“Where are we?” I ask.

“The Caves of Fortún, north of Bastain.”

Right. The Caves of Fortún… whatever that is.

“And why are we here?” 

“You'll see.”

Eoghan wanders forward and I wait until he disappears into the darkness before I follow him inside. It is pitch black and the air is moist, the complete opposite of the rest of the Tinemallacht desert. Built into the cave wall is a torch held permanently in an ornate cradle carved into the shape of a dragon. Eoghan lifts his hands and wields his dragon fire and a dozen more torches light along either side of the cave down a sandy, sloping passageway. Eoghan waits until the light extends beyond our view and then begins our descent into the earth.

We walk down the winding passageway and the air grows heavy and damp. It is still warm, much too warm for the dark, and the walk becomes steep as we turn the next corner. My boots slide dangerously against the sand. Eoghan reaches out to grab my arm, keeping me upright. I steady and he tucks me close to his side.

“Almost there,” he assures.

We walk for two or three more quiet minutes and the already enormous passageway opens up before us. I pause as the room comes into view: a chamber so vast it must stretch for miles and miles under the surface of the desert. At the cavern floor a lush pool of iridescent water glimmers and runs into the underground river; fresh water over red rocks. Across the floors and along every inch of the cave, gemstones in every color, hundreds of thousands of them, lay in piles rising up high like mountains of technicolor. I have never seen more wealth in my life and doubt I would ever find any to compare it to in all of Draíocoinnigh. Not even in the castle vaults had such wealth existed. My father would have lost his mind with jealousy. Finally, most extraordinary of all, I take in no less than fifteen dragons, resting on various overhanging stone shelves above the cavern floor. 

“As legend goes,” Eoghan's voice is a reverent, velvety hum. “The dragons of Tinemallacht have lived for centuries in the Barrens, long before the rivers dried up with the unrelenting heat of the sun. When the first humans came to the continent, the dragons would only allow the bravest of men into their lands—the ones that could handle the harshness of the desert and the, oftentimes, fierce tempers of the dragons. Dragons live for only one hundred and forty years, just longer than humans themselves, but they breed often and their numbers are endless. As each dragon dies so dies the dragon's magic, each as rare to the dragon itself as the gemstone of their heart is.” Eoghan points to the jewels spread out before us. 

“As the dragons came to trust the first settlers of the land, they offered the human wielders a gift. At the end of a dragon's life, the dragon will transfer its magic to a man—or a woman—to extend the life of the magic nearly two-fold. In return, the humans gain the riches of the dragon hearts, the greatest secret of our land, and extended health and strength to the wielder of dragon fire. Dragon fire, the gift of our dragon protectors, is given at the tender age of five, in the Fire Rite ceremony and it takes about a year to settle into the wielder's genetic makeup. At thirteen, we have our first wielding with a ceremony, a tattooing, and a feast. That is, unless your name is Cai Moran who had his Fire Rite and Wielding in two years time.”

“Cai? Cai wielded dragon fire?”

Eoghan nods. “The only non-Tinemallacht born wielder since the original settlers. The dragons rarely take to anyone, especially foreigners, yet they recognized Cai as one of their own.”

Cai's tattoo that had been hand-tipped into his skin, had been given to him as a mark of the fire he wielded when he became one of the Tinemallacht Fire Cursed. No wonder he never came back to Gairdín. He had found home so completely here.

“And what happens to the magic when the human wielder passes away?”

“It passes back to the gods and the wielders heart becomes that of the dragons. We bring them here to this cave to be protected and to honor the dead.”

“So the fire is not a curse at all?”

“Well, if the fire does not take, it can be deadly to the human wielder—but dragons are picky and their magic rarely fails. Perhaps only once every few decades or so. The magic is a gift from the dragons who protected the first brave settlers. It is the mark of our people and the mark of our home.”

The mark of their people. The only mark of my people I have ever received was a mark on my life. Even then, I have never belonged to a chosen people. Not like Eoghan. Not like Cai.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Eoghan says and I still. His face glows multicolored from the jewels refracted in the low light of the cave and his eyes shine with promise. “On a dragon, I mean.”

My mouth must have fallen open in surprise because his lips curl up in amusement and his rubs my chin softly with his thumb.

“Is it safe? I've always heard that dragons are unapproachable.”

“If you were Bréanainn Doherty, I would not suggest trying to take a ride on a dragon's back; but you're with Eoghan Kael, the Dragon of Báscogar, as you said. I think you will be fine.” 

My cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. I don't remember calling him that out loud.

“You talk in your sleep, Maevie.” He leans in and kisses my lips. His tongue passes into my mouth with tender, passionate hunger. “Just wait until I show you what this dragon can actually do.”

