Chapter 22: The Dragon's Breath
Three AM. The Keep slept.
I moved through the servants' passages like a ghost, heading for the exit that led to the Dragonpit's service entrance. The same paths ratcatchers used. The same paths Blood and Cheese would have used.
Would have. Past tense. Because they were dead, and these passages were mine now.
The Dragonpit loomed against the pre-dawn darkness. Massive. Ancient. Built to house creatures that could burn cities.
I slipped through the feeding entrance—a wide tunnel where carts of sheep and cattle were brought for the dragons' meals. Unguarded at this hour. The dragonkeepers slept in quarters above.
The tunnel branched. Left led to the main chambers where dragons slept. Right led to storage and preparation areas.
I went left.
The heat increased with every step. Dragons radiated warmth like living furnaces. The air itself felt thick, oppressive.
I reached the first chamber. Syrax. Rhaenyra's golden she-dragon.
She lay curled in the massive space, scales gleaming faintly in the darkness. Beautiful. Terrifying.
I made myself small. Dropped my weight to fifty kilograms, moved slowly, projected calm.
I'm not a threat. Just curious. Just here to learn.
Syrax's eye opened. Vertical pupil contracting. Golden and ancient and intelligent.
We stared at each other.
She snorted. Curious. Head lifting slightly.
Then she breathed.
Not a full blast. Just a small gout of flame. Testing? Warning? Playful? Impossible to say.
The fire came fast. I hardened with Tekkai, felt my muscles compress to iron density.
Heat washed over me. Intense. My clothes singed immediately, edges blackening. The exposed skin on my face and hands reddened, blistering forming.
But I didn't scream. Didn't run.
Three seconds of fire. Then it stopped.
Syrax rumbled. A questioning sound.
I stayed still. Showing I wasn't hurt, wasn't threatening her.
She settled back down. Lost interest. Closed her eye.
I retreated slowly, not turning my back until I was out of her chamber.
My skin throbbed. The burns were already healing, but slower than forge fire. Dragon fire was hotter. Different. My resistance had work to do.
Again. Tomorrow night. And the night after. Until my body adapts.
Five nights of systematic exposure.
Night two: Sunfyre. Aegon's golden dragon. Vain, beautiful, and utterly disinterested in me. He looked at me once, snorted like I wasn't worth his attention, and went back to sleep.
No fire. No interaction.
Night three: Back to Syrax. This time I stood closer. Let her flame wash over me for five seconds. The burns were less severe. Healing overnight instead of taking days.
Progress.
Night four: A younger dragon in the far chambers. Didn't know its name. It flamed me out of fear when I approached. Seven seconds of fire before I retreated. My clothes were ash. My skin red and blistered. But by dawn, it healed.
Night five: Dreamfyre.
Helaena's dragon.
Dreamfyre was massive. Larger than Syrax, older, with scales that shimmered blue-silver in the faint light from ventilation shafts.
She was awake when I entered her chamber. Watching the entrance like she'd been expecting me.
I stopped. Waited.
She lowered her head. Slowly. Deliberately. Bringing that massive skull down to my level.
I could smell her breath. Sulfur and heat and something ancient.
"I'm keeping her safe," I said quietly. "Your rider. Helaena. You understand, don't you?"
Dreamfyre's eyes—intelligent, so much more intelligent than any beast should be—studied me.
Then she did something unexpected.
She breathed.
Not at me. Past me. A steady stream of flame that washed to my left, close enough that the radiant heat made my skin prickle and burn.
Thirty seconds of sustained fire. Not attacking. Testing.
I stood in the heat. Endured. Let my resistance build with every heartbeat.
When she stopped, my skin was pink and tender. But not charred. Not blistered.
Dreamfyre rumbled. A sound almost like... approval?
She lowered her head further, close enough that I could touch her snout if I dared.
I reached out slowly. Placed my hand on her scales.
Warm. Almost hot. Textured like a weapon.
"Thank you," I whispered.
She rumbled again. Then settled back, clearly dismissing me.
I left her chamber with something I hadn't expected: acceptance.
Dawn. I returned to my quarters through the servants' passages, stripped off what remained of my clothes, and examined the damage.
My skin was pink. Tender. But healing already. By tonight, it would be mostly recovered.
Dragon fire resistance: building. Not complete, but functional.
I changed into my guard uniform. Presentable. Professional.
Took my post outside Helaena's door as morning light filtered through the Keep's windows.
She emerged an hour later, dressed for the day, and immediately stopped.
Sniffed the air.
"You smell like Dreamfyre."
I didn't lie. "I wanted to meet her properly. Make sure she knew I was... trustworthy."
Helaena studied me for a long moment. Then her expression softened.
"She likes you. She told me in a dream."
"Dragons dream?"
"Everything dreams. Most just don't remember." She paused at the threshold. "Did she hurt you?"
"No. She tested me. I passed."
"Good." She started walking toward the godswood, and I fell into step beside her. "She doesn't like most people. But she likes you. That means something."
"What does it mean?"
She glanced at me sideways. "That you're meant to stand beside fire. Not burn in it."
We walked in comfortable silence. Her cryptic words settling over me like prophecy.
Standing beside fire. Not burning.
I thought of Silverwing, waiting somewhere beyond King's Landing. The dragon I'd eventually bond with.
But for now, Dreamfyre's acceptance was enough.
One step closer to becoming what I needed to be.
One step closer to being ready when the Dance finally came.
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