Chapter 7 - The Mark of the Lineage
“What was that?” Lyra gasped, allowing Bran to haul her effortlessly to her feet.
“That,” Bran said darkly, “was the Great Drake beneath the Keep waking up entirely. Your mother did not merely thrash against her bonds, Lyra. When you touched her snout, you broke the suppression seal King Ronald placed upon her mind eight years ago.”
Zephyr scrambled up Lyra’s shoulder, settling on her clavicle and burying his nose in her platinum curls. As he did, a strange, burning sensation flared along Lyra’s collarbone. She winced, pulling back the neck of her tunic. Beneath the fabric, her skin was glowing with an intricate, lace-like pattern of shimmering golden scales that had never been there before.
Bran’s lone eye widened. He dropped to one knee on the damp forest loam, bowing his head in sudden reverence before catching himself and rising briskly. “The Dragon-Bond. The legends did not lie. You aren’t just a royal heir; you are the Sovereign Rider. The dragon will burn down the mountain to reach you.”
“She’s going to die if she fights them all,” Lyra whispered, memories of the immense iron chains and the swarms of armed sentries flashing behind her eyes. “There were hundreds of men with spears. Ballistas on the ramparts.”
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“Then we do not flee south to the colonies,” Bran said, adjusting the quiver across his broad back. “We go east, to the Sunken Caldera. If we can find the Heart-Cinder before Ronald’s hounds track us down, Zephyr will grow within hours instead of decades. But the path goes through the Black Gorge, and Ronald has garrisoned the bridge.”
A sudden screech ripped through the air above the forest canopy, closer this time, followed by three distinct replies from the north, west, and south. The sky-riders had triangulated their position.