Warmth rises up in my abdomen and I almost whimper when he pulls away. He unsheathes his blade from his side and raises it up to the light. It creates a long glimmering beam against the wall and one dragon lounging fifteen feet above us turns its head. Eoghan twists the blade back and forth, catching the light and a shiver shakes through the dragon's body as it stands to its feet, stretching its wings out wide. I gasp as it bounds into the air and soars around the cave thirty feet wide from one side to the next. Eoghan replaces his blade and wraps his fingers around my biceps, pulling me back with him as he steps into the passageway. The dragon sails toward us and lands in front of us, its massive head settling about a foot away. Eoghan reaches out and pats its nose and it exhales, filling the passageway with heat and steam. 

“Reach out your hand so she can smell you before we fly.”

I reach my fingers out hesitantly. Each time the dragon breathes or sniffs the air I flinch, but Eoghan places his hand on my back and encourages me forward. The dragon lifts her nose and presses it firmly against my palm. The scaly, rough skin is wet and almost hot to the touch. My entire hand is not even the size of one of its nostrils. The dragon sniffs and nuzzles against my fingers, then drops her head in a soft nod. Eoghan smiles and pulls me around her front legs. We reach her side as Eoghan places his hands on my hips, lifting me up onto her back before climbing up and seating himself behind me. His hands fall to rest against my thighs, holding me in place.

“Hold on,” he whispers and with a soft click of his tongue, the dragon begins to ascend the passageway with great speed.

The walls of the tunnel flash by us as streaks of light and I close my eyes as the motion makes my stomach churn uneasily. The dragon picks up pace as it weaves through the tunnel, and I pull my knees toward my center to hang on. I feel the dragon tuck its wings closer into itself and then suddenly they expand. My body is thrown back against Eoghan with a heavy jolt and the feeling of fresh, dry air begins to whip around us. I open my eyes. The cave has fallen away, the ground far below our feet. We are flying through the Tinemallacht sunshine, flying over the barren dunes of the endless sea of sand.

The sound of the dragon's wings beating steadily through the air and the rushing wind fill my ears. I run my hand against the dragon's hide and feel the bumpy surface of scales as hard as stone. Eoghan wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me to himself; his body relaxed and his breaths falling easy from his lips. I lean my head back against his chest as the dragon banks right, bringing valleys and mountains of red into view. Far off I can spot a small outpost like Gobaith with a tiny square buildings and horseshoe archways lining the terraced dirt roads. Further still, I see small dots of white racing across the sand as gliders make their way across the empty Barrens. 

“Tinemallacht, as far as the eye can see,” Eoghan whispers in my ear. “That way,” he points ahead, “is the way I went to Gálamáistir. It took a week on foot to transport my gear by myself through the desert and I camped in tents at night when I needed to rest. It's a rite of passage for warriors to cross the desert alone.”

“And I'm sure Cai did that too,” I muse with an almost drunken contentment in my voice as I run my fingers along Eoghan's jaw.

“He wouldn't have lasted a day,” he laughs. “Only the bravest warriors ever do.” He extends his arm to our left. “Only a few minutes north, by dragon, is the Golorgleann border. I saw the Golorgleann flower fields for the first time from a dragon's back when I was fifteen and couldn't believe anywhere could be so colorful.”

“Golorgleann?” My hand rises up to his hair and I run my fingers through it softly. “Would you take me to see it?”

Eoghan is quiet. I look up at him, his brows pulled tightly together in contemplation. He's worried.

“Please, Eoghan?” I ask again and I press my lips to his jaw softly. “Just once?”

“I don't know Maeve...”

I graze my teeth lightly against his ear and he shudders against me.

“It's my birthday,” I remind him with a whisper. “Please?”

He sighs and I feel his right thigh tighten against the dragon's back to coax it to change direction. It yields to him and we begin to fly north toward the capital territory. 

He tightens his hold on my waist just slightly as the Golorgleann night comes into view and we fly toward the Tinemallacht crossing checkpoint. It is a spectacular chasm as the magic divides the desert from the copious valley—the night from the day. Darkness falls like a veil of black and the sand recedes at the separation of the two territories, but the border remains still, silent, boring even. Eoghan leans over against the wing and surveys the quiet barracks of the Tinemallacht stronghold.

“That's strange...” the dragon beats the air as it skims low over the checkpoint. “There is supposed to be fighting on the border.” He says and as he does a red spear of light flies through the air from the Golorgleann side.

“Shit!” Eoghan yells as he pushes me down against the dragon's back and the light streaks past my head. Shouting rises up from the border as Tinemallacht warriors burst out from beneath the sand, sending their own streaks of magic into the darkness. “Hold on!” 

Eoghan wills the dragon to turn, but she is slow to respond. Another spear of red sails just past her left claw. He shouts out in frustration and commands again and this time she turns, as we cross into the night. Her body wheels back toward the Tinemallacht border and Eoghan grips me hard as the force of her sharp shift in direction threatens to throw me from the dragon's back; but she straightens out and heads back toward the Tinemallacht side and then… 

Neither of us see the attack before it collides heavy with the dragon's stomach. With the Tinemallacht border just in reach, red flashes as blindingly as lightning around us and the screeching of the dragon's pained cries fill the air. She's been hit—targeted by a wielder at the station below—and we are going to crash. The dragon jolts hard on impact and we are thrown from its back and deep into the night.