One True Queen: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

38.

Content warning: alcohol use (Gaze gets a little drunk at a party), discussion of propaganda and war, political tension, Timeline series typical angst and discussion of trauma

***

Epiphany

I wake up in a guest room that's starting to feel like my own.

The morning breeze brushes over my scales, and I can see the sun peeking out from the horizon, staining the edges of the sky a soft, pretty pink.

From here, the desert looks so beautiful.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and squirm around, attaching my wooden leg to the stump that remains of my back talon. It's cold and heavy, and it's always hard to get used to for the first few hours of the day.

I splash some water off my face, and wander over to the windowsill, full of things I've collected on short trips out into the desert. (First with someone to help in case I got tired, and then on my own.) I'm still figuring out the whole flying thing—I have to flap one wing way harder than the other to account for the extra weight of a wooden leg, taking off and landing is always a little precarious, and it's super easy to get knocked off balance.

Anyway—for every trip, I always pick up a cool rock, or a skeleton, whatever I can find out there. I've organized all the interesting bones on one end of my windowsill, cool rocks on the desk I never use. A couple months ago, Scorpion gave me a cactus as a present for what she found out was my eighth hatching day, so now it sits at the corner of the windowsill, soaking up the sun. I have to admit, it's growing on me.

A few days ago, I found this cool brass locket in the sand by the palace entryway. It's kind of beat-up, but I like it—I've been trying to think of what to put inside it for a few weeks now. I pull it over my head.

I glance down at the painting of my grandmother when she was my age—ripped out of a history scroll when no one was looking. I've had it tucked into my mirror for weeks, and I still don't know why.

She's wearing the NightWing crown, and she's gazing off into the distance. Something in her eyes looks so glazed-over and disinterested—I can't decide if that's just how the artist captured her or not. The brownish-red background brings out the shades of rusty red in her scales—like dried blood. We have the same curved horns too, I've noticed.

I grab my dagger off of the nightstand, securing it with the leather strap to my front talon. Scorpion gave it to me a few weeks ago; insisting I carry a weapon at all times. Way and I are technically allowed to leave the palace, but only if we have a team of guards with us. I'm not sure what good they're going to do against any all-powerful animus dragons, but it's... nice. That someone is looking out for me. And a little unnerving, too.

***

Scorpion paces back and forth around the council chamber, waiting for one last dragon to arrive. Way looks scared out of his mind, but then, he always does. I've grown fond of the prince—he's too sad to not like a little bit.

The Sand Kingdom is way too big for her to know what's happening in every single town, so about a decade ago, the queen decided to divide it up into five districts, represented by five different dragons, who are supposed to be arriving today, to celebrate the anniversary of when Scorpion took the throne.

For a few days, Scorpion's court was a bit confused as to why she let a random NightWing attend all her meetings, and sleep in her guest room. She declared me her ward--so no one could ask any questions, and that was that. A good half of the NightWing population has made a home in the desert; as far as they know, I'm just a regular refugee. Scorpion and the NightWing ambassadors are the only dragons who know about my true identity. Even in the Night Kingdom, I was barely a footnote in my family. But still. I wish we'd thought to use a fake name, or something.