Page 49 of Full Moon
He looks down the ladder, the heat rising in waves. "The heat is coming from down here." Without hesitation, he climbs down.
These damn kids are going to be the death of me.
We reach the bottom, and what looks like tenebrescent sodalite lines the walls, its deep blue veins creating an otherworldly glow under the pale pink light from small UV-radiating spelled jars. The room feels like a hidden sanctuary. One wall is lined with leather-bound journals, and the other is dominated by a large chalkboard covered in complex formulas.
Khal freezes in his tracks, eyes wide. "Her father found a cure for basilisk venom," he whispers. "An anti-venom of sorts that you take before you get bit." His fingers tremble slightly as they follow the intricate calculations.
"Do you think it will work? It could be quite useful to have, seeing how dangerous this trip can become," I say.
Khal mutters under his breath, his brow furrowing in concentration. He turns to look at me, exasperated. "It's not finished. It's for blood poisoning, not an anti-venom. But if I adjust these two compounds here and add this..."
His voice trails off as he moves things around on the board. After a tense moment, he stands back, eyes scanning his work. "That is an anti-venom now." His eyes drift to the lavender vials on the desk, labeled with the original formula. "Wait..." He grabs the vials, his face lighting up. "Feray had a reaction to my blood. Her dad expected the possibility of a basilisk being her mate..." He dashes off with the vials, his mind racing ahead with the implications.
"Claridon, you were brilliant, my old friend," I mutter to myself, rifling through the last of his notes.
My fingers brush over designs for the amulets, sketched in a notebook. But there's no mention of who imbued them with their power. As I read further, I discover a detailed account of a black dragon's death, felled by basilisk venom. The event happened about a hundred years ago. Whoever the writer is meticulously describes how he extracted the acid glands from the dragon's fractured skull. The precision and care he took in harvesting the glands and creating the trap above astonishes me.
The dragon who died... I wonder if I knew them. If they were from my flight. If their family ever learned what became of their remains. Flipping through the book, a key suddenly falls out. My heart quickens as I retrieve it and turn to the pages where it had been nestled. The directions inscribed there lead me to the bookcase. With anticipation, I pull out the book mentioned, revealing a hidden lock behind it. My fingers tremble as I insert the key and turn it. The bookcase groans and shifts, revealing a hidden chamber.
Inside, my breath catches.
Feray's mother's valuables.
Another crown. Several gowns preserved perfectly in fae-crafted containers. The intricate designs and the aura of timeless elegance speak of a bygone era. I know Feray will need something of this caliber to present herself at court in Crescent Valley, especially after the trials she will face on her way to the castle. My thoughts drift to the wolf afterlife, and I hope with all my heart that Feray's parents can see how she has grown. She possesses her father's brilliance and her mother's beauty and stubbornness. I know they would be proud of her if they had the chance to meet her.
And I silently vow to help her honor their legacy—to be the dragon her father asked to protect his progeny, to be the mate worthy of the queen she is becoming.
I will not fail them.
I will not fail her.
