Ruin Me

Chapter Thirty Nine

The guards held a line, blocking the access in and out from the stone pathway that led into the dark abyss of the Dragonpit. The horde of bastards were gathered behind her before Baela and Jace motioned for them to stop walking a healthy distance away from her.

The shortened skirts of Daenyra's flying gear pooled around her as she knelt, the flaming torch still gripped in both her hands as the fire burned high.

With a deep breath, Daenyra imagined her husband sitting right beside her as she began to sing.

"Drakari pykiros. Tīkummo jemiros. Yn lantyz bartossa. Saelot vāedi."

She did not know if she got the first verse right, but she kept going, remembering the way that Daemon's voice had echoed off the dark cavern walls. It wasn't just the fact that he was singing it, but the song itself. It was the story of how blood magic turned a two-headed dragon into one with three heads, the emblem of the Targaryens, of the House of the Dragon.

"Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis. Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose. Perzyro udrȳssi. Ezīmptos laehossi. Hārossa letagon. Aōt vāedan."

Where Daemon's voice was a stable and fearless melody, Daenyra's was soft but strong. It was the sound of a survivor, someone who had been broken and reforged into something newer and stronger than before. It was a kind of strength that smelled particularly delicious to Vermithor – the kind of strength that he responded to.

The bastards grew wary as the sound of slow thundering footsteps rebounded through the caves and into their ears. Even Baela and Jace exchanged nervous glances before they stared at Daenyra who still didn't move. In fact, her spine seemed to straighten if that was even possible.

"Hae mērot gierūli: Se hāros bartossi. Prūmȳsa sōvīli. Gevī dāerī."

Freely, was the last word she spoke. It was symbolic that she sang of freedom as she was trying to summon a dragon to bind him to a rider. Yet, being Bonded with a dragon was possibly the furthest thing from imprisonment that you could get. There was nothing more freeing than a being that understood you as you did it. A being who reflected you and protected you as you would do for it. Myrrax was a piece of her, and she wouldn't hesitate to die for him or with him as much as she would for her husband or her children.

Her movements were slow, and her eyes were still closed as she set the torch down to her side, the metal rolling back as the flame still burned. And when her eyes opened, horns began to emerge from the darkness.

Vermithor looked different in this light. Now, when they were so close to the entrance to the Dragonpit, Vermithor looked different compared to when he was shrouded in darkness and lit with firelight. Before he had seemed like the colour of fire, perhaps even like liquid gold, now he looked like the Bronze Fury he was named for.

Even as Vermithor's massive jaws came into view, Daenyra was thinking about her own dragon, her Mirrored Death, would be dwelling in the caves, either waiting for the chance to pounce on Vermithor for trying to harm his bonded, or waiting for a little snack.

She was a mouse next to a lion; a dwarf next to a giant. She was tiny as she remained kneeling, her hands in her lap, and the darkness moved, and Vermithor's massive wings pushed him forward and into the light.

"Vermitos," she spoke in High Valyrian as the dragon beheld her, his eye as gold as his scales.

He growled as he bared his huge teeth that were easily longer than Shadow Fang, perhaps even half Daenyra's height. She could feel the unease that shuffled behind her as the dragon's maw lit up as if he was about to spit fire, but Daenyra was not scared.