unnecessary. A profound, bone-deep lethargy settled over the three wyrmlings. The primal draconic instinct—to eat, to drink, and then to sleep—was an irresistible tide pulling them under.
With a groan of effort, Aiden heaved his body upward. He pushed himself onto his hind legs, his belly, round and distended, making the movement clumsy and unstable. He swayed for a moment before steadying himself.
His head turned, his crimson eyes falling upon Azure and Bianca. The two of them were sprawled bonelessly on their backs, bellies to the sky like sun-bleached lizards, their white and blue tails twitching lazily in the dust.
Aiden looked away, his gaze lifting to the dark maw of their new lair high on the cliff face. It was time to return. To sleep.
His wings unfurled from his back. With a powerful thrust, he launched himself into the air. He had eaten too much. His body felt heavy and unbalanced, wobbling precariously as if it might plummet back to the earth. He beat his wings faster, a furious, straining motion that finally stabilized his ascent.
He flew slowly, unsteadily, back to the lair. Landing on the platform before the entrance, Aiden shuffled forward, still upright on two legs, his swollen stomach preceding him. He walked into the darkness of the cavern and simply collapsed onto the stone floor.
His heavy eyelids slid shut. The full weight of his exhaustion crashed down upon him all at once. His breathing deepened, slowing to a steady, rhythmic rumble.
Aiden was asleep.
He surrendered to the slumber, distantly aware of the Manticore's potent energy already beginning to uncoil within him—a powerful fuel for the deep, transformative alchemy that only sleep could bring.
For a dragon, to sleep was to grow.
Far away, within the borders of the human Empire, the morning sun slanted through the grimy window of an attic, casting a pale stripe of light across a small, crude bed. The room was little more than a closet; the wooden plank bed took up most of the space, leaving barely enough room for two people to stand without touching the walls.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A violent pounding shook the flimsy wooden door, making it rattle in its frame.
“Isolde! Damn you, girl, are you lazing about again?” a woman's coarse voice bellowed from the other side. “You have two minutes to get your lazy arse down to the yard and start chopping wood! If I don't see you there in two minutes, you'll get no meals today!”
The voice receded, trailing insults. “Damned girl gets lazier by the day… a waste of good food, that's what she is…”
From beneath a colorless linen blanket, a pair of small, slender hands emerged to grip the edge. The blanket was thrown back, and a girl who looked no older than eight sat up.
She possessed a cascade of fine, sun-gold hair and a face of delicate, almost fragile beauty. A threadbare, oversized tunic hung from a frame so thin it was skeletal, a frail figure who seemed held together by little more than will.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from NovelBin. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Isolde sat up and looked out the window at the bright morning. Another day.
Then she remembered. Today was important. She recalled her mentor's instructions from yesterday. She could not be late. Her aunt's endless chores meant she was almost always tardy, but Ms. Solana was a kind soul. After understanding her situation, she had never reprimanded her for it, even taking the time to help her catch up on missed lessons. Ms. Solana is such a gentle person.
Isolde patted her cheeks, shaking the last vestiges of sleep away. She slipped on her worn shoes, walked the single step to the wall, and took down a white uniform from a hook.
She changed into it, then did a small, instinctive twirl, her hands smoothing the fabric of the skirt. A rare, contented smile touched her lips. This was her only new dress. Each time she put on her academy uniform, a quiet joy bloomed within her.
Right. Time to wash up. And then, the firewood. If I don't finish, my aunt will never let me leave for the academy. And I'll be late again.
No. Not today.
The thought spurred her into motion. She hurried down the narrow attic stairs.
In the living room below, her aunt's voice was a syrupy coo. “Here, my treasure, open your arms. Let Mama dress you… yes, that's a good boy… lift your other arm now.”
Her aunt, Nerys, was struggling to pull a shirt over her cousin Lorcan. His body, already round as a ball, strained the seams of the fabric. Has Lorcan gotten fatter? He looks more and more like Aunt Nerys every day.
She pushed the thought aside. She had to hurry.Nerys, hearing the footsteps, glanced over. It was only Isolde, heading for the washbasin. Satisfied that the girl wasn't shirking, she returned her attention to her son.
After a hasty wash, Isolde went into the yard and picked up the axe resting on the chopping block. It was a small axe, a child's model. She set a log in place, raised the axe high over her head, and brought it down in a smooth, practiced arc. The sharp blade split the wood cleanly in two. The logs weren't large; splitting them once was enough.
She set another log, repeated the motion, and then another.
CRACK!
The last log split apart. She left the axe embedded in the block and glanced up at the sky. The sun was already high. She was going to be late.
The realization sent her scurrying back into the house. Her Aunt Nerys, Uncle Sam, and Lorcan were all seated at the dining table, eating breakfast.
“Aunt Nerys, I've finished chopping the wood for the day,” she announced.
“Hmph,” Nerys grunted around a large bite of white bread, not bothering to look up.
Isolde was used to it. She reached for her own plate on the table and picked up the piece of coarse, dark bread left for her.
“Aunt Nerys, Uncle Sam… I'm leaving for the academy now.”
She offered the farewell and turned to leave, knowing no reply would come.
After she was gone, her uncle, Sam, spoke, pausing mid-bite. “It's a shame, letting her go to that school.”
“Then we should stop her,” Nerys snapped, her face twisting with displeasure. “If she's at school all day, who will do the chores around here?”
“Nerys, we have an agreement,” Sam said, his voice low and firm. “The nobleman provides for us. His only condition is that the girl attends the academy.”
“What are you afraid of? He'll never know,” Nerys sneered, her voice rising. “Why are you so timid? You're useless! What good will sending Isolde to such a fine school do anyway? We should save that money for our son's future!”
Sam ignored his wife's tirade. He controlled the finances; without his consent, her schemes were just noise. It wasn't the first time he'd had the same thought, but he knew he couldn't act on it. To break a pact with a nobleman was a fool's errand. If Nerys hadn't given him a son, he would have left his idiotic wife long ago.
He continued to eat, enduring the storm of her insults. Finishing his bread, he stood up.
“Sam, you're a spineless coward!”
He walked out the door, his wife's screeching echoing behind him. He was a City Warden, responsible for managing the traffic at one of the main gates. The position held little real power, but it was respectable work.
When the nobleman had offered to grant him one request, that is what Sam had asked for: a respectable job. The very next day, the position of Warden was his.